.feet.

i HATE feet.

As a child with abnormally large feet (thank you, family genes), I was always super self-conscious about them. I still cringe remembering going to the bowling alley with my youth group, asking for a pair of size 9 shoes, and the attendant (who I am sure was no more than 16) saying, "Wow. Big feet." Ugh.

My feet aren't a model's feet. I can never buy "cute" shoes on sale because they never have my giant size left over. My toenail polish is always chipped, and I have huge callouses from running. I don't exactly like to flaunt them. And, frankly, the thought of a foot rub makes me want to gag.

My foot phobia made Thursday night even more humbling than expected. It was Maundy Thursday, and as I walked through the prayer stations our pastor had so lovingly and creatively set up around the sanctuary, I reflected on the life of Jesus, the ways in which his love is manifested in our every day world, the last meal he shared with his disciples from which the gift of communion was born.

Maundy Thursday is always a humbling time, a time to reflect, a time to remember. Every year as a part of these stations, the one I always skip is the foot washing station. I fear judgment and ridicule. I hate the feeling of someone else's hands actually touching what I find so ugly about myself.

But this year, I couldn't turn down the invitation. Walking in that night, I was perfectly content skipping right past the station with no plans whatsoever to sit down in front of our intern pastor and offer my feet up to be washed. But as I made me way through what I thought was my final station for the evening, I saw our intern pastor sitting in front of the giant bowl of water, towels and pitchers surrounding her, head bowed as she read the Bible. This picture touched me. And I wanted to take part in the spirit of what was happening over there.

I walked over, sat down, looked her in the eye and said, "If you promise not to judge my feet, I'll let you wash them."

Teri's eyes smiled as she reached over to hug me. She grabbed a towel, I lifted my naked foot into her hand (my hear pounding the entire time), and she began to pour water over one of my biggest insecurities, and tell me wonderful things about this body part that fills me with so much anxiety.

She told me that my feet were beautiful feet, that God loves these feet and made them beautiful, and made me beautiful, and blessed every path these feet touched. She reminded me of where these feet have been (offices and schools and churches and streets and homes). She told me that these feet had been to holy places.

As I listened to her talk, feeling the warmth of the towel cradling and drying my holy feet, I realized that these feet are a gift. No, I still don't think they're very pretty. And, no, I will still never let my husband give me a foot rub at the end of the day. But these feet are holy feet. They are a gift. They equip me. They allow me to move forward--physically and spiritually.

Foot washing in Jesus' day was a dirty task. Sandels and bare feet on dusty roads meant that feet were literally in need of a wash, a bath. It wasn't just symbolic. Physical dirt was removed in this process. And Jesus (God) humbled himself, put himself below that of his disciples (physically and spiritually) on that first Maundy Thursday night to take their dirt-caked feet in his hands and wash them.

This was a humbling experience for me as a recipient of such a gift. I had to lay aside my fears of judgment in order to do this. And it reminded me that my feet are beautiful, that they are a gift, that they do walk in holy places.

Foot washing is a part of the service experience of Samaritan's Feet, a wonderful organization providing shoes to impoverished children. Shoes. How many pairs are in my closet and yet there are children who long to have just one pair--a pair that fits, a pair that will protect them as they walk to school or do their chores. When volunteers from Samaritan's Feet deliver the shoes to these children, they wash their feet. They humble themselves and caress the dirty, calloused feet of this sweet children as a gift, a reminder that they, too, have beautiful feet, worthy feet, holy feet.

So, remember your feet today. Cherish them. Be reminded that they are holy feet, no matter where they might take you.