Feet

Some people will cringe at the title of this post. I know this, because I have this friend who harbours a deep and passionate hatred for feet. This used to really bother me in winter, because I think the most efficient way to warm toes when you've got poor circulation is to casually slip them underneath someone's legs while sitting on the couch. When I'd do this, my friend would generally make a threat about ending our friendship. She never did though, I think it's because I had pristine feet back then. Beautiful, consistently clean, tan-line free, sweet sweet feet. Either that or she liked me because I'm a solid 7.5/10 friend most days. 

Here, the soles of my feet are a 72% cocoa Whittakers Dark Ghana by the end of each day. I suspect they don't taste as good. They're covered in the dust of the day, much like my heart and my head are after a standard day in Cambodia. I have to be careful not to step in wet patches on the floor when I get home, or there will be a trail up the eight flights of stairs it takes to get to my room. 

So I get up to my bathroom, and I turn on the tap. I rinse my feet off, try to get just the right amount of soap involved so I don't slip on the tiles, and I pat them dry with a towel. All this to say that I have a new appreciation for washing my feet. And for all that it means for me here. Want to know why? Well you're here now, and you've wasted at least two minutes reading the above rambles about things you probably don't enjoy focussing on, so you may as well see these thoughts through to the end. 

In the lead up to Easter, as I watched the dirt of the day circle down the drain, I started to think about what it meant when Jesus washed his disciples feet. I went to a Christian school, and we talked a lot about servant leadership. But I think I took the concept for granted, because my feet were always clean and I didn't ask so many questions back then.

Because what I've come to see when I wash my feet, is the premise for my whole faith and what it means for my life; that Jesus came to wash away the muck. That he's present in the menial and messy moments of each day. That he calls us to roll our sleeves up, take soapy water, and seek to serve the people that we usually just walk past. That first, we have to find ourselves on our knees. It couldn't be clearer that we're called into lives of sacrifice for the sake of others.

I'm so thankful for a God that takes my dirty feet and turns them into something that stays with me. I never realised things that smelt less than ideal could be quite so spiritual. So I'm taking that challenge and doing my best to run with it (I didn't even mean to write run in a punny sense but having it done it by accident I'm very proud of my subconscious,  please join with me in celebrating this). I don't think the challenge will ever be easy, and it certainly won't be clear or clean cut, But I think what you find at the end of washing someone's feet is a sense of understanding where they've walked better than ever. That you find a fresh revelation of grace and what it looks like to see something that has stuck to someone's very soles, be washed away. And that you know, you're right where you're supposed to be, right where Jesus told you to be way back when. 

It's too weird to post a picture of just my feet. Here's a generic blurry shot of my trying to cross the road candidly in my hood.