Wet Feet

Yesterday was Maundy Thursday, which my kids say sounds like “Monday/Thursday”. Sure, it kind of does. I skipped the foot-washing service last night so I could get Andrew in bed.

It was a really long day yesterday—rainy and cold. My kids had to have indoor recess, I wore my nice shoes so my feet were cold. I forgot to pack lunch, so I ordered it. They delivered it across the street, and while my kids were in P.E., I made the short trek across the road to the high school.

I keep a pair of spare shoes under my desk, just in case my nice ones get wet. So I made this short journey in cheap sandals, my hood over my head. The air was so fresh and clean, it felt good to breathe, but the rain was coming down in thick, heavy drops, rolling down my shoulders and running into puddles and rivers on the city street.

I ducked under a crepe myrtle and remembered that this was the foot-washing day. This was when Jesus weirded his disciples out by bending over and scrubbing their feet and ankles, which were probably covered in everything you get covered with when you wear sandals in the city. They were bothered by it—Peter flat out wouldn’t let him.

I get it, Peter—I’ve had my feet washed and I’ve washed people’s feet. It’s humbling from both ends. Especially in America. We’re all equal, right? We meet eye to eye.

I was walking through the mud and the rain was coming down—I realized how annoyed I was that they’d delivered it to the wrong address, that they hadn’t read my directions more carefully. As if I had anything to complain about, with my great job and my great home and the fact that I could afford to order lunch. That I even HAVE lunch to look forward to. Did I even ask for daily bread today? Did I even thank Him? And before I was even old enough to fully understand what it took, my feet have been washed. When I returned to my classroom I was drenched and cold, but I was clean. Thank God, I’m clean.

Have a blessed Good Friday, team. It’s freezing cold in my neck of the woods, but I’m glad. It should be. As I told the kids the other day, “The Sun stopped shining when Jesus was crucified. Can you blame it?”