The Light That Never Runs Dry

The house is quiet now, but the silence in your child's room is the loudest thing you have ever heard. They have stopped knocking.

They have stopped asking. Somewhere along the line, they decided that your hands were empty, that your resources were spent, that you could no longer provide what they need.

So they carry the weight alone, believing that to ask you would only be to burden you further. And you sit in the dark, aching with the knowledge that they think you have nothing left to give.

But listen — the light inside you has not run dry. It was not earned by your success, and it cannot be lost by your failure.

There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of his own making, and before the apology could even form on the boy's lips, the father ran. He did not wait for the son to prove he was worthy of help.

He ran because love does not calculate cost. That same love lives in you.

Your child may think the well is dry, but they have not seen the spring that wells up from within you, placed there by a source that never runs out. The darkness tells them you are empty.

The light knows you are not. You do not need to have all the answers or the perfect solution to be the place where they find rest.

You only need to be the one who stays. The door is not locked from your side.

And the light is still enough to show them the way back to your arms.