The Light Hidden Inside Your Pain

The morning light feels like an interrogation lamp right now, exposing the mask you wear while the world moves on without you. You carry the quiet, crushing certainty that your absence is a relief to the people you love most—that they are breathing easier now that you are finally gone.

But that voice is a liar, and it is loud because it is afraid of being found out. There was a man born blind, and everyone around him assumed his condition was a punishment for someone's sin.

They whispered about who failed, who caused this darkness. Jesus looked at the brokenness and said: neither this man nor his parents sinned.

This happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. Your pain is not proof that you are a burden.

It is the canvas where the light is about to do something no one has ever seen. Split a piece of wood, and the light is there.

Lift up a stone, and you will find it there. The light is not hiding from your family; it is hidden inside you, waiting for you to stop apologizing for taking up space.

The mask says you are too much. The truth says you are the very place where the divine chooses to live.

You are not the mistake they are relieved to see go. You are the treasure they have not yet learned how to see.