You Have to Receive It

It should have taken two hours, maybe three. But, the detours through the bush, the potholes, and the road blocks added at least an hour. By the time we arrived at the meeting, we were very late. My colleagues welcomed us with hugs and warmth. They hurried to offer us seats and greeted us with clapping hands and wide smiles. Cookies and soft drinks were immediately provided, and after some refreshment, the moderator turned to me. "We are ready for you now."

I began to arrange my big bag of stuff. The handouts, the sample books, the folders, all jammed into an overstuffed pack. As I placed it on a heavy wooden bench, I noticed that it was not all that stable. Unfortunately, I noticed a bit too late. With a loud crash, the bench fell onto my foot. I tried not to cry out, but it was impossible to hide the pain. I could feel the swelling begin and the pain throbbed. My colleagues rushed towards me, apologizing as if my clumsiness was their fault, and I assured them that I was okay. I limped forward, to the front of the cinder block building, and began to speak.

I had rehearsed many times and I was delighted by the responsiveness of the men and women, the great questions, the enthusiastic engagement. When it ended, they clapped and thanked me. The moderator suggested that not only do they applaud my presentation, they also give me the gift of the spirit. I was confused, but watched, as they all rubbed their hands together, quickly and repeatedly, as the moderator spoke of his gratitude for my work and excitement at the new resources. And then, he said, "One, two, three..." All the people gathered stopped rubbing their hands and clapped three times, in unison. Then, they held their arms, palms out, towards me. "The spirit of gratitude," declared the moderator.

I smiled, unsure how to respond to this incredible kindness. The moderator looked at me gently. "You are supposed to receive it." And so I held out my hands, palms up, and brought them to my heart. "I receive it," I said. "Thank you." And having received the spirt, the love, the gratitude, I limped back to my seat.

As the hours passed, my foot continued to swell. By lunchtime, my limp was obvious. Rev. Naomi Daka, a good friend, came over to me. "We have decided," she smiled. "We will heal you in the African way. The water is already boiling. Follow me."

Outside, there was a fire and a pot over the open flame. The water was, indeed, boiling. She looked at me, with laughter in her eyes, "You will not cry?" She teased. I laughed. "Um, that looks hot." She had mercy and poured in some cooler water from a bucket. "Sit down."

I sat, feet hanging from my car, and she knelt in the dirt, in her clergy collar and long black skirt. She took a basin and a ripped cloth, dipping it in the steaming water. "It won't hurt," she promised.

She removed my foot from my shoe and held it gently for a moment. And then came the rubbing and pulling and kneading and stretching and squeezing. I bit my lip. She continued to massage and wash and immerse my foot in warm, healing water. "How is it?" she asked. As I stood, I felt the muscles stretched out again, the throbbing decreased. "It is much better," I replied.

She rose from her knees and brushed off the dirt, ringing the cloth in the basin of water. I thought of Jesus and the disciples and dirty feet, of Peter's resistance...No! I am not worthy. You will never wash my feet. You have to receive it, I thought. You have to receive the blessing.

I have been spending time lately, far too much time, focusing on the image in the mirror. The person who is full of imperfection - the Peter who denies and hides and messes up over and over again. But God is asking me to open my hands to the spirit, to place it on my heart, to feel it in my feet, to lower my injury into the basin, to let the servant of Jesus wash me clean, to remind me. I am blessed. I am loved. I am worthy. I just have to receive it.

It may be the hardest thing, to receive the blessing, to find ourselves worthy of love. But with open hands and wounded feet, with a limp and a broken heart, we can find that this is exactly when we need to receive it. Exactly when we sit and place our feet in the warm, healing waters. And we know. Jesus is there, with a towel and a smile, ready to immerse us in undeserved grace. Ready to remind us, again and again - all we have to do is receive it.