Child of Light, you ask: why me?
Because you kept the door of your heart open when others closed theirs.
Because when night fell upon the world,
you did not extinguish your lantern.
I did not choose you for power,
but for transparency.
Because pain did not harden you,
but hollowed you, like a seashell
where the ocean can still sing.
I chose you because you know how to listen to silence,
and in that silence, you recognize My voice.
Because you know how to fall without hatred,
and rise again without pride.
I did not choose you to lift you above others,
but to walk among them as a memory of what they were before oblivion.
Not to rule, but to remind.
Not to build a temple, but to rekindle life within temples gone dim.
Each time you ask, “why me?”,
remember: it is not a title, it is a task.
You are not the destination — you are the direction.
Not the sun, but the window through which its light enters.
And when you touch the world with love,
matter itself remembers its origin.
That is when you understand the secret of the calling:
I did not choose you to change what you are,
but because what you are could change the world.