He Ran While You Were Still Broken

The house is quiet now, and in this silence, the fear speaks loudest. It whispers that if you stay exactly as you are — broken, tired, unchanged — everyone you love will eventually walk away.

That your weight is too much for anyone to carry forever. But listen — there is a Father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of the pig pen, and he ran.

He did not wait for the boy to clean up. He did not wait for a promise to be better.

He ran while the shame was still fresh. The light does not love you because you are fixed; it loves you because you are there.

You are not a burden to be carried until the carrier breaks. You are the place where the light has chosen to live.

The terror says you must change to be kept. The truth says you are kept so that you can change.