The Stain on the Wall: Overcoming the Fear of Scarcity | Petals of Pause

 

The Stain on the Wall ⚓️🧱

I scrubbed until my hands were weary, trying to erase the evidence of a sudden heat. But the brick is honest— it drinks what it is given.

We fear the blemish, the permanent mark, the story we didn't mean to write on the surface. But perhaps the wall isn't ruined; perhaps it is just seasoned.

Some stains aren't there to shame the house, but to prove it was standing when the world decided to be loud.

I saw the way they held it—

fingers white-knuckled around the "just in case."

I learned to fear the empty cupboard,

the drying well, the sudden frost.

But as I scrub this wall, I see:

My hands are not meant for clenching.

They are meant for sowing.

The stain is a memory of a famine long gone,

but the Sanctuary is a harvest

that is only just beginning.