Open Your Hands to the Light

The sun is up. The light is here.

But your hands are clenched so tight around this new morning that you cannot feel its warmth. You are holding your breath, waiting for the sky to fall, convincing yourself that if you brace hard enough, you can stop the good thing from vanishing.

But the light does not need your grip to stay. It simply shines.

There was a man who sat in the shade of a plant he did not grow, a gift he did not earn, and he was upset when it withered. He missed the point.

The gift was the shade, not the permanent possession of the plant. You are doing the same.

You are mourning the end of the day before it has even begun. The Father knows you need this breath.

This light. This moment.

It is given for today, not for hoarding. The anxiety you feel is the shadow of a future that has not arrived, stealing the reality that is here right now.

Look at your hands. Open them.

The light was never something you could hold anyway. It is something you stand in.