The Father Ran Before You Spoke

The afternoon sun is high, and the requests keep coming. One more thing.

One more yes. You say it because you are terrified that if you stop, the mask will slip and they will see the fraud underneath.

You think your value is in your availability. That if you become inconvenient, the love will vanish.

But the light does not love you for your exhaustion. It loves you because you are its own.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off. He ran.

Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. The father did not wait for the son to prove he was worthy.

The love was already there, waiting in the road. Your 'no' is not a rejection of them.

It is a boundary that protects the light inside you from being smothered. If they withdraw when you stop performing, they were never holding you anyway.

They were holding your service. The light stays.

The light knows the real you. And the real you is allowed to be tired.