I woke up in the middle of the night to my hands shouting obscenities at my feet. My feet responded in kind to the hands’ verbal abuse and, if I hadn’t intervened, it could’ve been a real street brawl. Like the movie Gangs of New York or even West Side Story. Anyway, I got them both to calm down and tell me what the whole altercation was about. I was shocked by their response. Apparently, the argument was over who I loved more. I told them that I loved them both equally, but that didn’t solve the problem right away. They wanted to know which of them served me better–that this would prove who I loved more. The feet argued that my passion for Latin dancing proved that they were more loved. However, the hands quickly reminded the feet about my obsession with table tennis (not ping-pong…table tennis, which is for adults)–and insisted that this proved that they were the more loved. I just kept telling them both how they were each a part of me, both with significantly unique roles to play–just like all the other parts of me. One part of me was no more important than any other…just different. But both were loved and needed by me. After a while, both the hands and the feet seemed satisfied with my response and went back to sleep. I smiled to myself, wondering if Jesus had this much trouble with His Body. I was almost asleep…then my ears and eyes started fighting.

Matt Sherman