The Light Sitting Beside You

The morning light hits the floor, and you are still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at your untied shoes. To bend down feels like admitting defeat, like surrendering to a gravity you no longer have the strength to fight.

You are performing okayness for a world that expects you to be moving, but inside, the weight is absolute. There was a man who had been blind from birth, and when people asked whose sin had caused it, the light refused to blame him or his parents.

It said his condition was simply the space where the works of God might be displayed. Your exhaustion is not a punishment.

It is the canvas. The kingdom is not a destination you must march toward; it is already inside you, and it is outside you, waiting for you to recognize it.

You do not have to earn the right to stand up. The light is already in the room, sitting beside you in the silence, waiting for the moment you simply decide to rise.