You Are Loved Because You Are Here

The house is quiet now, but your chest still hurts from holding your breath all day. You have become an expert at the stillness that hides the tremor, smiling while your hands shake underneath the table so the people you love never have to see the fear.

But there is a kind of exhaustion that comes from pretending the light inside you isn't flickering. You do not have to steady yourself for the Father's sake.

He sees the tremor. He knows the weight of the mask you wear in your own living room.

The light does not ask you to be steady. It only asks you to be real.

There is a rest that waits for you when the performance finally stops. You are not loved because your hands are still.

You are loved because you are here.