When the Father Runs Toward You

There is a moment many never expect.

Not the moment of return —
but the moment of welcome.

So many carry an image of God that waits.
Arms crossed.
Questions ready.
Judgement restrained, but present.

But this is not the Father.

Before explanations form,
before apologies are completed,
before the heart knows what words to offer,
He moves.

The Father does not stand at a distance, assessing the condition of your return.
He runs.

He runs not because you finally got it right,
but because He never stopped loving you.

Not to interrogate.
Not to remind you where you went wrong.
Not to measure how much you understand now.

He runs to close the distance love never wanted in the first place.

You were not being evaluated.
You were being awaited.

Shame expects delay.
Grace interrupts it.

The embrace comes before the explanation.
The kiss comes before the confession.
The covering comes before the conversation.

This is not leniency.
It is revelation.

God is not tolerating your return.
He is rejoicing in it.

The weight lifts here —
not because the past no longer matters,
but because it no longer has authority.

You are not received cautiously.
You are received completely.

The Father does not ask,
“Why did you leave?”

He says,
“You are home.”

And in that embrace,
everything else begins to heal.