The Light Waits Beneath the Mask

The water runs hot, but your stomach turns cold as you rehearse the new story. You are standing in the middle of the day, performing okayness while breaking inside.

The lie feels heavy, a second coat of paint over rotting wood. You think you must maintain the mask to survive the afternoon.

But the light does not need your perfection—it needs your honesty. The Father's love is not a reward for a flawless performance; it is the ground you stand on when the script falls apart.

You do not have to carry the weight of the deception one minute longer. The truth was there before the first lie, and it remains untouched beneath the water.

The mask is exhausting, but the light is already waiting for you to put it down.