Love Runs Before You Apologize

The house is quiet now, but your mind is loud with the replay of what you said. You are convinced that your anger was a fire hot enough to burn the bridge behind you, leaving you stranded on the other side, alone.

You feel like an orphan of your own making, certain that the light has turned its back on your rage. But listen — the Father who saw the son while he was still a long way off did not wait for the apology to start running.

He ran before the speech began. Your anger is real, and it is heavy, but it is not stronger than the love that holds you.

The connection was never dependent on your perfect temper. It was dependent on a love that refuses to let go, even when you push.

You are not cut off. You are being chased down.