The Light That Walked Into Dark

The house is quiet now, but your mind is loud with the memory of how your open heart was turned into a weapon against you. It feels like a betrayal that cuts deeper than the initial wound — to be seen, and then to be struck with what you showed.

In the garden, before the end came, the light itself fell on its face in the dirt and asked for the cup to pass, overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. It knows what it feels like to be vulnerable in a world that knows exactly where to hurt you.

But listen — the light did not harden. It did not close up shop and become untouchable.

It walked into the dark anyway. The same light that was in Jesus is already inside you, untouched by the hands that tried to break it.

You do not have to trust them again to be whole. You only have to trust the light that survived the night before dawn.