You Are the Ground That Held the Light

The sun is up now, and the noise of the day has begun. You are clapping.

You are smiling so wide your face hurts. But inside, your stomach is a tight, cold knot.

You watch your child shine, and the secret fear whispers that their light proves you had nothing unique to give them. That you were just the empty space they grew around.

But look at the morning. The sun does not scold the earth for being dark before dawn.

It simply rises. It does not compete with the night it replaced.

It fills it. You are not the empty space.

You are the ground that held them while the light took root. The seed did not mock the soil for being silent.

It grew because the soil was there. Your silence was not a lack.

It was the holding. The light in them is not a verdict against you.

It is the harvest of your quiet keeping.