You Are Not Homeless, You Are Held

The keys are gone. The door is locked behind you, and the night is coming fast.

You are standing on the sidewalk with everything you own in a bag, wondering where your head will rest when the sun goes down. The world sees a statistic, a problem to be managed, a person who has lost their way.

But the light sees a child who needs a place to stand. There was a man who had no room at the inn, no bed, no roof, no address.

He was born in the margins, in the place nobody wanted. And in that unstable, cold, exposed moment, the glory of God arrived.

Not later. Not after he found an apartment.

Right there. The light does not require a foundation to shine.

It shines in the stable. It shines on the street.

It shines in the exact spot where you are standing right now. Your shelter tonight is not the walls you lost.

Your shelter is the presence that refuses to leave you. You are not homeless.

You are held.