He Ran Before You Were Worthy

The silence from their room feels like a wall you cannot climb, a permanent distance that settles in your bones while the house sleeps. You lie here rehearsing conversations that never happen, terrified that the indifference you see tonight is the final truth of who they are to you.

But listen — there was a father who saw his son coming home from a long way off, still covered in the filth of his own choices. Before the apology, before the speech, before any change had occurred — he ran.

He did not wait for the wall to come down. He did not wait for the boy to become worthy again.

He ran while the distance was still real. The light inside you is not dependent on their response.

It is the same light that lived in Jesus, and it cannot be broken by their silence or your fear. You are holding a love that is stronger than the coldness you feel right now.

The wall is not permanent. The running has already begun.