The Father Runs Before You Speak

The night is quiet now, and the only sound is the loud, terrifying rhythm of your own doubt. It whispers that this uncertainty is proof you are broken beyond repair, that your confusion makes you unworthy of the love you seek.

But listen — the light does not require your certainty to stay. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of his mistakes, still rehearsing a speech about how he didn't deserve to be called a son.

The father did not wait for the apology to finish. He ran.

Before the words were clean, before the doubt was resolved, he ran. Your doubt is not a wall that keeps the love out.

It is simply the dark room where the light is learning to shine. The terror tells you that you must be sure to be loved.

The truth is that you are loved so you can be unsure. The light is not afraid of your questions.