Dirty Feet

I’ve been in Swaziland for a month now, and as usual, one of my favorite Swazi past-times is hanging out at Children’s Cup Care Points.  I absolutely LOVE hanging out with these kids.  Although we rarely understand each other, it usually doesn’t take long before there is a mass of sweet children - some shy, some playful - crowded onto my lap, tugging at my shirt and laying claim to a space on my arm.  I realize this is mostly just because I’m white, but I’m ok with that :)

I love how they investigate my hands and count my fingers, comparing our similarities and differences.  

I love how their little fingers slowly sneak their way into my hair, making tiny braids and terrible pony tails, and violently pushing my bangs to the side (ok, I get it, you don’t like the bangs :)

I love how they look wearing my sunglasses - and the little diva dances that follow.  

I especially love how there is always that one child who unknowingly puts the sunglasses on upside down, and everyone giggles while I say, “Oh, no no no, not like that!  Like this!”

I love how one boy can sit for 20 minutes pushing the same button over and over again on my watch, waiting for something amazing to happen.  

I love how that one super-shy little girl blushes when I finally catch her gaze and we share a smile.

I love the way they search my face; the way their dark brown eyes seem to read me inside and out.

I love coming home at night and finding their dirt on my clothes...  I LOVE IT.

So when I was at a Care Point a few weeks back, it broke my heart as one very playful little girl grew quite defensive toward the other kids in an effort to protect my “cleanliness.”  I was wearing hot pink nail polish, and she loved it on my toes.  After a while, any time someone would bump me and get dirt on my jeans or feet, she would holler something in SeSwati, then rush over, kneel at my feet and begin cleaning them off.  

Here is this beautiful little girl; there are holes in her shirt and she herself is caked in dirt, and she is bending down over and over again to wipe off my feet.  

“No, it’s ok,” I tried to tell her the first time.  But she wouldn’t listen (she really loved that pink nail polish).  I began to feel embarrassed, even a little angry, but not at her.  Who taught her this, I thought?  Who or what has made this sweet little girl think that she deserves to be dirty, but I deserve to be clean?  The gap between us felt much too wide.

Finally, after the 5th time of foot-cleaning, I caught her attention and she looked me in the eye: “It’s ok.  I don’t mind getting dirty.  It’s ok.”  I smiled, and she understood.  No more scurrying in to brush off my neat feet.  She leaned into me affectionately, then rushed off to play, and sweetly the Word whispered in my heart:

“How lovely are the feet of those who bring good news.”

Sometimes that very loveliness is found in the dirt caked beneath the feet that bear His good news.  Tonight I am reminded of the beautiful feet of Jesus, caked in the dirt and the dust of our land, our blood pouring out from the nail that we drove in Him, and I hear Him saying: 

“It’s ok.  I don’t mind getting dirty.  It’s ok.”  

Then He smiles, and I understand.  I lean into Him affectionately, then I rush off to play.  He has come to redeem my life from this dirt, and I am learning to let Him.  I am so, so thankful for His dirty feet, and tonight as I lay down to rest, the prayer of my heart is this: that when I enter into eternity, some observant angel or saint will take one look at my feet and say: 

“Oh, how she walked like Jesus.”

To be like Jesus; to be like Jesus.  All I ask is to be like Him...