I had a dream last night that I met Jesus.
I had so longed to look into His eyes.
And finally, there I was, face to face with Him.
I looked deep into His eyes.
I smiled and I cried.
There was love.
There was mercy.
There was peace.
It was awesome.
Then I realized something,
something that I think I knew
deep down in my heart,
but never in my mind.
I had seen those eyes before.
I had seen those very same eyes
a thousand times over, everyday of my life.
I had seen His eyes in the eyes of my parents,
in the eyes of my wife, in my children,
in my friends, in my students,
and even in strangers
in the store and on the street.
I was never alone.
I was never not in His sight.
He always saw me with His eyes,
eyes of love, mercy, peace, and awe.
I reached for His hand.
I had so longed to hold His hand.
Finally, there I was, touching Him.
He was holding me, and I was holding Him,
hand in hand.
I held His hand firmly.
I cried and I smiled.
There was hope.
There was acceptance.
There was friendship.
It was awesome.
Then I realized something,
something that I think I knew
deep down in my soul,
but never in my mind.
I had held those hands before.
I had held those very same hands
a thousand times over, everyday of my life.
I had held His hands when I held
my parent’s hands when I was learning to walk,
my wife’s hands as we fell in love,
my children’s hands when I taught them to walk.
My friends’ hands and my students’ hands
were His hands when they held mine
in moments of sorrow,
in moments of joy,
in moments of hope.
A stranger’s hand was His hand
when extended in a moment of welcome.
I was never alone.
I was never not within His reach.
He always touched me with His hands,
hands of hope, acceptance, friendship, and awe.
I pulled His hand close and opened it.
I saw my name written in His palm.
He had never forgotten me,
never abandoned me.
How could He?
I was in the palm of His hand.
I saw the names of my parents,
the names of my wife and children.
I saw the names of all my friends and students.
I saw millions upon millions of names
all written in the palm of His hand,
each and every name loving written in fine detail.
He knew and loved each person
by name, by sight, by touch, by heart.
There I was, my name,
written in the palm of His hand,
inscribed within His glory,
within the wound from a nail.