Dirty Feet

There is something I do quite often here at night before I'm ready to go to bed. There are many nights I look down at my feet and think "this is unacceptable." The undersides of my feet will, quite frequently, look like I have been walking barefoot on dusty asphalt all day. It is only then that I realize that I don't want to put my nasty feet in my bed, so I go to the bathroom, hoist my legs over the tub, and wash them clean and pink as ever.

When I was in the States my feet didn't get nearly as dirty and I wore the exact same pair of flip-flops then as I do now. There have been a few variables that have changed to alter the cleanliness of my feet so dramatically. It is common to see me walking down the road rather than riding in a car because we don't have a car to ourselves. Much of the time our mentors need their car for this or that, and sometimes if we are going to the same place we can hitch a ride, but mostly our travelling is of the ambulatory sort.

Mostly the roads we walk down are main roads with cars zipping by; and the theme of the city seems to be construction these days. So dirt and dust flies around in the areas where they are installing roundabouts that another lovely foreign government paid for, and most days we walk through these places. There are plenty of times that we walk down a gravelly dirt road especially when we are in the villages to help with the overall visual of how my feet look by the end of the day. However, I cannot discount that my flip-flops are black and thus the blackness may be wearing off onto my feet. Oh, and the heat of the day doesn't help the sweating.

But why am I going on and on about the grossness of my feet in this post? Because I have drawn a strange but simple love for washing my feet. I feel cleaner, more relaxed, granted...even a little happier when my feet are clean. It's no wonder it was a cultural norm in the Bible after a greeting and a kiss from the host, providing water and sometimes a servant to wash the feet of the guests. There have only been sparse times in my life where I have looked at my feet and counted their state unacceptable, however it happens much more consistently here. I don't know how to say this without sounding really REALLY dorky but it does give me a little bit of a peace.

After I wash my feet I look at the cloth I used and it is filthy, and many times I imagine the sinful woman who washed Jesus' feet with her hair. I imagine how gross Jesus' feet must have been and how she gladly took away the dirt with her hair. It makes for some perspective on how precious Jesus truly is to the world. A woman whose body was likely her livelihood took it upon herself to go into a Pharisee's home and kneel down, publicly crying, using the water of her tears to first wash his feet, and then using the hair on her head to wipe them clean, all the while knowing and believing that he is the Savior of the world and caring for him so delicately. It's amazing.

Yes, these are the things I sometimes think about when I wash my own feet. You may think I am a strange person if you so wish. These have been my thoughts and ponderings in the short moments that I wash my feet and get ready for bed. May God remind me more of the happenings in his Word as I go about my daily life.

All to God