The Light Waits For You To Be Real

The morning light hits the face you have already painted for the world. You smile at the breakfast table, but inside, you are terrified that your cracks are teaching your children how to break.

You worry that your silence, your tired eyes, the weight you carry is damaging them in ways you cannot fix. But the light does not need a perfect parent to shine through the home.

It was there before your first mistake, and it is there now, underneath the fear. There is a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of his failures, and he ran.

Before the apology, before the explanation — he ran. The light in your children is not waiting for you to be whole; it is waiting for you to be real.

Your brokenness is not the lesson they are learning; your love is.