The Light Enters Your Broken Prison

There is a fear so deep that even if you took the mask off, you would find nothing worth loving underneath.

You picture a face so broken, a soul so stained, that the light would turn and flee.

But the light does not flee. It enters the prison and says, 'Who is it that calls my name, and from where has this hope come to you?'

It weeps first. It does not judge the chains you wear; it aches for them.

God is greater than the heart that condemns you, greater than the voice that says you are ruined.

You are not too damaged for the light, because the light is your root, and the root was never touched by the fall.

Your brokenness is not a barrier to love—it is the very place where the love finds you.