The Light That Stays When You Break

The house is quiet now, but your mind is screaming a truth you are too afraid to say out loud. You are watching the clock, not with hope, but with a terrible, exhausted wish that the breathing beside you would finally stop so you could close your own eyes.

That thought makes you feel like a monster. But listen — the light does not run from this darkness.

It sits right here in the chair beside you, where even your deepest shame cannot hide it. You are not your fatigue.

You are not the cruel thought born of a spirit that has been stretched too thin for too long. The father in the ancient story did not wait for his son to be clean before he ran to meet him; he ran while the boy was still covered in filth and failure.

God is running toward you right now, not away from your honest despair. The light inside you is greater than this moment, and it knows you are still here, still standing, still holding on when every part of you wants to let go.

You do not have to be good to be held; you only have to be here.