Thursday, April 1, 2010

Dirty, dirty feet

I walked in and blanched when I saw the basins sitting on clean towels and laid out in neat little stations. Foot washing. Shoot. At least I shaved this morning. But I haven't clipped my toenails in f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Picture Guinness World Records bad. A grotesque claw that could easily slice open an unsuspecting finger. Not to mention I'm wearing my butt shoes. Seriously. They smell like it. A dead one at that. So I sang my Lord's praises when I found nail clippers in my purse. After depositing the freshly nursed baby I dashed into the bathroom and hastily clipped. We had also just come from the park so mud, sand and a dead bug were stuck to my feet as well. At least it was dead, right? I dug out the dirt, toe jam and then almost passed out from the smell in the poorly-ventilated bathroom. Then-yes God is good even when I'm so missing the point!- I saw air freshener! So I let loose and hosed down my feet and shoes. So. Now that my feet were acceptable to be washed I set back. Of course the service was 1/3 over now.
Before you judge me, answer honestly: haven't you tried to 'clean it up' before going to Him to be cleaned? I know I have. We really don't want to be the dirtiest jerk that is going to be the toughest to clean. But we're all dirty jerks. And the only one who can really clean us is the cleanest, nicest guy that ever lived. It is what it is. We just have to roll with it. Sit back, relax, and let Him serve you. That is hard for me, especially this season of new-motherhood where I feel like I am constantly having to receive from others. I like it better when I can 'balance it out' and serve back. But the truth is. I can't balance what Jesus did out. Even if I did die, it wouldn't work. Because my life is a stinky, dirty one and the life required to be sacrificed was a perfect, holy one. So I'll sit and be washed by Jesus.

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