Recently, while I was supposed to be serving, I judged a mother of twins. It was easy to judge this woman. Her babies’ clothes dirty, tufts of hair ratty, noses runny.
The twins didn’t babble. They were old enough to talk in baby speak. I know these things. I have kids. I teach kids. The twins should babble, but they didn’t.
The twins’ feet were covered in dirt from the day. Their mother allowed her babies to each lick suckers, which meant sticky fingers and shirts covered in goo. Oh, and the mom didn’t bring enough diapers.
Did I have extra?
“No, sorry,” fake sincerity oozing.
The truth was I couldn’t get past the feet, those tiny-filth caked feet. I mean, how much effort does it take to wipe off two pair of tiny feet? For real.
I simmered and a question darted through my mind. Do you know what’s worse than dirty feet?
Yes, I did.
A dirty heart.
My heart desires all to know the love of Jesus, but I prefer if the “all” arrives cleaned-up, dusted off, and with clean feet. The irony is that mom can bathe her babies clean, but cleaning off judgment takes serious scrubbing.