Soul-Serving

Shoes. Sandy, well-loved, well-worn shoes. 

Lots of them. 

My first reaction to the shoe pile in our home is to theatrically sigh while matter-of-factly reminding the kids to put their shoes in a tidy row (you know...like ducks), rather than their usual pick-up-sticks style.  So I wasn't surprised when that jumbled pile of shoes at our front door sneaked up behind me to give me a good swift kick in the pants.

"I washed the disciples’ feet."

Go back, as I did, to the dusty roads, car-less, sock-less, pedicure-less, sandal-laden days of Jesus and His disciples. Feet that traveled miles, but not on paved roads or sidewalks. Feet that traveled to heal the sick, the lame, and the blind; to offer living water to the woman at the well; to eagerly welcome children; to perform countless miracles; to wash the disciples’ feet; to make house calls; to agonize in the Garden of Gethsemane; to be nailed to the cross; and to walk out of the tomb, leaving it empty. 

Jesus journeyed with a purpose. Without complaint.

"After that he poureth water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet,

and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded" (John 13:5).

Looking at my kids' shoes that day reminded me of where they have traveled. We live in sunny and sandy, warm-ten-months-out-of-the-year Florida, so most often Crocs or flip-flops are the footwear of choice. The soles of my kids' feet are typically, almost permanently, a distinctive shade of brown. Bathing is just a temporary fix. In between soap and hot water, their feet jump in mud puddles, climb trees, and run around the yard. It takes a good soaking or scrubbing to get those little piggies clean.

"Have YOU washed any feet today?" I wondered. My kids are old enough now to take care of their own feet-scrubbing in the tub, but I knew that wasn't the point of the silent (Holy Spirit’s question) interrogation.

As I contemplated that question, my own dirty toes were getting "stepped on." Conversations and reactions replayed in my head. "Why didn't you ask me when I was up? I just sat down." Sigh. 

"You can have that later" (after I've finished my hot cup of coffee, of course).  Sigh.  

"Why didn't you say something a few minutes ago?" Sigh. "Really?  I'm right in the middle of doing something."  I am pretty sure Jesus didn't serve that way.

"For even the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, 

and to give his life a ransom for many" (Mark 10:45).

It’s been eight short years of walking the hallways of my house in the middle of the night to check on a sleeping baby; walking to and from the laundry room; walking back and forth while vacuuming, sweeping, and cleaning; walking around in the kitchen preparing meals, packing lunches, and doing dishes; walking to and from the medicine cabinet to tend to my sick spouse or kiddos; or walking around in circles wondering where to begin amidst this messy life of ours. I'm reminded that it's not "dirty" work. It's not busy work. It's His work. Kingdom work. 

And in serving His way, I have the wonderful privilege to minister to the souls of those soles.