The Light Runs Toward Your Exhaustion

The mask feels heavy this morning, doesn't it? You are walking through the day performing okayness, terrified that if you finally stop moving, everyone will see the cracks.

But the light does not need your performance to find you. It sees behind the mask right now.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. The light is already running toward you, not toward the version of you that has it all together, but toward the one who is tired.

You do not have to hold it together for the light to hold you. The panic says you must keep spinning or the whole thing falls apart.

The truth says the foundation was never your effort. Stop.

Just for a moment. The mask can come down.

The light is still there.