The Light Does Not Fear Your Fire

The mask is heavy this morning. You put it on before you left the house so no one would see the rage simmering beneath your skin.

You are terrified that your anger has made you irredeemable — that the community you love now sees you as a danger, a broken thing that cannot be fixed. But listen: the light does not recoil from your fire.

There was a man with an unclean spirit who cried out in the synagogue, disrupting the peace with his chaos. The light did not cast him out.

It commanded the spirit to leave, and the man was freed. Your anger is not your identity.

It is a chain, not a character. The light is not afraid of your volume.

It walks into the noise of your regret and speaks peace to the storm inside you. You are not too hot to hold.

You are not beyond the reach of the one who calmed the sea.