Sure, they got me where I needed to go (after I acclimated to their size and stopped clumsily tripping over them). They helped me earn medals at track meets and even took me through a few awkward school dances. For the most part, I simply avoided drawing attention to them.  

But I never considered these feet to be feminine, elegant, graceful or anything else my 14-year-old-self longed to be. I certainly did not consider them to be beautiful.  

Now, I hardly consider them at all, except in a functional sense. They get me from point A to point B, usually without complaining.  

So when a prayerful Czech sister recently asked if she could bless and pray over my feet, I was honored and also slightly uncomfortable. Kneeling down in front of me with warm, gentle hands on my ankles, she blessed my feet and thanked God for them.  

In the weeks since this occurred, the weight of this blessing has continued to grow in me, slowing changing my perspective. Since then, this blessing seems to have extended to other parts of me. To my eyes—the way I see my feet. To my heart and mind—the way I feel and think about my feet.  

Could these purely utilitarian feet actually be beautiful to someone? To God?  

While I don’t usually consider my cross-cultural work to be that unique or special, lately I’m beginning to appreciate the sizeable (pun intended) impact my feet can have—simply because of the magnitude of the message they carry. My generous feet are a vehicle to bring good news and tidings, to proclaim peace and salvation.  

They are sacred, holy, beautiful.  

Through the power of this blessing from a virtual stranger, I find myself looking at my feet with more attention. Perhaps, even a bit of affection. And I’m motivated to be more attuned to the Spirit for ways I might offer a blessing to someone else—to look upon their feet as beautiful and to honor them as they bear God’s image from their head to their feet.   

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