The Light Runs Toward Your Brokenness

The day is ending, and the armor you wore for twelve hours finally feels too heavy to carry another minute. You are terrified that if you take it off, if you let the mask slip, everyone will see just how broken you really are.

You believe your damage is too deep, too jagged, too much for anyone to love. But listen — the light does not run from the broken parts; it runs toward them.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, covered in the filth of his own mistakes, and before the boy could even finish his apology, the father ran to him. He did not ask for the mask to be fixed first.

He did not wait for the shame to be cleaned up. He ran.

The light has never been afraid of your cracks — it was made to shine through them. You are not too damaged to be held; you are exactly the kind of broken the light was waiting for.