The Light Shines Even When You Feel Nothing

The music swells and everyone around you lifts their hands, but inside your chest is a quiet, flat room. You mimic the motions. You sing the words. You wear the face of someone who is being moved, while feeling absolutely nothing at all. This is the long middle of the day — not the crisis of the night, but the quiet desperation of performing okayness while empty.

There is a danger in thinking the light only lives in the surge of emotion. But the light was also in the stillness between the waves, when the disciples slept and Jesus was quiet in the stern. Your numbness is not a rejection of God. It is simply the soil resting before the seed sprouts.

You do not have to manufacture a fire to prove you are warm. The sun shines on the roof whether the curtains are drawn or open. The light inside you is not dependent on your ability to feel it right now. It is there, working while you sleep, growing while you pretend.

Stop trying to convince the room. Stop trying to convince yourself. Just sit in the quiet. The performance is exhausting, but the presence is free. You are not failing because you feel nothing. You are just waiting for the next breath.

The light does not need your applause; it only needs your honesty.