The Light Does Not Wait for Clean

The water is running, but you are standing still, paralyzed by the weight of your own body. You feel that needing help to wash is a failure, a stripping away of the dignity you thought you owned.

But look at the light coming through the window — it does not ask the earth to earn its warmth before it shines. It simply arrives.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, covered in the filth of a life wasted, and he ran. Before the apology, before the speech — he ran.

He did not wait for the son to clean himself up. The hands that help you are not a judgment on your weakness.

They are the light made flesh, kneeling to do what love has always done. You are not a burden to be carried.

You are the beloved being washed.