The Father Ran Before You Arrived

The silence at this hour feels like a verdict. You are afraid that if you finally stop running, if you let the noise die down, you will find nothing there but your own unworthiness staring back at you.

So you keep moving. You keep the mind busy.

You keep the fear at bay with motion. But the light does not wait for you to be worthy.

It was there before the running began. There was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off.

He did not wait for the speech. He did not wait for the apology.

Before the boy could even say he was unworthy, the father ran. He ran to meet the shame before it could arrive.

The light is already in the room with you. It is not judging the silence.

It is filling it. You are not alone with your failure.

You are held by the one who ran.