LIVING TRUTH, WOUNDED LOVE

LIVING TRUTH, WOUNDED LOVE

There is a silence

that calls itself wisdom—

a still, polished thing

untouched by risk,

untouched by tears.

It speaks in finished sentences,

walks on unbroken ground,

and never falls—

because it never moves.

But beneath its certainty

there is no pulse,

no trembling,

no life.

Only truth—

already buried.

—

Then there is love.

Uncertain,

unarmed,

stepping forward

without guarantee.

It reaches—

and sometimes misses.

It speaks—

and sometimes fails.

It gives—

and is not returned.

Love breaks.

Love bleeds.

Love is misunderstood.

Yet even its wounds

are breathing.

Even its failures

are seeds.

—

Who, then, is the hero?

Not the one crowned by victory,

nor the voice that conquers the room.

Not the mind that wins the argument

while the heart remains untouched.

No—

The hero is the one

who dares to love

without armor,

without certainty,

without escape.

The one who falls forward

into truth

still becoming.

—

For everything touched by love

refuses to stay dead.

Even loss begins to stir.

Even sorrow remembers light.

Even the cross—

that final collapse—

becomes a doorway

no grave can close.

—

So walk—

even if you stumble.

Speak—

even if your voice shakes.

Love—

even if it costs you

everything you hoped to keep.

For better the broken path

that breathes with life

than the perfect road

that leads nowhere.

—

In the end,

it will not be the flawless

who awaken the world—

but the wounded,

the striving,

the ones who loved

enough

to risk being wrong

and in that risk

became alive. 

Steven G. Lee 

May 5, 2026