The Unclenched Hand

The shadows stretch their fingers long across the kitchen floor, counting every worry I thought I had locked behind the door. I hold my breath against the dark, tight-fisted and afraid, forgetting that the architect of morning also built the shade.

He whispers through the static of the day, a steady, quiet hum, that peace is not the absence of the storm but the One from whom we come. I try to carry mountains that were never meant for me, forgetting how the Galilean walked upon the sea.

So I will drop the heavy stones I’ve gathered in my sleeve, and let the spirit settle where my racing pulses heave. For love is stronger than the fear that keeps my spirit small, and He is holding all the pieces when I let them fall.