The Light Gathers Broken Things

The sun has gone down, and now the house is quiet enough to hear the fear: if I let you in, you will see the ruin and you will run. You have spent the evening polishing the mask, hiding the cracks, terrified that help means exposure.

But listen — the light does not flee from broken things. It gathers them.

There was a man born blind, and the question was not who sinned to make him this way, but how the works of God might be displayed in him. Your brokenness is not a reason for abandonment.

It is the canvas. A bruised reed he will not break.

He will not snap off the part of you that feels damaged. He will hold it.

The fear says: hide so they will stay. The truth says: let them see, and they will love you more.

The night is gathering, but the light is not going anywhere.