Today Jesus washed His disciples’ feet. I have that thought this morning as I bring
my tired body to the keyboard. It’s a
strange overlay to think that somehow that act leading up to crucifixion has a
bearing on me as I wade through another morning.
Two hours from now I’ll drive to work where I’ll serve
demanding customers who are hungry (first-world hungry) for fried chicken,
cold-cuts and side salads. I’ll spend
another eight hours struggling to maintain a good attitude---to choose joy
while working a job I didn’t choose. I
hope that in my serving I made some small difference in somebody’s day. It doesn’t feel as if I’m living the life of
a Christ follower. I grumble more than I
give thanks.
Certainly I’d serve differently if Christ hadn’t served his
followers. When customers curse, I’d
curse back with a better curse. I would
simply see people with bumps and bruises.
There would be no eye to see them as they could be at their fullest
potential. The Son of God served. I struggle with having that heart but I know it’s
the heart to have.
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