He tied the mask around his face even though it was a ridiculous,
bright, yellow and white, daisy print, and he walked into the hardware story; a
simple act of love for the protection of others.
She walked into the hospital, donning freshly cleansed
scrubs, even though she feared the invisible threat might cling to her and
hitch a ride home to her family; an act of love for the healing of those who
suffer.
The child washed her hands, humming “Jesus Loves Me” slowly
as she rubbed her palms, between her fingers, and across the back of her hands;
an act of love so that the unclean might not touch the clean.
The teen drew the tic-tac-toe board on his grandmother’s window
with washable marker; an act of togetherness and connection in a time of separation.
They are all images that echo the acts of the one who
stooped down to wash his disciple’s feet; an act of love by the very real hands
of the disciple’s very real God.
God is here, in these acts of loving sacrifice.
Wherever you see love, you see God; for God is love.
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