Hold The Light

Sometimes the holiest thing you can do isn’t quoting scripture from a mountaintop, performing grand gestures, or writing long philosophical essays about “finding yourself.”

Sometimes? The holiest thing you can do is just show up. Sit next to someone in the dark and hold the light for them — even if all you have is a flickering, half-dead candle you found in your junk drawer.

Because let’s be real: life isn’t always a polished Instagram highlight reel or a motivational LinkedIn post about “trusting the process.” Sometimes the process is messy. Sometimes it looks like crying into a bowl of cereal at midnight because your job ghosted you after seven interviews. Sometimes it looks like scrolling through old photos, wondering if you peaked in 2012.

We’ve all been there. In those moments, you don’t need someone to fix it. You don’t need someone to throw glittery quotes at you like emotional confetti. You just need someone who says, “Hey. I’m here. I brought snacks. And yes, you can ugly cry as much as you want.”

Maybe your friend doesn’t believe in themselves right now. Maybe they can’t remember how strong, brilliant, and wildly funny they really are. And maybe they’re stuck in a loop of “I’m not enough,” replaying in their head like a broken pop song from the early 2000s.

That’s when you become the temporary keeper of their light. You stand there, holding it like a slightly confused but determined lighthouse operator. You wave it around and say, “Look! I still see you. You’re still here. You’re still magic — even if you can’t feel it today.”

And you don’t have to do it perfectly. You don’t need to deliver a TED Talk about resilience. You don’t need to solve all their problems with one grand speech. Maybe you just need to show up with pizza, sit on their floor, and watch reruns of trashy reality TV while whispering, “You’re going to be okay. Probably. Eventually. But for now… pass the chips.”

Sometimes you might feel like you have nothing to offer — like your own light is so dim it might go out at any moment. But somehow, when you hold it for someone else, it gets brighter. You remind them they are not alone. And in the process, you remind yourself too.

You see, that’s the plot twist no one tells you about healing and faith and all those big words we like to toss around in motivational speeches: we don’t have to do it alone. We’re meant to take turns holding the light.

So if today you find yourself with a tiny spark left, and someone you love is stuck in the dark, lend it to them. Stand next to them. Crack a joke. Bring them water. Tell them about the time you accidentally emailed your boss a cat meme instead of your quarterly report.

Be the messy, funny, beautiful human lighthouse you are.

Because one day, they’ll find their light again. And when they do, they’ll remember you — the friend who didn’t fix it all, but who sat there, held the light, and reminded them they were never truly lost.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the holiest thing you’ll ever do.