When shadows are all tucked into the blanket of sky and the moon shimmers as the world’s one great nightlight I come to the posture of humble submissiveness—that of kneeling to bring before my Father in Heaven the minutia of a day. Somewhere in the middle of it all I ask a question:
What wouldst Thou have me give my Savior for Easter?
What can I possibly give to the One who has given me everything?
At the close of my prayer I listen, perched beneath my bed covers, waiting—straining to hear the answer I’m certain will come. I close my eyes to ponder and a familiar sight plays on the stage of my mind. A few steps ahead of me I can see the feet of Jesus Christ so noble and sacred, walking gently, yet purposefully on the dusty roads. This scene has been on replay for the past few weeks every time I close my eyes. I’ve wondered what this scene could be teaching me. Tonight, the lesson comes as a soft whisper to my heart:
You must walk as He would in order to walk with Him.
My feet feel bathed in light as if imbued with a disciple’s purpose. I hold onto the feeling as long as I’m able, willing it to stay for just a moment longer, hoping this revelation will not fade into forgotten by morning. But the miracle stays.
My feet feel different somehow, more holy.
And tomorrow I determine to look at my two ordinary feet with new eyes. Perhaps they will lead me to hearts that need lifting, hands that need relief, and friends who need a listening ear. What miracles could be realized if I commit to serve just one person for Him each day? All could be holiness if I grant my feet willing emulation of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
He gave His life for me. I will live my life for Him.
This will be my Easter gift.