by Sandy Kirby Quandt
One of the highlights of Pilot and my October trip last year was a visit to the Museum of Appalachia in Norris, Tennessee. If you ever have the opportunity to visit this wonderful museum, go. We’d been there years before and I couldn’t wait to return.
I love walking around this collection of Southern Appalachia pioneer buildings and artifacts, imagining what it was like to be one of the hardy mountain folk who lived in these buildings; gaining a greater appreciation of my Appalachian heritage.
Just like on any trip or outing, my camera got a workout focusing and snapping pictures.
There was an expansive peacock population with one male in particular giving quite the show, as he tried to impress a goat who could not have cared less. Too funny.
Pilot took advantage of the empty country church with its well-worn split log benches to play hymns on his dulcimer for an audience of One. The giver of the gift.
As I wandered around the grounds and its thirty-six buildings, my eyes more times than not, looked through my camera’s lens. Not where I stepped.
Coming down a path dug into the side of the rise behind one cabin, I planted my foot right in the middle of a copious amount of peacock poop. Yucky. Not content to stay on the bottom of my hiking boot, the watery mess seeped up the leather side as well.
No matter how much I dragged my foot through the dew-drenched grass, that mess was not about to disengage itself.
Although this is where I could turn the messy misstep into an application of watching where we trod, that’s not what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell you that in an act of humility and love, after I changed shoes, put the boots in a plastic bag outside the RV to deal with later, and continued shooting final pictures before we left, Pilot took my boots and washed them for me.
I didn’t ask Pilot to clean up the mess I got myself into. I planned to clean them later once we reached our campsite for the night.
This reminds me of what Jesus did when he took a basin of water, wrapped a towel around his waist, kneeled before the disciples in the upper room before his betrayal, crucifixion, and resurrection, and washed their feet in humility and love. Christ washed ALL the disciples’ feet. Judas and Peter included.
Christ’s love for them, and us, was so great he willingly became a servant to those he created; knowing the ultimate sacrifice of taking on the sins of the world and becoming the sacrificial Lamb of God was mere hours away.
But Jesus didn’t leave it there, did he? He didn’t just wash their feet and get up. Jesus gave the disciples a command. He gives us the same command.
Jesus wants us to serve each other as he served humanity in humility and love, laying aside any claim to his right to be served.
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I, your Lord and Teacher, have just washed your feet. You, then, should wash one another’s feet. I have set an example for you, so that you will do just what I have done for you. John 13:14-15 (GNT)
I wish you well.
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