Bread broken on a dusty road.

A stranger walks alongside, asking questions.

He opens Scripture—not to impress, but to reveal.

And in the quiet moment of sharing a meal, eyes are opened. Hearts burn.

Not because the moment was emotional.

Not because the road was easy.

But because Jesus was near.

And when He’s near, something changes.

In the story of the road to Emmaus, comfort meets presence—Jesus walks beside those who are discouraged, confused, and heading the wrong way. The disciples had hoped He would redeem Israel, and when it didn’t unfold the way they imagined, they started walking away from Jerusalem—away from the pain, back toward comfort.

But Jesus met them right there. Not to explain everything right away, but to walk with them.

He listened. He opened Scripture. He broke bread. And suddenly, they recognized Him. Their only response? “Weren’t our hearts burning within us?” It wasn’t clarity that stirred them—it was communion. He was with them, and that changed everything.

That burning in our hearts doesn’t come from mimicking someone else’s faith. It comes from walking with Jesus ourselves.

We can’t wear someone else’s story. We can’t steal their anointing. God has something personal to give you—your own walk, your own way of knowing Him. But it requires turning your gaze toward Him, spending time in His word, and being willing to decrease so He can increase.

The world is noisy. Opinions fly, outrage simmers, and everyone seems to be shouting. The real question is: are our hearts still burning for Jesus, or have we shifted our gaze?

⸻

This theme echoes all through Scripture—from Genesis to Revelation. In Daniel’s vision, he sees a day when those who sleep in the dust will awake—some to everlasting life, some to separation. It’s a sobering image, but one filled with clarity and purpose.

There is a coming resurrection. There is a life beyond this one.

Resurrection hope speaks to the deepest parts of our story. Revelation declares that death will be defeated, the faithful will shine like stars, and God will dwell with us face to face.

⸻

But here’s the tension: the invitation is wide, but it’s not casual.

Jesus told a story about a wedding feast. The banquet was ready. The invitations had gone out. But when people showed up, one man wasn’t dressed for the occasion.

It’s not that he wasn’t welcome. He just didn’t wear what was provided.

That wedding garment matters. It’s a picture of being clothed in Christ—of receiving what only He can give. We don’t get to decide the terms. Jesus provides the garment. Our role is to say yes, to put it on, to walk in it every day.

What areas of your life are still yours alone?

Where have you said yes to the invitation, but not yet changed your clothes?

⸻

Sometimes we treat the gospel like something we accepted once, long ago. But devotion is a posture. It’s a heart that bends low, not out of fear, but out of awe. It’s coming back to Jesus, again and again, and saying, “You are Lord. All I am is Yours.”

And in that surrender, we’re made ready. Scripture says the bride makes herself ready. Not because she earned her place at the table, but because she received what was given—clean linen, bright with the righteousness of Christ, stitched with daily obedience, hidden acts of faithfulness, and trust in the unseen.

⸻

This life carries a unique gift: the chance to worship through pain, to trust in uncertainty, and to follow Jesus in a world that struggles to see Him.

In eternity, there will be no more tears, betrayal, or weariness. But here, we get the chance to say, “Even in this—I’m still with You.”

And one day, we’ll hear Him say, “I know. I saw you. You made yourself ready.”

“Let us rejoice and be glad and give Him glory,

for the wedding of the Lamb has come,

and His bride has made herself ready.” (Revelation 19)

That’s where we’re headed: a wedding, a reunion, a new heaven and a new earth.

Until then, we live with a steady, blazing hope.

From dust… to glory.

Reflection Questions

• Where is your gaze fixed right now—on what’s seen, or on the One who is unseen?

• In what ways are you walking your own walk with Jesus, not copying someone else’s?

• What part of your life still belongs only to you—and not yet to Him?

• Are you wearing the garment Jesus has offered, or are you still holding onto your own?

• What would it look like to live ready—not rushed, but willing, expectant, awake?