Recognition

Notes from the Hollow Bone | Entry fifty-seven

For the longest time, I thought the miracle was arrival.

Finding the place.
Finding the peace.
Finding the life that finally felt like my own.

I know differently now.

Arrival was only the introduction.

Recognition...

that was the miracle.

Because recognition asks nothing of us.

It doesn't require an explanation.

It doesn't ask us to become more worthy.

It simply whispers,

"There you are."

Perhaps that is why I never tire of the morning light.

It isn't because each sunrise is different.

It is because each sunrise feels like meeting an old friend who has never forgotten my name.

Morning and I have stopped introducing ourselves.

Not because the wonder has faded.

Because it has deepened.

The first sunrise filled me with awe.

The three hundredth filled me with something quieter.

Trust.

Love has a curious way of doing that.

It doesn't become less extraordinary with time.

It becomes more familiar.

And somehow...

more sacred.

I have spent much of my life feeling overlooked.

Misunderstood.

Trying to explain myself.

Trying to fit into rooms that never quite recognized who I was.

Then one day, I walked into a house that seemed to know me before I knew it.

The trees never asked who I was.

The wind never questioned whether I belonged.

The dawn never required an introduction.

Neither did God.

Perhaps recognition has always sounded like this.

Not applause.

Not certainty.

Not even understanding.

Just the quiet peace of no longer needing to explain why your soul feels at home.

Maybe heaven is not only a place we hope to enter one day.

Maybe there are moments here, on earth...

when creation looks back at us

and simply says,

"Welcome home."

🤍

With Grace & Ink,
Mai