Toxic friends. Toxic family.

Toxic pews. Toxic paychecks.

Different rooms, same forgetting —

souls that no longer knew their own names.

Before once-perfect humanity was evicted from the Garden,

we were not strangers to God.

We were family —

walking in the cool of the day,

known, and knowing we were known.

Who told us who we were?

— Everyone who pridefully attempts to dethrone and imitate the one and-only Holy One.

And whose voices did we allow to live rent-free inside our heads?

— Every self-centered voice we were afraid to disappoint.

We bent ourselves into rooms that were never shaped for us.

Smiled when we wanted to speak.

Shrunk our calling down to fit

whatever kept the peace with everyone but ourselves.

And what did that cost us?

— Our dreams. Our direction. Our names.

Confusion is just identity wearing someone else's face.

Chasing approval will always look like a road,

but it's a maze —

and mazes don't lead anywhere but back to yourselves, lost.

So who are we now?

— Known. Chosen. Called.

No longer bent toward every voice in the room —

only The Holy One who designed and defined us.

So we chose the Light —

not to ignore the brokenness in the world,

but to remind it

who it was before it forgot.

We are the Light of the Lord

in every room that lost its way home —

because we finally found ours.

©2026 Cynth'ya Lewis-Reed, a.k.a. #ReedismXYZ