Well it seems that I’ve done it again. I’ve managed to put off writing a blog until the month has passed from what I originally wanted to write about. Days just fly by quicker and quicker it seems as I near the end of this crazy adventure called the World Race. I keep getting so caught up in the changing seasons the Lord takes me through every month, that sometimes I neglect to sit and reflect on each previous season. This time, however, the Lord will not allow me to just blaze by a hugely significant season of healing that He has and is continuing to bring me through. So without further ado, let me take you back one month to where this whole story began. Way back in the bush of Kenya, in a little village populated by the most precious people I’ve ever known, and where the voice of the Lord can be heard whistling on the wind down red dirt roads….fade up stage lights.
This just in…I have a Jigger. Or rather, had a jigger, before I went through the painfully grotesque process of extracting the pesky little bugger. However, my foot is still in the recovery process; these things do some damage!
For those of you who don’t know what a jigger is, let me fill you in on the delightful details. Jiggers are these tiny almost microscopic little bugs that burrow their way into your feet and eat away at your flesh while they lay lovely little egg sacks to cause a spread of their kind all throughout the foot. Ya, sounds super wonderful right?
Well these mischievous little nuisances are running rampant in Kenya. On our last day of ministry in Africa we got to witness first hand the damaging effects they can have on precious little dirt covered feet. The experience was all together humbling in every way, but let me back track a bit to explain just how humbling it was.
For years I have absolutely hated my feet, I mean HATED my feet (Mama if your reading this you know exactly what I’m talking about, you’ve heard ample amounts of complaints on the subject over the years). Ridiculous I know, but true nonetheless. I have never liked the way they looked in the slightest. I’m always ashamed of the fact that they only clean up nicely after a pedicure and tend to be more rough around the edges than silky and smooth on any given day. I typically find myself embarrassed by them and try to hide them as much as possible. They have always just been a ‘thorn in my side,’ if you will allow me to be that dramatic. I just plain have never liked my feet, and I have given God more than an earful of complaints and curses against them over the years.
Well, it would seem that God has had enough of listening to my complaints and my constant rejection of His creation, so He decided it was about time I had a good humbling. And boy did He ever humble me!
Ok, back to our story.
Our last day of ministry in Kenya was spent engaged in a full force attack on a rampant jigger infestation at a school in the village. We came armed with razors, peroxide, a special anti jigger solution, and strong stomachs by the grace of God. When we arrived the teachers ushered about 50 or more students to the back of the school where we were to commence the jigger killing process on their tender little feet. The children sat quietly in a line awaiting the painful excavation of their jiggers. Just seeing the fear behind their deep brown eyes was enough to almost bring the tears, but we soldiered on.
These dear children’s feet are infested with these nasty little bugs because they walk for miles to school without a pair of shoes to their name. Some of these children also come from living conditions that foster such neglect of hygiene that they sleep on dirt floors with the animals where jiggers make their home. These barefoot dear ones are suffering beyond what I had ever expected walking into this situation. But, they sat there brave faced, as they awaited the digging of the razor into their already throbbing feet.
I was not one of the brave ones actually cutting out the jiggers, my stomach could not handle it nor could my heart. My role that day was simply to offer a hand to squeeze, a smile to comfort, an arm around shaking shoulders and most importantly prayers uplifted in desperation for comfort and peace to rest on these little children. I had to fight back tears many times and look away in heartbreaking moments as some children winced so badly it took everything in their brave little hearts to keep their bodies from running away from the torture. Ever child though, no matter the pain you knew they were experiencing, never shed a tear. The sat their, sometimes for upwards of 20 minutes, allowing a mzungu with a razor to cut away at their decaying flesh.
These were not ordinary children, they truly are warriors, survivors. These people are the strongest I have come across on this entire journey. They persevere in the most trying of circumstances and consider themselves more than blessed. Not a curse or complaint escapes their lips, and I’m convinced never even enters their minds. They trust that their God is good and loves them with a love so grand that even in the darkest valleys, they know it is dark only because they are under the shadow of His wing. Just typing that and remember their unwavering faith brings tears to my eyes all over again.
Now we come to the part of the story where the Lord chose to humble me under His mighty hand. That day, as I looked down the row of decaying bar feet, my heart came to a breaking point. In an instant I felt my spirit go into a position of reverence and repentance in the presence of my God. Who was I to have spent my entire life shaking my finger at my creator God for somehow cursing me with unworthy feet. How could I justify my complaints of “unattractive” feet in the midst of children who were simply grateful to have feet that could still carry them to and from school, even if they weren’t “attractive” in the worlds eyes.
I was humbled to my core that day. I will never forget this moment where God had to intervene in such a drastic way just to show me truly how blessed I am. That in the moment of my creation nothing escaped His watchful eye. I was not knit together in a hap-hazard way. On the contrary, I was fearfully and wonderfully made. How precious to me are those dear dusty bare feet in Kenya, because they broke me free. How grateful I am for those pesky little bugs, even in their destruction of flesh they brought about the healing of my flesh. Through the brave brown eyes of tiny warriors, the Lord gave me His eyes to see the perfection in all He creates.
So now I find it only fitting to praise my good God for the strong, healthy, BEAUTIFUL feet that He has allowed me to call my own. With these feet He has allowed me to trek to the far corners of the globe to proclaim His deep love of the lost. These feet have carried me down dirt roads, across rocky fields, through chilly rivers, and up and over many mountains all for the sake of carrying His presence into places it’s never been carried before. All to bring forth the Kingdom, all for the love of my Jesus, and all for His love of the bride.
These feet have carried me to places I never imagined I’d be blessed enough to see. These feet have allowed me to climb onto the backs of elephants in Thailand. They have been used to plant bean and corn crops to provide food for a family in Kenya. They have allowed me to stand in countless pulpits across the globe and preach the very words of God. They have carried me into the darkness of brothels, ushering in the presence of a Holy God. They gave me the strength to run a 5k down the dirt roads of Uganda while little children ran with me hand in hand. They have been my strong foundation to build churches and orphanages in places where the Lord is raising up His church to care for the needy. They have danced many nights under the stars in worship and awe of the splendor of my God.
These feet, these BEAUTIFUL carriers of the Shekinah glory, are truly magnificent!
I am forever grateful to my Creator for not only blessing me with these feet, but for allowing these feet to bring the Kingdom wherever the He leads. The whole while making memories and receiving love unimaginable. My God how great you are!
Healed by a jigger, who would have thought!
