One day, I met a man
who asked to wash my feet.
I pulled away—ashamed, defensive—
because the road I’d walked was long,
and the dirt had become a part of me.
I wore my filth like armor,
and my “no” was steady, heavy, concrete.
But He simply knelt and whispered,
“Let me wash your feet.
I can make you clean.
I’ve waited for you longer than you’ve known Me.
I’ve seen every road you chose to run down,
every detour, every dark place.
Sit with Me.
Rest with Me.
Let Me make you whole again.











