The Light Sits With Your Shame

The house is quiet now, but your hands are still shaking from the moment you saw it—the flinch that came before you even spoke. You sit in the gathering dark, terrified that you have become the thing your child fears.

The light does not turn away from this horror. It sits with you in the shame.

Jesus sighed before he healed the deaf man—a deep, heavy groan that said he felt the weight of the brokenness before he fixed it. Your grief is that sigh.

It is the proof that you are not the monster you fear you are. The monster does not weep over a flinch.

The monster does not care. But you are care-worn.

You are love-stricken. The light is not disappointed in your trembling; it is present in it.

The night is long, but the dawn is already breaking inside your regret.