20h • ✍️ Daily Write
Borrowed Light
The moon wasn’t dramatic that night.
No omen.
No silver prophecy hanging in the sky.
Just there.
Unbothered.
Still doing its job.
I remember thinking how unfair that felt.
How everything in me was fraying
and the moon kept showing up
like nothing had changed.
I was tired in a way sleep doesn’t touch.
Not sad exactly.
More… emptied out.
Like I had carried meaning for so long
my hands forgot what it felt like to be open.
Giving up didn’t look like despair.
It looked like efficiency.
Like finally setting something heavy down
and calling it wisdom.
The moon said nothing.
But it also didn’t turn away.
It kept its distance.
Didn’t rush me.
Didn’t try to convince me of anything.
Just stayed in its place
quiet witness to a man learning how to disappear.
I noticed how it reflected a light
that wasn’t its own.
How it didn’t apologize for that.
Didn’t pretend to be the source.
Didn’t disappear because it wasn’t enough.
It simply received.
And gave back what it could.
That’s when it hit me.
Maybe endurance isn’t loud.
Maybe faith isn’t certainty.
Maybe survival isn’t about finding the strength to shine
but about staying positioned
long enough
to reflect what hasn’t left you yet.
I didn’t feel rescued.
I didn’t feel brave.
But I stayed.
And sometimes that’s the holiest act there is.
Later, I’d remember these words,
“The moon will not harm you by night.”
(Psalm 121:6)
Not because it explains anything.
But because it names what I experienced.
Protection doesn’t always feel like intervention.
Sometimes it feels like being kept
when nothing else is holding you.
The moon didn’t save me.
It didn’t have to.
It just reminded me
that even borrowed light
is still light.
And that night,
it was enough.
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Borrowed Light
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