The Father Runs Before You Speak

The day is ending, and the armor you wore to fit in is finally heavy enough to put down. You are afraid that the questions rising in your chest will make you unlovable to the people you call home.

But the light does not require you to silence your doubts to remain at the table. There was a man who had walked away, lost in a country that did not know his name, convinced he had burned every bridge behind him.

He rehearsed a speech of apology, certain he would only be allowed to serve as a hired hand. Yet while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and ran.

The father did not wait for the perfect words. He did not inspect the son's theology before embracing him.

He simply held him. Your community may not always understand the path you are walking, but the light that binds you to them is stronger than your uncertainty.

You are not loved because you have all the answers. You are loved because you are here.