Shadows Cannot Stain the Light

You woke up gasping, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The shame feels wet and heavy on your skin, the ghost of a conversation that never happened burning in your throat.

You said things in the dark that you would never say in the light. You feel exposed, even though the room is empty.

But listen — the dream was a shadow, and shadows cannot stain the light. The Father who sees you right now, in this trembling silence, knows the difference between a nightmare and your heart.

He does not hold you accountable for the fiction your fear invented while you slept. There is no accusation here.

Only a quiet presence, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for your breathing to slow. The shame is a lie told by the dark.

The truth is that you are still loved, exactly as you are in this moment.