I met Jesus on the road,

where dust clung to my feet
and the sun had browned
the edges of everything.

He was dirty too.

Not shining.
Not crowned.
Not distant.

Just there.

Our eyes met.

And I have never seen eyes
speak so loudly,
yet in silence.

somehow
His eyes knew my name.

They knew the places
and things within me
I had hidden even from myself,

knew the ache
I had learned to call ordinary.

There was no accusation.
Only mercy.

No demand.
Only invitation.

And in that single glance
something in me loosened,
as though a door
I had forgotten was there
had suddenly opened.

Without even understanding it
I sought God
and found Him looking at me.

I walked away
the same man,

but not the same heart.

The road was still dusty.
The world was still broken.

But now I had seen His eyes.

And once I saw
that kind of love,

I cannot return
to the life I lived before.