The Light Meets You in the Mess

The sun has gone down, and the shadows are lengthening inside your chest. You are holding your breath, convinced that if you let them see the cracks, they will walk away.

You treat your own heart like a trap waiting to spring. But there was a woman who stood behind the light, weeping until her tears washed his feet, wiping them with the very hair she was ashamed of.

She exposed everything—her reputation, her grief, her need. And he did not step back.

He did not recoil. He turned to the room and said her sins were forgiven because she loved much.

The light does not run from the mess. It meets you there.

The darkness has not overcome it. Your vulnerability is not the reason they will leave.

It is the only door through which they can truly enter.