A Lamp in the Ache

Matthew 5:16

“Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”

I keep returning to this verse—not for its simplicity, but for its cost.
Jesus doesn’t ask me to perform goodness.
He asks me to live in a way that reveals the Father.
Not just to speak truth, but to embody it.
Not just to name God, but to express Him.

That word—Father—still catches in my throat.
It’s not a metaphor here.
It’s a claim.
A naming of who I am, even when I forget.
A reminder that I belong, even when I feel cast out.

The light He speaks of isn’t mine to manufacture.
It’s something I carry because I’ve been lit from within.
Sometimes that light feels dim—
clouded by grief, fatigue, the ache of unresolved stories.
But even then, it shines.
Even then, it speaks.

I think of the good works not as achievements,
but as the quiet ways I try to stay faithful—
holding space for others,
telling the truth when it costs me,
refusing to pretend when presence is what’s needed.

When others see that—when they glimpse God in it—
that’s glory.
Not applause.
Not recognition.
Just God, no longer hidden.

I want to live like that.
Not to be seen,
but so that others might see Him.

A city on a hill.
A lamp in a house.
Not loud, but unmistakable.

I pray my life becomes that kind of light—
not polished, not perfect,
but present.
A light that doesn’t point to me,
but to the Father who still calls me His.