The Light Sees You Beneath The Mask

The mask fits so perfectly this morning that you are afraid it has become your skin. You walk through the daylight, nodding at the right times, smiling with practiced ease, while inside you feel like a ghost haunting your own life.

You wait for someone to point and say: you do not belong here. You are an impostor.

But the light does not scan for credentials. It sees through the performance to the person trembling underneath.

There was a woman who touched the edge of a cloak in a crushing crowd, convinced she was too unclean to be seen. She thought she was stealing a miracle.

Instead, the light stopped everything to call her daughter. It knew her name before she spoke a word.

The mask is heavy because you are carrying it alone. Put it down.

The one who sees you is not looking for a reason to reject you. He is looking for a reason to stay.

You are not a ghost in your own story. You are the very thing the light came to find.