The Pedicure

Before I start, please permit me to digress, but not too much.

Sometime last week I saw someone. He was waving at me frantically. I knew the face was familiar but I could not trace it. We spoke. He sounded well-educated (if there is anything like that). Did we go to the same school? I wondered. I appraised him. He was dressed neatly, looking smart like a guy heading for a fruitful date. I did not say anything concerning the fact that I could not place his face. Then after the brief discussion he said, “Okay, good night Aunty Rita!” There are only few places where I am addressed as Aunty Rita. Suddenly I could place his face. He was a security guard in our office. I only saw him in the uniforms opening and closing the gate. I said to myself, “I should never judge people by what they do or the clothes they wear.”

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He sat on the chair while I washed his feet. With gentle massages and selected foot treatments, I brought his dirty feet to a state he could never imagine. But the thirty minutes of soaking, scrubbing, massaging, nail trimming and washing his feet was a moment of reflection.

He was once a baby I tended. I washed his diapers, made sure he ate at the right time, sucked his catarrh (ewww!!), and carried him on my back while I went about doing my household chores. My back or my bosom was his first place of sleep before he would later be laid in a cot. Now he’s a grown boy, playing football in the dirtiest places, and mature enough to make decisions for himself and the family.

I was seated at a lower position in order to get the pedicure done. It looked like a Master and Servant scenerio. But I was not washing his feet because he had ordered me to do so. I was not washing his feet because he could pay me to do it. I was not washing his feet because I owed him a favor. I was not washing his feet because he could not do it himself.

I did it because I love him (and of course, the feet were dirty!)

I was not less of a person by washing his feet. I was sure of whom I was and the act could not take it from me. As I slowly wiped his feet, I had to recall when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. He was still the Son of God yet he humbled himself. He was secure in who He was.

“How do you like your feet now?” I asked him when I was done with the pedicure.
“Are these my feet?” he asked humorously.
I was okay with the joy and appreciation in his eyes. That made my evening.

As he walked away, tiptoeing like he did not want his feet to touch the ground, my spirit concurred with my thoughts, “I am not great because of what I do. I am great because of who I am: Your child made in Your image, in whom You reside.”

And I echo this to you, “You are not great because of what you do (or do not do). You are great because of who you are: A child of God made in His image, in whom He resides.”

The story of Jesus washing His disciples’ feet is based on John 13:1-17.