Artistic poem (my art/poem) about the old practice of washing the feet of ones' guests.
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Washed, Hair Dried
Humble, nobody gives a second thought ...
though they ought:
no rain, mind rots.
Simple, feet balance and keep one upright:
thanks to ankles,
shins, no bangles.
Imagine the weight our poor feet must carry.
Precious, My Lord, from His head to His feet.
Oil, water, wet ...
hair dry? You bet!
With no other way, bathed feet should convey
love flows deeply ...
pure and sweetly.
Feet are created equally--no spawn.
He washed my feet. Why shouldn't I wash His?
Christ kneeled, washed feet
in a heartbeat.
Why shouldn't I do as our Savior did?
I'm meek not proud--
to Christ I'm vowed.
We should never be too righteous to kneel.
For "he who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted" and "God gives grace to the humble but resists the proud." This is a profound poem about the dethronement of self and the crucifixion of PRIDE.
Cynthia
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For "he who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted" and "God gives grace to the humble but resists the proud." This is a profound poem about the dethronement of self and the crucifixion of PRIDE.
Cynthia
Be always safe,
Karen
In Christs Love
Michelle~