Light that reaches you only because something stands in the way.

Beauty created by obstruction, not absence.

I’ve been thinking about that kind of light lately—the kind that doesn’t arrive freely or fully, the kind that has to pass through branches, through resistance, through layers of things that slow it down.

Komorebi is the Japanese word for sunlight filtering through trees.

It’s not light in its purest, unobstructed form.

It’s light shaped by what interrupts it.

And somehow, that’s what makes it beautiful.

We often believe light should come easily. That if something blocks it, then something must be wrong. That shadows mean failure, delay, or loss.

But komorebi tells a different story.

Sometimes the very thing standing in the way is what makes the light visible.

Without the branches, the glow would pass unnoticed.

Without the interruption, there would be no pattern, no softness, no moment to pause and look.

Life feels like that too.

We want clarity without complication. Healing without detours. Joy without carrying the weight of what came before it. But so much of the beauty we recognize now only exists because something stood in the way—grief, waiting, unanswered prayers, seasons that bent us instead of blessing us.

And still, the light found its way through.

Not harsh.

Not blinding.

But gentle. Filtered. Kind enough to linger.

There’s something tender about komorebi light. It doesn’t demand attention. It doesn’t overwhelm. It rests quietly where it lands, leaving traces that remind us: even here, even now, something good is present.

Maybe what you’re facing isn’t blocking the light after all.

Maybe it’s shaping it.

Maybe the patience you’ve learned, the empathy you now carry, the way you notice small mercies—those didn’t come from open skies alone. They came from standing under branches and learning to look up anyway.

Komorebi doesn’t erase the obstacle.

It honors it.

It says: this mattered too.

And maybe that’s the quiet hope we need—that the things that slowed us down, shadowed us, or made the path harder did not cancel the beauty. They created a different kind of glow.

One that feels earned.

One that stays.

Light still reaches you.

Not in spite of what stands in the way—

but because of it.

I stood where the light fell and met God there.

Until next time,