The Light Sees Your Tremor

The phone rings, and you force your voice into a shape that doesn't hurt. You say 'good morning' with a brightness that feels like a lie, just so they won't ask what's wrong.

You are performing okayness while breaking inside, and the mask feels heavier than the grief it hides. But the light does not need your performance to see you.

It sees the tremor in your throat. It sees the effort it takes to sound normal.

There was a man born blind, and the world asked whose fault it was — who sinned to make him this way? The light said: neither.

The brokenness was not a punishment. It was a canvas.

Your exhaustion is not a failure of faith. It is the place where the works of the light are waiting to be displayed.

You do not have to pretend the darkness isn't there for the light to work. The mask slips.

The voice cracks. And in that honest break, the truth gets out.