You Are Home Before You Speak

The world asks for your output, not your presence. It measures you by what you can carry, by how much you can fix before lunch.

And when the utility fades, the terror rises: if I am not useful, am I anything at all? You wear the mask of okayness so no one sees the hollow beneath.

But the light does not need your labor. It saw the father run before the son could offer a single word of service.

The embrace happened while the boy was still empty-handed, still covered in the filth of his failure. The father did not hug him because he was useful again.

He hugged him because he was home. Your worth is not a wage you earn by being needed.

It is a fact that existed before you drew breath. The light loves you for who you are, not for what you do.

Stop performing long enough to feel the weight of being simply known.