The Light Shines Brighter in the Dark

The sun has gone down, and the room is filling with the shadows you know too well. You are sitting at the table with good things in front of you, but you cannot taste them because you are already mourning their end.

You brace for the loss before the loss has even arrived. You hold your breath, waiting for the door to slam, convinced that loving something is just a setup for the pain of losing it.

But listen — the light does not ask you to survive the future tonight. It only asks you to be here for this meal.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He did not calculate how long the joy would last.

He did not worry about the next famine. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. He embraced the moment because the moment was real, regardless of what tomorrow might bring.

The gathering dark is not a threat to what you have right now. It is simply the background against which the light shines brighter.

You do not have to protect the gift by fearing its removal. The gift is here.

The light is here. And for this hour, that is enough.