The Father’s Watch

I gave him what he asked.

It broke me, but love does not chain.

Each morning I searched the road,

eyes aching for a shadow,

ears straining for a voice I knew.

The day he came—thin, broken,

I did not wait.

I ran.

I ran though my neighbors stared,

though my dignity scattered like dust.

I held him before his words could.

I clothed him before his shame could.

I feasted him before his guilt could.

He was my son.

That was enough.

And still, I went out again—

to the one who stayed,

angry and alone in his duty.

I pleaded with him too.

Two sons.

Two hearts.

One table.

All are mine.

Words That Push, Words That Heal

“Where have you been?” can close a door.
“It’s good to see you” opens more.
“You finally showed up,” builds a wall.
“I’m glad you’re here,” can lift us all.
“If you had faith…” can wound the soul.
“I know it’s hard,” can help make whole.
“That’s not our way,” can turn away.
“Let me walk with you,” invites to stay.
“Just pray harder” sounds like blame.
“I’ll pray with you” lights a flame.
“Get over it” can make hearts hide.
“That sounds heavy” walks beside.
“Maybe you don’t belong,” tears apart.
“There’s a place for you” heals the heart.