The Light Shines Through Your Cracks

The water is still running, but you have stopped washing. You are standing in the steam, rehearsing the story you will tell if they ever ask for details.

You are building a wall out of words, brick by careful brick, to hide the thing that is actually happening inside you. The lie feels like armor, but it is just a heavy coat you are wearing in the heat.

You think you must protect the light by covering it up. But the light does not need your defense.

It does not need your performance. It is already shining through the cracks in your excuse.

The Father is not waiting for your speech to finish. He is standing right there in the bathroom with you, in the silence between your rehearsed sentences.

He knows the details you are trying to hide, and He is not afraid of them. You do not have to be the one who holds the story together.

The truth was already holding you before you ever spoke a word.