Oh Feet, lovely feet
My Father’s feet rest on upon the earth, a dirty footstool.
He made me just like Him, for my feet also rest on upon the dirt.
Everything on earth is underfoot.
Oh feet, beautiful feet, capable of crushing others.
Created to go, to bring good news, made to hold the weight as arms and body raise and rise.
Dirty and Sensitive, arched, and ready, calloused and scarred and worn
Capable of kicking or leading
Feet, how is it you stand upon this Holy Ground?
Take off your shoes for that is where it is you stand
Holy Ground, pressed against bottom tender soles so sensitive and delicate
Feet, how can you stand before the throne upright in an array of glory?
Little feet, how is it you can boldly stand without fear?
While the knees dance circles upon trembling calves and weary thighs. Even the eyes
But the body knows that it is God’s feet that rest upon the earth.
It is the unnoticed, fervent, hardworking, unwavering person who lacks the attention given to
the beautiful eyes or the outwardly noticed lips or mouthpiece of the body, which so often
choose to be heard.
If the world be turned over on its head, and the vibrant eyes were to walk upon the dirt as feet
do, the least would be greatest, and the understanding of role and importance would at last be