Let the ice break inside you

The water has turned cold, but you stand still, afraid that if the heat touches your skin, your body will finally remember how to shake. You have been holding your breath all day, performing the act of being okay while the weight grew heavier in your chest.

But the light does not require you to stay rigid to be held. There was a man who carried a broken body for thirty-eight years beside a pool, waiting for the water to move, convinced he had to fix himself before he could be well.

The light walked straight to him—not to the ones who were ready, but to the one who was stuck—and asked if he wanted to get well. It did not wait for him to stand up on his own.

It told him to rise. The shaking is not a failure of your faith.

It is the ice breaking. Let the hot water hit you.

Let the tears come. The light is not afraid of your tremor.

It is strong enough to hold you while you fall apart.