The Light Does Not Scold The Wound

The sun is up, but your hands are still shaking from the flinch. A colleague reached out, and your body remembered a war they never fought.

You feel shame for mistaking kindness for a threat. But listen — the light does not scold the wound for bleeding when touched.

It sees the history written in your nerves and calls it what it is: survival, not sin. There was a man born blind, and the question wasn't who sinned, but how the light would show itself in the breaking.

Your flinch is not a failure of faith. It is the place where the healing begins.

The morning does not demand you be unbroken before it shines on you. It shines so you can see what needs mending.

Go home to your own people and tell them how much the light has done for you — even the trembling parts.