Beneath His feet

If I were the sandals beneath His feet.

If I were the sandals beneath His feet, oh the places I would go. I would step into the Temple and hear Him teach the crowd. I would walk along the Jordan and see fish fill a boat. I would come too close for comfort to lepers and not fear their disease. I would see the lame man walk and watch the blind man see. Would I undstand His parables? Would I question who He was? Or would I know just be being near Him that He was God’s only son? I would stand upon a hill top and see the devil face to face. I would hear Jesus refuse to bow to sin. I would be stained by the sweat of donkeys. I would taste the sweet dew of morning on garden grass. I would be made wet by His tears. I would hear Him pray for all of us left. I would stand on a platform and watch a crooked trial. I would be hit by His blood, and strain to hear His defense. I would weep when He said nothing to free Himself. I would be gambled for at the foot of a cross. I would be shaken as the Vail was torn. I would break deep down as I realized He was gone. Then I would be far away from Him. I would be stuck on the feet of a Roman soldier. Then I would spend a long night outside a tomb and be terrified as the big stone rolled away. I would cry for joy as I watched the feet I knew so well and loved so dear walk past me in a glow I could not explain. I would hear from the soldiers later that He had been seen around, appearing before those He loved. Then I would see Him no longer. But I had heard Him say that He would return someday. I long for that day. The day when at His feet I might remain.
If only I were the sandals beneath His feet.