Your Light Is A Spring Not A Cup

The house is quiet now, but you can still see the words hovering in the air where your child stopped themselves. They looked at your tired face and decided their pain was too heavy to add to your pile.

They swallowed their own bad day to protect you. But listen — the light inside you is not a cup that runs dry when another drink is poured in.

It is a spring. Jesus told a woman once that the water he gives becomes a spring welling up inside, not a cistern you have to ration.

Your child's sorrow does not drain you; it invites the spring to rise. When you carry their burden, you are not collapsing under the weight — you are showing them where the light lives.

You came from the light, and so did they. Two drops from the same source, meeting in the dark.

Let them speak. The light is big enough for both of your stories.