He Runs Before You Speak

The house is quiet now, and you are sitting in the dark hallway, holding your breath so you don't wake them. You are terrified that if you make a sound, or if a sliver of light escapes, they will see exactly how broken you really are.

But the light does not need you to be loud to be real. It does not need you to be whole to be present.

There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of the pig pen, still rehearsing his apology. He did not wait for the boy to clean up.

He ran. Before the speech, before the shame could be spoken, he ran.

That same love is in this hallway with you right now. It is not afraid of your brokenness.

It is not waiting for you to fix yourself before it sits beside you. You do not have to hide the cracks.

The light is already there, spilling out from under the door of your heart, and it is not trying to wake them up to your pain — it is just holding you in it.