And in the end…there is love.

Every month, my department at work comes together for group devotions. Usually, there’s someone sharing their testimony, or doing some kind of activity. I usually really enjoy this time that we can spend together, praying and sharing.

Recently though, our devotion time was a little different. There have been a lot of changes going on at the ministry where I work, including the dreaded “reorganization” time that every ministry or business seems to go through. There’s been a lot of upheaval and a lot of questions. It’s not a bad time, just a up-in-the-air and sometimes frustrating time.

So for devotions, some of our managers decided we would do a foot-washing. I caught wind of the event about an hour before devotions started, and could think of nothing else. I hadn’t shaved my legs. I was wearing stinky shoes. I needed to cut my toenails. By the time I arrived at devotions, I was a mess.

But what it all boiled down to was, it is much harder for me to have my feet washed than for me to do the washing. I have no problem splashing warm water over a friend’s feet, gently smoothing a callused heel, pouring water over toes.

But to have someone else wash my feet–the prospect made knots in my stomach. I was embarrassed. Uncomfortable. Unwilling.

I didn’t deserve it.

But wasn’t that indicative of something deeper? It’s easy for me to serve. For me to come babysit your kids. To help you clean your house. I can humble myself before you. I can wash your feet. But you can’t serve me. I don’t want to tell you I need help. I don’t want you to see my dirty feet.

As I sat in that darkened room, listening to the sound of water splashing softly into bowls, I realized that if Jesus calls us to wash the feet of others, he must be calling us to let our feet be washed. So I stood up, and walked to one of those chairs and placed my feet in a bowl. A friend walked over, and poured the warm water over my feet. I tried not to think about the fact that my toes hadn’t seen a pedicure in months. I tried not to leap out of my seat and push her feet into the waiting water. I just let her do what Jesus commanded us.

Later, I sat in my seat, my damp feet folded underneath me, and watched the scene unfolding. I watched others slip off their shoes, uncomfortably looking around at the people sitting around them. I watched grown men, standing in their bare feet, hugging one another. I watched co-workers who rarely saw eye-to-eye kneeling and washing one another’s feet.

I watched a room full of sinful, ordinary people trying to be like Jesus.

It was beautiful.