I discover who I am
in the act of washing feet
It frightens me to be so powerful
To have so much power and so much grace
hidden in the mountains
and valleys of my being
is scary
I am beginning to suspect who I am
It is so much to be faithful to.
Standing before me
with a cup of tea in her hands
She revealed to me
my foot-washing potential
(Would you mind if I wash your feet?)
How about tea every morning at ten?
she asked.
Sure, I answered
a little embarrassed
at being so touched
by something that simple
It will make ten o’clock sacred
she assured me.
I nodded in agreement
It was right at the moment she had come
(God always comes at the right moment.)
Nothing had risen in my heart that morning
and I could tell from her eyes,
she, too, was waiting for a rising.
It happened simply
like Jesus washing Peter’s feet
We, too, had names
and we lived them
A few words were exchanged
over a cup of tea
and, together, we were the rising
The action was so simple one could miss it.
It frightens me to be so powerful
so very full of grace.
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