Jesus Feet

Today I received a quote from a precious woman who speaks at women’s’ retreats and conferences whom I had the privilege of meeting a month or so ago at an event. I’m putting together promotional materials for my booking person to send out for me to do women’s’ events and she was so kind to send me this.
“Stacy Jagger led me to the feet of Jesus with her own transparent worshipping heart. From the beginning to the end of our retreat it was apparent that Stacy's artistry was intended only to lead us to the true Song of our hearts.”
--Sharon Hersh, speaker, author, counselor
So I started thinking about the feet of Jesus, and just wondering what his feet might have looked like. Were they good feet? Funky feet? Pretty feet? Dirty feet? Did he go barefoot a lot? How many pairs of sandals did he go through while he was here? Did he make his own sandals or did someone make them for him? Did they resemble Berkenstocks in any way? Did any of his toes twist and turn like mine do? Did he ever, ever consider the possibility of a pedicure? Did hair grow on the tops of his feet or just his toes? How many miles a day did he walk? Did he ever have a bunion? Or a wart? Or really bad calluses that peel off after they get all dead and big and yucca? How did he clip his toenails? Did they have clippers back then or did they just rip ‘em off? Any ingrown toenails? Did anybody ever give him a foot massage? Reflexology? Did he sleep with socks? Or did he prefer to sleep with his feet hangin’ out the bottom of the covers? Were his toenails thick? Or thin?
When they say we are now the feet of Jesus and we get to do the things he would have liked to have done had he stayed here on earth for 2000 years, does that mean that all of our funky, pretty, callused feet get to go where He would like us to? Like the prisons? The orphanages? The old folks home? How about our neighbors’ house to mow their lawn when they didn’t ask, or the grocery store to encourage a clerk who is pregnant and tired on her poor little Jesus feet.
When I look at my feet I don’t think of Jesus. But I am starting to wonder if I should. Instead of thinking of what color toenail polish would go well with my sandals this spring, I wonder if I could just forgo the pedicure and take my Jesus feet down to the orphanage that is less than a mile from my house, a house full of young women forgotten, right in my back yard. I wonder if they would like me and if they like to sing. And I wonder by writing this if I am getting myself some accountability of taking my Jesus feet somewhere important, somewhere that will matter, other than under my sheets. Not to put myself under a guilt trip or anything, but I am keenly aware in my 8th month of pregnancy of how self-centered my little Jesus feet have been. Me, me, me I exclaim. But wasn’t it Jesus that said if we lose our life we will find it? Truth is the me me life is boring and unfulfilling and ridiculous. I’m ready to experience something other than my four walls and the paved ditch I drive each day to do the same thing over and over and over again, like a rat in a cage, not realizing all the while that the cage door is open and I am free to peek around the corner and see what else is out there in this great big world. And my sweet little non-pedicured Jesus feet will take me there, if only I will listen and ask for the next right step, and take it.