The Light Comes to the Dirt

The sun is up, and the mask is already on. You are moving through the motions of being okay, but inside, the silence is screaming because you know you cannot carry this alone.

To ask for help feels like pulling the curtain back and revealing that the fraud is real—that you are just pretending to be whole. But look at the man who was blind from birth.

The disciples wanted to know whose fault it was, who sinned to make him broken. The light said: neither.

This happened so the works of God might be displayed in him. Your need is not evidence of your failure.

It is the canvas. The light does not wait for you to fix yourself before it arrives.

It comes to the dirt, to the mud, to the place where you are helpless, and it makes a way where there was none. You do not have to speak perfectly.

You do not have to prove you deserve rescue. Just let the words come, however broken they are.

The dawn is not ashamed of your night.