footprints

Yesterday, during an assignment for a feature story, I ended up tromping around in large piles of soft dirt for about an hour. I was in white flats that were in no way meant for tromping around in large piles of soft dift. When I got back to the office, I dumped about two inches of the icky brown filth from each shoe, then went home to sit on the side of the tub and scrub my feet clean. It took 15 minutes.

It was at that moment that I realized if I lived during the time of Jesus, when this cake of dirtiness would have been a daily assumption, and someone showed up at my house and not only told me to eat dinner but washed my feet as I did, I would have declared him the Messiah right then and there.