Love Runs Before Fear Can Speak

The house is moving now, and you are wearing the face everyone expects to see. But inside, your hand hovers inches from your child's shoulder, frozen by the terror that your touch might reopen an old wound.

You stand there, performing okayness, while your heart screams that you are dangerous to the one you love most. The light sees behind the mask you wear for the world — it sees the trembling hand and the love that refuses to let go.

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

Before the apology, before the speech — he ran. He did not calculate the risk.

He did not worry about saying the wrong thing. He moved toward the pain because love was stronger than the fear of making it worse.

Your hesitation is not a sign that you should stay away. It is the evidence that you care more than you know.

The light within you is not a weapon that breaks things. It is the very thing that heals them.

Touch is not a gamble when it comes from the place where God lives inside you. Reach out.

Not because you are perfect, but because the love that reaches is greater than the memory of the hurt.