The Light Sees Behind Your Mask

The message is sent. Now the real work begins—the editing of your own heart as you read it three times, hunting for any trace of neediness that might scare them away.

You turn the phone face down on the table, as if hiding the screen can hide the hoping. You wear the smile at work, the nod in the meeting, the 'I'm fine' that sounds so convincing you almost believe it yourself.

But underneath the mask, the silence is loud. You are performing okayness while breaking inside.

There was a woman who touched the edge of a cloak because she could not bear the silence of another day, and the light stopped in the middle of a pressing crowd just to find her. It did not scold her desperation.

It called her daughter. The light sees behind the mask you spent all morning perfecting.

It knows the tremor in your hand before you hit send. And it loves the part of you that is afraid, not the part that is pretending.

You do not have to edit your hunger to be worthy of a reply. The One who knows your name is already walking toward you, and He is not afraid of your need.