Little brown hands clasped mine and led me to a chair in the back. I sat down and watched as the girls shuffled to find their places. Soon, a basin was placed at my feet. Soft, purple rose petals floated on the surface. My heart began to pound as I faced the reality of what was coming. The first little girl, maybe 9 years old, knelt at my feet and pulled one at a time into the basin. One cupped hand poured water over my feet as the other gently massaged the dirt off. I began to weep as I watched this beautiful child serve me like the Father served His disciples. She patted my feet dry, stood, and wrapped her arms tightly around me. She clung for what felt like hours as I sobbed and she told me she loved me. We broke our embrace just in time for the next little girl to kneel and the process to begin again. This time, the little girl couldn’t have been older than 5, yet she performed her task with maturity and beauty. When finished, she climbed in my lap and we cried together. This cycle continued as 12 more girls lowered themselves to the ground to cleanse my filthy feet. I could hardly lift my head to allow my eyes to meet theirs.
This month we are working with Sending Hope International. Started by a man from Ohio, Sending Hope goes into local villages and finds young girls at risk for being sold into the rampant sex trade of Thailand. They then bring these girls to the orphanage here in Wiang Pa Pao where they are protected from the possibility of being bought, and in turn, sold. They are loved, cared for, and taught about the love of Christ which is so beautifully demonstrated to them by the staff. We just got here 4 days ago. We jumped right into helping run a camp for the girls and some other children from the surrounding area. We’ve barely had time to learn the names of some of the girls, yet they wanted to serve us…
As I sat and watched these precious girls wash my feet, I wanted to be anywhere else. I wanted to crawl under a table where no one could see me.
I finally got it. I understood why the woman wept as she washed His feet with her hair. I felt Peter’s grief when he denied Him that third time. It made sense to me that Adam and Eve attempted to hide from Him.
I am so unworthy. I am so ashamed. I am so undeserving.
Yet, these girls wanted to wash my feet. They wanted to serve ME. They love ME.
He loves me.
How is this possible?
See, the girls don’t know my inner core. They don’t know how selfish I am. How there are times I’d rather be watching mindless television than playing soccer with them. How I complain that the AC in our bedroom this month isn’t cold enough while they sleep on the floor with only fans to cool them. How I can find time to sit and think about and pity myself as they put hours into preparing the beautiful ceremony they will have for us…me…the stranger who didn’t really do a whole lot of anything, but they put all their energy into honoring….
They don’t know those things, so maybe it’s a little easier for them to love me. Because they see the outside, where I have worked so hard at polishing and making myself look presentable and acceptable, selfless and loving, sacrificial and deserving.
But Jesus…He knows it all. He knows the thoughts I’ve thought, the sins I’ve committed, the ways I am lacking. Yet, He loves me even more than they do. He humbled Himself further than to His knees to wash my feet. He humbled Himself all the way to the cross. To suffer a brutal beating, a disgusting mockery, and a painful death. Knowing what He knows. Knowing my heart.
I got myself together, rose, and grabbed my own basin with the rest of the camp staff. We filled them with water, and placed them at the foot of some chairs. We led these precious girls, one by one, to reciprocate the act they just performed for us. I held their feet in my hands and I prayed that God bless them tremendously. That those feet would walk the halls of a university, walk the aisle to a man who loves Jesus more than he loves her, that they hold the weight of a swaying mother holding her precious children, that they carry the Gospel miles and miles and miles.
I can’t accurately put into words what it feels like to have an orphan wash your feet. I was humbled beyond what even I can fully comprehend right now. But I am so thankful. I am so grateful for the reminder of how unworthy I am, and how incredible it is that the God of the Universe sent His Son to save a Fatherless orphan like me…
“A Father to the Fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy habitation.” Psalm 68:5
