Stop Scrubbing, He Is Already Running

The water runs cold while you rehearse the words you are too afraid to speak. You scrub the skin until it is raw, trying to wash the memory down the drain before you step out.

But the shame does not flow with the water. It clings.

In this deepest hour, when the house is silent and the weight is heaviest, hear this: the light does not need your speech to find you. It was there before the first word formed in your mind.

It is there now, in the steam and the shaking hands. You are not being graded on your apology.

You are being held in your brokenness. The Father is not waiting for you to get clean before He runs.

He is already running. Stop scrubbing.

The water cannot fix what love has already forgiven. Step out of the shower and into the arms that are already open.