The Light Loves Your Hollow Space

The laugh escapes your lips in the crowded room, and before the sound even fades, the guilt arrives. You are convinced that if they saw the emptiness behind your eyes, they would recoil in disgust.

But the light does not recoil. It saw you laugh, and it saw the hollow space underneath, and it loves both parts of you with the same steady gaze.

Jesus told a man once to go home and tell his family how much the Lord had done for him — not how perfect he was, but how much he had been given. Your mask is heavy, but you do not have to wear it for the one who knows you already.

The performance is exhausting, yet the light is not asking for a show; it is asking for the real you, the tired you, the you that feels like a fraud. Bring forth what is within you — even the emptiness — because what you bury will suffocate you, but what you reveal will save you.

You are not a deception to be uncovered; you are a child to be held.