The night my husband washed my feet was probably the night I least deserved it.
Earlier that afternoon I was wild with anger about something stupid. Careless words stained my lips much the same as the hair dye I was attempting to use stained my feet later that evening. I had just walked downstairs for just a moment to pick up my phone.
“Your feet have spots on them,” he said.
“I think you got hair dye on your feet.”
I glanced down towards my toes, and sure enough, he was right. I was seconds away from dying our Turkish rug along with my hair.
“Oh. Can you help me? I have to keep my hair on my head.” I was clutching the makeshift top knot that surely would have toppled over had I removed my hand.
He fetched a towel from the kitchen, knelt beside me, and started dabbing the black splotches off of my feet. And that’s when I realized– this was not a ceremony nor a church service– it was simply an ordinary moment in my day. But because of my husband’s love, his humility that emulated Jesus’ love and humility, God transformed ordinary into sacred in the small corner of my living room.
~John 13: 1-17~