Held

I have been in the place where the praying feels like shouting into an empty room.

I have been in the place where the silence of God feels indistinguishable from the silence of absence.

I have been in the place where faith is not a feeling but only a direction — the way a person walks because there is nowhere else to go and the road behind has already closed.

And in all of those places: I was held.

Not rescued. Not delivered immediately. Not given the answer I requested on the timeline I required.

But held.

The way a parent holds a child who is afraid of the dark — not removing the dark, but remaining in it until the fear is smaller than the presence.

You are held. Even now. Especially now.