Rest Before You Rise

The room is quiet now, and the silence feels heavy, like a weight you are afraid to drop. You worry that your stillness is a burden, that the people around you are too polite to name the exhaustion of carrying you.

But the light does not measure your worth by what you produce or how much space you take up. There was a moment when a paralyzed man was lowered through a roof, and the first thing the light said was not 'get up' or 'fix yourself.' It said, 'Son, your sins are forgiven.' It saw the person beneath the paralysis and offered rest before it offered movement.

Your presence is not a debt to be repaid. You are not taking up space that belongs to someone else.

The light is not impatient with your stillness; it is present within it. You do not have to earn your place at the table by performing wellness.

The quiet panic lies when it says you are too much. You are simply here, and that is enough.