The Highest Honor

Ambassador.  Soldier.  Saint.  Last.  Doulos.  The meal served.  The betrayer gone.  A heaviness hangs over the room.  Without fanfare He rises to remove His outer robe.  Stripped down to a servant.  Steady hands gather a bowl filled with water.  A cloth for drying wraps His waist.  No, Master, never wash me.  Appalled at the idea of a King Who serves the least of these.  Gracefully and fully grace, He kneels before them.  Tenderly, lovingly, intimately He cups each filth-stained foot in His capable hands.  The One that created is making them new.  Confusion.  Discomfort.  Uneasiness.  The water flows over the grime of life.  All too soon, the blood will flow.  

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Author: timewiththedivine

An INFJ, heavy on the introvert, who loves Jesus to the depths of my being. He is the Lover of my soul and completes me. Middle-age-ish, not sure what the parameters are for that. Married to the most wonderful man in the world for 35 years. Two amazing daughters. Two sweet granddaughters. Two spoiled Chipoos. My cup runneth over indeed.

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