Grace Kneeling Beside Your Weakness

The water is hot on your hands, and the room is spinning just enough to make you grip the edge of the sink. You are washing the dinner plates while pretending you aren't dizzy from hunger, acting as if the emptiness in your stomach is just a detail you can ignore.

But the light does not ask you to stand on your own strength when your knees are shaking. It sees the tremor in your hands and it does not turn away.

There is a grace that waits for you to stop performing, a mercy that is entirely yours to keep you from falling apart right here in the kitchen. You do not have to finish the dishes to be held.

The light is not waiting for you to be strong; it is already kneeling beside you in your weakness.