Finally, a day off. Company was coming, the house neglected from the hurry of the week. My hands were full and fumbling with broom, rag and bottles of clean, ready to attack, my mind focused and prepared so not one minute would fall to waste. Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. Wax off. There was rhythm and victory with each completion, as if my welcome would be warmer
because the lampshade was dusted and the laundry room floor mopped.
"Mom," she said. "I want to make you lunch today!"
Ugh...really? Today?? I don't have TIME for this. My thoughts echoed
to justify themselves. Shoulders dropping just a bit and fingers
groping for a tighter grasp on the sacred towel of cleanliness.
"I want to help you today, Mom. I'm going to set it all up. You don't have to do a thing!
You can just relax, and I'll make my special recipe just for you!"
I knew that recipe. And I knew the tiny shreds of cheese that fall below the counter
and between the legs of chairs and the baked on dish from too much warming and
the packages left open and the crumbs and drops of stickiness and the too small
dinnerware on a tea party table left out with more clutter atop
and the pens and papers strewn about and signs with tape on my precious wooden doors.
I knew it all. And I simply didn't have time.
And then I made a decision.
I made a decision to have time.
Before me was a child asking to serve.
It was precious and pure and bigger than lunch, and I was about to come down
on top of it with lavendar scent Windex and sweep it away.
How in the world will she ever learn to serve if I never allow her the opportunity?
How will she discover the joy of giving of herself if her gift is of no value to me, the shaper of her self? And how will she experience the harmony of peace and sorrow that comes with bearing another's burden if I don't hand her one of mine when she asks for it?
How will she learn to take care and purpose in communing with another's needs:
Needs to eat, needs to rest, needs to feel the warmth of another person
coming to stand beside them in their brokenness?
How will she learn to feed hungry mouths and hungry souls...
to wrap her frame in servants towel...
...to stretch herself in love for another...
...to be generous...
...to spend HER time and resources in thought of someone outside herself...
...and to present her gifts...herself...
for the sole purpose of loving the creation and the Creator?
The lunch and tea party table adorned with clutter and too small wares and handmade menus and signs and tape on wooden doors and cheese between the legs of chairs and drips and drops on serene countertops and pens and papers littered about took all of 3 hours.
Time was of the essence.
Time is of the essence.
The vacuuming can wait.
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So [Jesus] got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist.
After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet,
drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.
"No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet."
Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."
When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place.
"Do you understand what I have done for you?" he asked them.
Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet.
I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.
-John 13-
