Light Shines Through the Cracks

The mask feels heavy this morning, doesn't it? You put it on before you even opened your eyes, just to survive the day.

Someone spent a long time telling you that who you really are wasn't enough, wasn't right, wasn't worthy of being seen. They tore down your house brick by brick until you forgot what the foundation looked like.

But listen — the light does not need you to rebuild the walls first. It only asks you to stop hiding the rubble.

There was a man born blind, and everyone around him insisted his darkness was a punishment, a verdict on his soul. They defined him by what he couldn't see.

But the light looked at him and said: neither this man nor his parents sinned. The tragedy wasn't the blindness.

The tragedy was that everyone missed the work of God standing right in front of them. You are not the sum of what was taken from you.

You are the canvas where something new is being displayed. The mask slips when you realize the light isn't impressed by the performance.

It is already shining through the cracks you tried to hide. The rebuilding starts not with a grand gesture, but with the quiet permission to let the light see the mess.