The Light Enters Your Shake

The water runs. The lock clicks.

And in the small, tiled silence, your body shakes apart. You are not hiding from the light.

You are hiding because the shaking feels like failure. But listen.

The light does not need you to be still to be with you. It sits on the closed lid of the toilet.

It rests on the cold floor. It is not offended by the noise of your grief.

Jesus once sighed before he healed a man who could not hear. That sigh was the sound of God entering the silence of your brokenness.

He did not demand you stop shaking. He entered the shake.

The water cannot drown the presence that is already inside you. You are not alone in this room.

The light is the air you are struggling to breathe. It holds you when your knees give out.

The shaking is not the end of your story. It is the sound of the old things breaking so the new can breathe.