clean feet

tonight we read of the last supper... of the moment before the world and all that had been came undone. of holy hands bending low.. gently washing the feet of those he loved.

this world leaves it's mark on us.

the dust and grit from roads we have walked swirls and clings to our heel.

our feet bear our weariness first.

in them lie the stories of where we have been.

every back alley, battlefield and bar.

they are not hidden from Him.

He stoops to conquer.

i realize how often i ignore my feet.

how quickly i forget the feeling of being clean from the inside out.

that is the problem with dust... it doesn't suffocate you all at once.

dust falls little by little until you are numb.

until being clean seems out of reach.

and it is...

until holy hands bending low... washes the feet of those He loves.