Dust

Please don’t wash my feet.

I couldn’t bear the shame;

the knowing that you know me

and would do it just the same.

Please don’t wash my feet.

I couldn’t bear the pain;

the knowing that I know you

holy – without blame.

Please don’t wash my feet.

I should be washing you.

After everything I’ve heard you say

and all I’ve seen you do

how could I let you wash my feet?

And yet, you say I must

if I am to love as you love

and walk each day in trust.

Please, Lord, wash my feet.

Wash my hands and head.

I am made of dust.

Wash all of me instead.

Renita Boyle