Question

It is not a tether
nor a fence built of rules to keep you in
It is the wide unmapped field
where you are finally allowed to breathe
It doesn’t arrive like a thunderclap
demanding your attention
but rather like the morning light
quiet, persistent
finding the cracks in the shutters
until the room is no longer dark
You cannot outrun it
You can drive into the desert
turn off the headlights
and sit in the hollow silence of your own making
yet the air you breathe is still his
and the ground beneath you
remains steady under the weight of your doubt
It is a love that does not keep a ledger
It doesn't count the times you looked away
or the years you spent building walls
It simply waits
like a shoreline for the tide
ready to receive everything you are
the broken pieces the sharp edges
the parts you tried to hide
and wash them clean in the salt of his grace
It is not a prize to be earned
or a wage for being good
It is the inheritance of the weary
the gravity that pulls the wandering home
the only thing in this shifting world
that will not
cannot
let you go