The Silence Is Full of Him

The water has been running so long your hands are numb, scrubbing at a stain that won't leave. You know that the moment you turn the tap off, the roar will cease—and in that sudden quiet, the voice saying you are permanently ruined will be the only thing left to hear.

But dawn is breaking now. The gray is lifting.

And the light does not wait for the noise to stop before it enters. It slips in while the water still runs.

It sees the exhaustion in your shoulders and the fear in your grip. You are not defined by the voice that speaks in the silence.

You are defined by the One who says: your faith has healed you; go in peace. The washing was never up to you.

The stain was lifted before you started scrubbing. Turn off the tap.

The silence is not empty. It is full of the One who calls you clean.