The Light Lives in the Silence

You heard the recording tonight and flinched at how flat it sounded, how foreign compared to the warmth you remember from childhood. The voice on the tape feels like a stranger, thin and hollow, nothing like the one inside your head.

But the light does not live in the recording. It lives in the silence between the words, in the breath you took before you spoke.

Jesus sighed before he spoke healing, a deep sound of feeling that no machine could ever capture. That sigh was the truth of him, not the volume or the tone.

You are judging a shadow and missing the substance. The voice you hate is just the echo; the love that moved it is the real thing.

The recording cannot hold the light that was speaking through you.