The Sun Rises Before You Are Ready

The service is over. The lights are up.

You are shaking hands with people who thank you for your faith, for your strength, for the words you spoke. And inside, you feel like a fraud accepting their praise.

You want to tell them the truth: that you were just holding on, that the light you spoke of felt a thousand miles away while you were saying it. But the dawn is arriving anyway.

The sun does not wait for you to feel real before it rises. It breaks the horizon not because you earned it, but because it is its nature to shine.

There was a man who saw the light while he was still far off — not because he had his life together, but because the Father was running toward him. The embrace came before the apology.

The celebration started before the speech was finished. You are not the source of the light people see in you.

You are just the window it is shining through. And windows do not need to be perfect to let the sun in.

They just need to be open. The morning does not ask if you are worthy.

It simply arrives. You made it through the night.

That is enough. The light is here, and it is not fooled by your mask — it loves what is behind it.