The Light Loves the Face Beneath

The room is loud with other people's ease, and you are sitting still on the couch, convinced that your invisibility is a failure. You feel like a ghost in your own life, wearing a mask that says 'I'm fine' while your heart races beneath the fabric.

But the light does not need you to perform relaxation to be present with you. It sees the tremor behind the smile, the effort it takes to just sit there when everything inside you screams to run.

There was a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, untouchable and exhausted, who pushed through a crowd just to touch the edge of a cloak. She did not need to be seen by the crowd to be healed; she only needed to reach out from her hiding place.

The light felt that tiny, desperate touch and stopped the whole procession to call her 'Daughter.' Your stillness is not a void; it is the very place where the light is holding you together when you feel like falling apart. You are not invisible to the one who knelt to wash dirty feet.

The mask can stay on for now, but know this: the light is already loving the face beneath it.