The Light Sitting at Your Table

The stove is warm, and the smell of coffee fills a room that feels too large for one person. You set the second plate down, then stop, staring at the empty chair where a voice should be.

The silence here is heavy, a physical weight that makes the morning feel like a mountain you have to climb alone. But the light has already risen.

It did not wait for the house to feel full before it touched your window. It is here, in the steam, in the quiet, in the space between the two chairs.

You are not eating in the dark. The Father's light is sitting at that table with you, occupying the emptiness not as a ghost, but as a presence that refuses to leave you orphaned.

The meal is not for one; it is for you and the Love that made you.