The Light Runs to Meet You

The house is quiet now, and the mask you wore all day feels heavy enough to crush you. You sit in the gathering dark, convinced that if they saw the cracks, the love would vanish.

You believe you are an impostor in your own life, waiting for the moment they revoke their welcome. But there is a Father who saw his son coming home from a long way off — filthy, broken, rehearsing a speech of shame.

He did not wait for the apology. He ran.

The light does not inspect you for flaws before it embraces you — it runs to meet you exactly as you are. Your brokenness is not a barrier to love; it is the very thing the light rushes toward.

You do not have to earn your place at this table. The feast was prepared before you even walked through the door.