The Dawn Does Not Wait For Stillness

The sun is just beginning to touch the horizon, but you are holding your breath so the person beside you won't feel the shaking. You think if you stay perfectly still, the storm inside won't spill out into the room.

But the light does not require you to be steady before it can love you. There was a man who lay by a pool for thirty-eight years, waiting for someone to help him, and the light walked straight to him—not to scold his stillness, but to ask if he wanted to get well.

You do not have to carry the weight of your trembling in silence anymore. The dawn is not waiting for you to stop shaking before it arrives; it comes anyway, soft and unhurried, to sit with you in the quiet.

The light is not afraid of your tremors; it is the ground beneath them.