Instead, I ended up with this dear, older woman crying out of frustration at being immobilized by surgery and casts; being in the hospital once again; being separated from her drug-addicted, abusive, adult daughter; and now crying and screaming into the phone because I was not getting her out of the hospital. I didn't even make it to 90 seconds today. What am I doing wrong?
St. John 13:1-15 stares at me for tomorrow's Maundy Thursday service. Serving others is hard enough, trying to serve them and then being screamed at it is another thing altogether. Once again, I am impressed with how little I can do in another person's life and heart. My service or yours might open the door, but God brings change and new life—not the servant.
If I have learned one thing in the last few years, it's that there are a lot of people with very dirty feet who have no desire to have them to be washed by me or anyone else—and chasing after them with towels and water usually makes for a spectacle rather than a miracle.
So I'll wait for Her, and for the many others like Her, to be ready. The water is hot. The towels are sparking white. The servants prepared. Who will come?
