Last week, my sweet teammate Emily offered to treat me to a pedicure. After seven months of walking all over the world, our feet were in need of a little pampering! We all like to joke that our feet still have Africa on them. If you would have looked at my feet two days ago, you would have noticed deep cracks and rough callouses. You would have seen dirt trapped in crevices with little hope of escape. Instead of soft to the touch, they felt scratchy. Are you getting the picture?
As I reclined in the special feet-pampering chair at the salon, my mind began to race. At first, I began to wonder what this beautiful, 6’5″ Ukranian woman must be thinking as she analyzed the foot damage. However, instead of balking at them, she carefully observed and calculated what needed to be done to make my feet beautiful once again.
She began to pull out all sorts of tools and quickly got to work. As she took great care in shaving off the dead skin and digging out the dirt (and whatever else was there!), it became clear that this woman was taking great care of me. She went from foot to foot, checking and re-checking her work. It wasn’t until she was completely satisfied that I was allowed to step down from my throne.
My pamperer then grinned with satisfaction and sternly instructed me to use foot creme and wear socks. (I have a feeling she didn’t approve of the Chacos I wore that day!)
But when I stop and analyze the situation instead of ignoring it, I begin to see the ugliness.
I’ve seen many Ukranian babushkas (the older, grandmotherly figures) with hands just like my feet. Their cracks and callouses tell the story of years of hard work and great turmoil. They’ve toiled and labored throughout the seasons of life, often with little to no reward. They were told under years of Communist rule that there was no God in which to place their hope. And with no hope, there’s little to keep living for.
The Ukranian peoples’ hearts are much similar to these babushkas’ hands. They’ve been calloused and hardened from years of turmoil. Their hearts are rough, and they need someone to show them it’s okay to be soft again. They need to know that God wants to be invited in to smooth over the edges with his loving and tender care. They need to be mended, and there’s only One who can do it.
I know from my own experience that to be soft is scary. It means those places of my heart are more tender than they used to be; they are more sensitive. I have to take greater care of them, and there’s a greater chance that I will be hurt. But at least there is feeling in those places. At least there is the chance that I will be able to experience life at its fullest!
