The Beauty of the Painted Toe

I love having a pedicure.  My only regret is that I came to such pleasure so late in life, having only had my first professional pedicure within the last ten years or so.  And I don’t go that often – maybe once or twice a year.

Mine is the oldest foot in the photo

On the surface of things, it’s pure silliness – having someone paint your toe nails some outrageous color seldom, if ever, seen in nature.  That’s actually part of the draw for me – there are far too few ways to be silly when you’re in your 50's – trust me on this.

But whenever I slide into the welcoming chair and place my feet, one at a time, into the warmth of the waiting water, my whole being immediately relaxes into the experience.  And I am always reminded of Jesus’ very simple lesson of hospitality: if you really want to welcome another into your life, wash their feet. . . get down on your knees and embrace and caress the part of them seldom seen . . .

And as Peter attests, as hard as it is to be the one doing the serving-welcoming, it’s not easy being served either, for we, both the server and the served, are reminded in a most intimate way of the mutuality of vulnerability.

I seriously doubt if Jesus was about to give Peter a choice between pink shock and cocoa motion (yes, real nail polish colors), but the gift given and received was even more beautiful, more sensual, more intimate – the giving and receiving of time spent caring for and being cared for by another.