i have decided that after a long day in flip flops, there are few sweeter things than washing my dirty, dusty feet.
i took sam for a walk yesterday, and gave my feet a quick swipe with a cloth when we came in. but just before sinking into bed, i really scrubbed and cleaned my filthy, tired feet with care. and it felt like a full-body massage. blissful.
i sank into bed almost purring.
no wonder Jesus showed love to his disciples by washing their feet, and told them to do the same to each other.
i know people like to see it as a metaphor for encouragement, but i think i might just take the literal meaning over the figurative here.
is there something invasive - almost too personal - in that? in greeting your friend with a basin of water, removing the shoes, washing the day-long dirt away? but what better way to bring rest, refreshment, comfort?
there's something in me that cringes at the thought of being the one washed - of having someone else know the callouses, the creases of dust ground in by sandal straps, the water muddying all-too-quickly.
but there's something in that that binds us closer together, isn't there, in being known? the freedom of it, and then the grace - the sweet grace! - of being washed and clean and refreshed.
i love that Jesus washed their feet. those hairy, smelly, dirty man-feet.
he is just right.