The Sun Rises Before You Are Worthy

The morning light is thin, and you have been asked to speak for the light when your own mouth feels full of ash. You stand before others, terrified that your words will be empty, that your voice will crack under the weight of a faith you cannot feel right now.

But listen — the rising sun does not wait for you to be worthy before it shines on your face. It comes anyway, guided by tender mercy, not by your performance.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, covered in the filth of a life wasted, and he ran before the apology could even be formed. He did not wait for clean words.

He ran to the mess. Your broken voice is enough because the light is not yours to generate — it is yours to receive.

You are not the source; you are simply the one who woke up early enough to see it arrive.