You Are Not Too Heavy To Carry

You sit on the edge of the bed, holding your breath so the mattress won't creak, convinced that your stillness is the only gift you have left to give. You are terrified that if you move, if you make a sound, you will become too heavy for them to carry.

But listen — the light does not measure your worth by how quietly you can exist. Jesus once sat in a house where a woman, known by everyone for her failures, wet his feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.

The host thought she was a burden, a disruption, a thing to be judged. But Jesus said her great love showed she understood the truth: she was not too much.

She was exactly enough. Your existence is not a debt they are paying off.

It is a presence they are holding. The light is not asking you to shrink until you disappear.

It is asking you to rest.