The Light Does Not Flinch From You

The middle of the day is long, and your hands are full of invisible weights. When someone reaches out to hold them, you flinch.

It is a reflex born of shame, a belief that your touch is too heavy, too broken, too much for another to bear. You pull away before their fingers can even graze your skin.

But the light does not flinch from you. It came into the world not to avoid the broken, but to dwell among them.

The same light that lived in Jesus lives inside your hands right now. It was there before you learned to pull away, and it is there still.

Your reflex is human. The light's reflex is to stay.

You are not too damaged to be held. You are the very reason the light came down.