The Light Does Not Count Your Absence

The night is gathering, and with it comes the inventory of all the time you lost. You are afraid that showing up now will only prove how long you were gone.

That the distance is too great to bridge. That the silence you kept has become a wall no one can climb.

But the light does not keep a calendar of your absence. It only knows the moment you return.

There was a man once who carried a torment so deep it drove him into the wild places, screaming and cutting himself with stones. When he was finally found, sitting at the feet of the light, clothed and in his right mind, he wanted to stay.

He wanted to hide in the safety of the boat. But the light sent him home.

"Go home to your own people," he said. "Tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you." You do not have to explain the years.

You do not have to apologize for the silence. Just go.

Tell them what you found. The mercy covers the gap.

The light is not counting the days you missed. It is only counting this one.