It was a rough day, the first time I met Old Man August. My team was trudging through another village, going door to door, visiting with people and praying over them. I was feeling frustrated and overwhelmed by the need all around and my complete inability to do anything but ask God for miracles. All I wanted to do was block it out. Distract myself. Just give me some kids to hang out with. Let me bask in their blissful ignorance of their material destitution. I’ll carry them around and take their pictures and let them wear my sunglasses, just please don’t make me meet any more people I can’t fix today.
Tienie told us that August was a man who slithers, having lost the use of his legs after having a stroke some time ago. We showed up to a house that was really just a tiny, rundown shack of a structure, with a door that did little to create a sense of privacy. When we opened it, we found an old, worn man who was all smiles. His home contained a yellow water jug, clothesline, stool, red wash bucket, and various other items strewn about the dirt floor. As I studied him while he lay on a blanket on the ground, I immediately noticed his toenails. They were yellowy, thick, and long, wrapping around the tips of his toes. The wonder of why no one took care of this poor man’s feet haunted my mind as I pictured my own hands cradling his heels. No to that, Jesus. Gross.
But the thoughts persisted, the conviction grew, and my lots casting (coin flip) app said tails. I’ve never been one to say I’ve often heard the voice of God or always know what His will is, but on the day we returned to visit a person of our choice, I decided that maybe this time I had an idea.
I broke the news to Rachel on the way there.
“So, you don't have to feel pressured to do this with me – you are more than welcome to just sit and talk with him – but I think God wants me to clean Old Man August's feet.”
Rahela, full of both kindness and experience (“My dad has always had back problems, so I’ve been clipping his toenails pretty much since before I could walk”), decided to go all in with me. So we set out, baby wipes and nail clippers in hand, ready to give Shrek a pedicure.
Our translator Silverton guided us through the Mozambican wilderness to where the old man resided. After he cleared our proposal with August, we sat down and got to work. Rachel camped out near his head, asking him questions about his family and past profession and all things get-to-know.
As she went on to manicure his fingernails while sharing almost-true stories about the Samaritan woman at the well, I began washing August’s feet. I felt very much like Jesus, as He used a rag and basin to clean the muck and mire off the feet of His disciples. With a bar of soap, toenail clippers, and a shirt from his dirty clothes, I cleaned out the gunk in between his toes and underneath months and months of nail growth. Clip, clean, clip, clean. How many kids do you have? Clip, clean. Where are they now? Clip, clean.
With one foot down and one to go, Rachel and I decided to switch. I began massaging the old man’s hands and asking more questions about his past life. He loved to dance. He used to sell cigarettes for a living. His kids and grandkids visit him sometimes. He likes that.
It couldn’t have been the most comfortable situation for him, but August couldn’t have been more grateful. “Kalimambo, kalimambo!” resounded as we took pictures and gave him hugs and said our farewells. Walking away, I knew we had done a good thing. The right thing. The thing we were called to do.
Not that I was expecting a reward, but it sure was kind of Jesus to have a random Mozambican woman, after only about five minutes of introductions, invite us into her well-furnished home for (lots of) ugali and spaghetti. As she poured water over our hands into a bowl and offered a small towel to dry them, Rachel remarked at how interesting it was that we just finished washing someone’s feet, and now someone else was washing our hands.
And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to work in the Body: we all just serve each other with what we’ve got. I have hands, so I’ll clean your feet while you encourage me with your mouth. And we’ll make a mess of it all sometimes, and we can expect that the ball will get dropped somewhere, and we will never be enough, because we’re a broken body; we aren’t whole yet. So we work diligently with our hands or our eyes or our elbows, loving each other the best way we can, trusting that He will make all things new… someday.
He will make us whole.
And we will be quite a sight to behold.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
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