Sometimes I tiptoe through the hallway, reaching for the doorknob as though I might make too much noise. Not because You’re far away, but because I want the moment to feel sacred—to remember that love is worth anticipating.
I close the door behind me, and there You are.
Not waiting with folded arms, but with open hands, inviting me into the lovely dance we’ve always known—sometimes in stillness, sometimes hand in hand, always heart to heart.
Your love never rushes me. It has nowhere else to be. It is steadfast, unwavering, stronger than death itself, gentler than the morning light.
So sometimes I tiptoe through the hallway and pause before I enter, just to treasure the gift of longing, to let my heart remember that every step toward You is already being met by the One who has never stopped coming toward me.
And when the door finally closes, I don’t enter an empty room. I enter the embrace of the One who has been waiting all along.
Thank You for always being there. Jesus, best friend, first love.
