Kentucky Sunset 

Beautiful Feet

I have this memory from Guyana - it was Sunday afternoon, and our guide, Wavney, was going to take us to see a Pine farm (that is what they call pineapples). It was raining in the city, but as we drove over the mile long floating bridge, we reached an area far from the city life. Homes were simple, but proud. There was land behind them that was community land. These were a people who survived through blood, sweat, tears and pineapples. Generations of farming passed down to support one another. We met up with a man who was excited to show us his farm that he shared with his sister's husband. He beckoned us to follow down what we later called "The Muddy Mile." Warren lost a shoe in the mud, and April toppled over when she slipped calf deep in the mud, losing her balance. Rachel and I carefully navigated our way through the soft ground, through the brush, and finally out into the open. We listened as this man whose name I cannot now remember, but whose face I will not forget, passionatly told us how he made his living. He cut us a fresh pine, and we started our hike back to the van. As we approached our meeting place, Derek, our driver, saw us, and bid us to stop for a moment. Within minutes, he lead us to the side porch of a home where the husband and wife sat on their handmade woven slings, enjoying the fading day. We didn't know these people, but they generously offered their running water to wash our feet off. Derek got down on his knees, and one by one, began washing not only our feet, but our shoes as well. He found a makeshift brush and cleaned each sandal and shoe with great skill. When we placed our filthy feet in his caloused hands, we were humbled by the gentleness in which he performed this great act of humility and kindness.

A month ago in chapel, we had a lady come and speak about her experience ministering in Iran. She told the story of traveling from town to town, by foot or bike, meeting people, listening to their stories, loving them, and offering them God's love. She said, "Every time we started out for the next town, I would look down at my feet, worn and calloused, and think, 'I can't make it.' But then we would arrive in the next town, and the faces and hearts would greet us with such enthusiasm. I would look down at my feet again, covered in dust, and think, 'These are like Jesus' feet.' What an honor to have beautiful feet like those of my Master.."

I want to have beautiful, dust-covered feet. And at the same time, I want to posses the amount of humility it takes to get down on my worn knees, and take someone else's dirty feet in my hands and make them clean again. To share, and to love, to carry the Good News and to prepare the way for others. May the Lord make my feet Beautiful.