My feet do not resemble my new grand daughter's at all. Her's are soft, pliable and pink. Mine are covered with blue rivulets, bumps and hollows, and are no longer pliable.I can imagine the condition of Jesus' disciples' feet when he washed them: dusty, dirty, a hangnail or two, and thick, thick callouses. They surely took much abuse in the rudimentary sandals they wore over the rocks and dusty paths they traveled as they fulfilled their life's work: to be the hands and feet of Jesus.
When Jesus cared for their feet, there were no vibrating chairs, nail clippers, nail buffers, scrubbing brushes, or cuticle oils. He did it because he loved them, because it was an example of serving others....and perhaps it was a way of saying how precious these persons were to him.
My feet will never again be as soft and beautiful and pliable as our precious grand daughter's. But, she, too will soon stand and walk and run and play and live out her life. Her feet will reveal signs of her life as she grows up and discovers her world.
I'm thinking of Jesus' disciples and the choices they made to follow their Savior.I'm thinking of Jesus' humility, love, and willingness to serve when he washed the feet of others.
I'm thinking of the walking I have yet to do before this life of mine on earth comes to a close.
I'm thinking of a new baby girl and everything that lies ahead of her.
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