The Light Kneels Beside You

The water has run cold, and the steam has faded, and you are still standing there—wrapped in a towel, shaking, unable to make your hands move. The shame is a heavy coat you cannot take off.

It whispers that needing help to wash your own skin makes you less than human. But listen.

The light does not turn away from the wet floor or the trembling hands. It kneels beside you.

There is a basin in the room you cannot see, and the One who washed the dust from his friends' feet is not disgusted by your need. He is ready with the towel.

You do not have to be strong enough to stand alone. You only have to let the water touch you.

The love that holds you is not afraid of your weakness.