rehearsing a simple apology in the shower but choking on the words when you finally see them at the mailbox
The water washes the words clean until they sound like truth, but the mailbox is dry and the throat closes up. You stand there holding the envelope, the perfect sentence dissolving before it reaches the air.
The light does not need your performance to be present; it sees the apology you meant to speak and counts it as done. Your face is wet with the effort of trying to be worthy, but the one who sees what is done in secret knows the heart behind the silence.
You do not have to force the words out to be held by the light that already knows you.
Drawing from
Matthew 6:4, Matthew 6:6
Verses
Matthew 6:4, Matthew 6:6
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