In the quiet hush of a twilight that settles over the earth, I find myself remembering that we all walk in our own small, dim rooms, sometimes unaware of the shadows that cling to our thoughts and actions, yet often we know them, the way a lingering scent of smoke can signal that a fire has burned behind a closed door.
In that dimness, the mind, weary from the weight of its own hidden missteps, resists the gentle, beckoning pull of light, for fear that the honest illumination will expose the cracks, the small acts of neglect, the ways we have bent the truth like a broken twig.
But what if we invited that light with open arms, trusting that its warmth does not burn but heals, that its brilliance does not judge but lifts, revealing the hidden heart, not as a harsh mirror, but as a loving lens that sees our true worth beyond the surface?
In such light, each of our imperfect deeds can be carried gently into the day, not as a confession of failure but as a stepping stone toward growth. The presence of that divine light is no longer a threat but a companion, an invitation to become more authentic, more compassionate, and more aligned with the truth we hold deep within us.
Imagine the relief of standing in that gentle illumination, where the past, no longer a shadow, meets the present, not as a judgment but as a gentle reminder that we are loved, that we are allowed to grow.
In that moment, our faith is not merely a faith in a distant promise but a living, breathing trust in the light that shows us how we are meant to be, and how, with God’s mercy, our hearts can be continually renewed, so we may walk, in confidence, into the rest of the day and beyond.