Joy Is Something You Remember

The morning light is here, soft and gray, and your body is screaming for the old spark that isn't coming. You are terrified that without the chemical, the joy is gone forever—that you are just a hollow shell waiting for a signal that won't arrive.

But listen. The sun does not wait for you to manufacture warmth before it rises.

It simply is. The light that lived in Jesus was not a drug or a dose; it was a presence that walked through grief and death and remained unbroken.

That same light is already inside you, waiting not for a catalyst, but for a quiet moment of recognition. You do not have to force the feeling.

You just have to be still enough to let the dawn do its work. Joy is not something you make; it is something you remember.