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But Dust

 In my mind's eye I can see his feet, kicking up dust as he walked the roads and hillsides of Israel.  Jesus, God in Flesh. Toes coated with layers of places he'd been to heal and preach.  Places he wrote in the dirt with his finger to rescue a woman from her accusers.  Dirt from places he had spit into and rubbed to make a mask to heal the eyes of a blind man.  Dust he had spoke the very atoms that formed each grain into existence.  The very dust and dirt he had reached into and formed a real man, crafting each cell, particle, molecule, curve, and crevice.  Dust He'd breathed eternity into.   Dust that he knew would rise up to curse him, but he molded, he breathed, and now he walked among us.    As John wrote:  "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being. " As the God man now walked

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