Daughter

It was said that when we are young, we follow easy.

We follow voices.

Footsteps.

Crowds.

The world itself.

Some follow kindness.

Others follow fear.

Some are drawn toward the light,

while others disappear quietly into the night.

And somewhere along the way, many of us become tired.

Not always in body,

but in spirit.

We learn to hide behind appearances.

To smile while suffering.

To perform while breaking apart inside.

Walls rise around the heart.

The old temple within us begins to crack and fall,

stone by stone.

And still, beneath the rubble,

the soul searches for a way out.

For peace.

For truth.

For something that does not collapse when life does.

Then Jesus came into the world.

Not as distant thunder,

but walking among the wounded.

The forgotten.

The weary.

The afflicted.

A woman moved through the crowd quietly,

carrying years of suffering no one else could fully see.

No speech.

No spotlight.

No earthly power.

Only faith.

The smallest reach toward hope.

And when her trembling hand touched the hem of His robe,

the world seemed to stand still and watch.

Not because a crowd witnessed it,

but because He did.

“Daughter,” He said.

Not stranger.

Not outcast.

Not burden.

Daughter.

In that moment,

the walls separating suffering from peace seemed to fall away.

The broken soul was seen completely.

And somewhere beyond the noise of this world,

beyond the facades we build,

beyond the exhaustion we carry,

Christ still stands steady.

The same yesterday,

today,

and forever.

Everything else trembles.

But He does not.

Through fear and pain she reached above,

And found herself restored by love.

Maybe some of us learn sooner than others.

But sooner or later, the soul grows tired

of wandering in the dark.

---