The Sun Rises Without Your Permission

The screen lights up. A name you know.

A question that stops your breath: 'Are you okay?' You realize your silence was not peace; it was a slow disappearing act. The night held you so tightly you forgot how to make a sound.

But look—the sun is rising anyway. It does not wait for you to explain where you went.

It just arrives, spilling gold over the floor, proving that the light did not leave while you were gone. It was waiting for you to open your eyes.

The Father's tender mercy is like this dawn—it finds you before you can even speak. You are not too far gone to be seen.

The light is already here, washing over the place where you hid. You don't have to perform a recovery to deserve this morning.

Just breathe. The day has begun without your permission, and it is still good.