As I came home after a long day, I took my bag off from my back, my jacket that shielded me from the cold breeze that was blowing and I sat down on the side of my bed. I looked far off as my thoughts drifted from today's dealings, my past issues and then what was to come as I took off my socks. My feet felt naked so I softly held them in my hands and I felt some sort of comfort. My thoughts drifted to thinking how it would have felt with Jesus washing the feet of His disciples. How comforted those saints must have felt. How protected they must have felt with the amount of love they were poured with as Christ spent the remaining days with them. How warm and safe must those hands have felt as it touched each painful crevice they would have had in their feet.
My thoughts go to the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears and her hair. How grateful she must have been for Christ and His sacrifice. To feel the grooves of the feet that belonged to the Son of Man, the Messiah who came to save sinners from eternal damnation. The feet of royalty and all she could bring is her hair, her tears, her hands to the feet which brought good news. How gracious was He when He didn't see the meekness of her physical sacrifice but He saw her heart. Her grateful and penitent heart.
Oh, to even take a glimpse of His majesty in a tree or even just to call out to Him from afar, to touch the ends of His garments- what blessing that would be. I wish to put His hand next to my face and feel the scars that I spat on with my sinful actions, to feel Him wipe my tears away and see in my heart a changed and penitent heart He has created within me.
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