AT 7:14 A.M THE LIGHT WOKE ME UP BEFORE THE WORLD DID

The sun found me again, Even though I wasn’t ready to be found. It cut through the blinds, deliberate lines, striped my skin like reminders of the world I don’t feel a part of today. The warmth feels almost intrusive, like it’s pulling me out of the quiet I built in my head overnight.

The sheets are heavy, but not because of their weight. It’s the weight of my body, my mind, the way they both feel rooted to this mattress, as if the day might swallow me whole if I dare to stand. The paintings in the corner, bright, alive, demanding and staring back at me like I’m failing them. Like I’m failing myself.

I breathe, slowly, waiting for something to shift. Maybe the light will convince me to move. Maybe it won’t. Today, I can’t tell if the sun is saving me or exposing me.

But I stay. I stare at the ceiling and I wait because sometimes surviving the morning is the only art I can manage to make.

Answer to the Morning

“ The light shines in darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” —John 1:15

The sun did not come to expose you, it came to remind you. Those lines of gold across your skin are not condemnations, but proof that even now, heaven still chooses to reach for you. You are not forgotten in this stillness. The sheets may feel heavy and your thoughts, heavier, but there is one who carries what you cannot. “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Mathew 11:28). Rest doesn’t always mean rising. Sometimes its simply letting His presence meet you where you are, on the mattress beneath the shadows with the paintings slightly waiting. You are not failing. Not yourself, not your purpose. This breath you’re taking is still part of the plan “ His mercies are new every morning; Great is His faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:23)

Let the light touch you not to pull you out too soon, but to remind you that the morning has already been redeemed. Even here, in the waiting, you are held.