The Light That Kneels To Wash

The voice rises just a fraction, and your shoulders jump before your mind can catch up. Your body remembers the last time you disappointed them, and it flinches to protect you again.

You spend the morning wearing a mask that says you are fine, while inside you are bracing for impact. But notice this — the light does not raise its voice to make you obey.

It sighs before it speaks. It kneels to wash the dirt from your feet, not to strike you.

The God you are performing for is not the God who is actually with you. The One who knows your name calls you by it gently, not to shame you, but to wake you up from the deep sleep of fear.

You are safe here. The mask can come down.