Foot Washing Opens a Hard Heart

By Love, Serve One Another

This beautiful testimony was shared with John and Anna Weaver at the Syracuse, New York Curriculum Fair. It is one of the many testimonies they receive as they travel.  When John shared it with me, I thought we all needed to read this amazing story of God’s love. Think of it. Fifteen minutes before this dear old lady passes on into eternity, she trusts in the Lord to save her soul. Hallelujah! I wonder how many of us would have given up on this bitter woman. Oh, the power of God’s love—it reaches to the lowest places of humanity.   -Brother Denny

It was a quiet winter’s night in the small village of Wilson. My husband and I, with our six children, had been in our new country home just one year. The move from the city with all its hustle and bustle to the farmlands just outside the village had a calming effect on the family. All six children were sound asleep, and my husband was relaxing after a hard day’s work. I decided to take a walk outside around our old home, which dated back to 1860. The owners before us had raised five children here, and now, our hearts were full of some the same dreams and visions.

I will never forget that night. The snow was gently falling in huge flakes. There was a quietness that amazed me as I remembered the noise of living closer to the city. Everything was still and beautiful. Everyone else around me was enjoying the warmth of their homes. I felt as if the world outside was all my own. Nature always did have a way of moving my lips to praise the Creator who fashioned it all so perfectly.

As I talked to the Lord with my heart overflowing with gratitude for all He had done in my life, I asked Him a question that was burning in my heart, “How can I be a light in this little town of hurting people who are lost and without the treasure that I carry within me?” The holidays were coming, and our emphasis was now on giving rather than receiving. My prayer was for the Lord to use me, an unworthy vessel, and make a difference in the life of someone else. Little did I know how quickly that answer and opportunity would arrive.

A neighbor down the street called one evening just two weeks after my little prayer meeting with the Lord. She called with a request that would change our lives forever. She mentioned how she had noticed that I was always home and that the children didn’t attend the public schools. She also noticed that the older girls were so helpful hanging laundry in their pretty, long dresses. She wondered if we could help her next-door neighbor. Her neighbor was an elderly woman widowed for thirty years. The widow had seldom left her home and now desired to die in the comforts of that familiar place.

The widow Dorothy, approaching her nineties, was terminally ill with cancer. She was not favorable towards visitors; however, she was at the point where she needed full-time care. Everyone else in the neighborhood was either working full time or just not available.

My eldest daughter Heidi and I were delighted at the invitation and immediately began making plans. Heidi would be the first to begin caring for Dorothy, as I needed to keep the home going with schooling and care of the younger children.

At the start Dorothy was displeased that a nineteen-year-old girl would be staying with her. She felt that teenagers were trouble and should be seen and not heard. Heidi’s love for life and cheerful disposition were obvious, and Dorothy would have to put up with her. As the days turned into weeks, Dorothy seemed to grow more receptive. Dorothy was astounded to find out that Heidi’s interests in cooking, sewing, quilting and needlework were her interests as well. Was it possible that such an old-fashioned girl still existed in this day and age? Surely all teenagers were self-centered and interests were hair, clothes, malls and boys. Thus a relationship between Heidi and Dorothy had begun. Soon, she was allowing Heidi to go through the “forbidden” attic to retrieve sewing supplies, materials and an unfinished rug made from wool coats.

The holidays were now in full swing all around us. My husband had graciously offered to take my place in the evenings so that I could spend nights with Dorothy. By the end of the first week I was feeling discouraged. Dorothy preferred Heidi and wanted nothing to do with me. Faithfully each night, my husband would encourage me to continue in her care, reminding me to give and not expect anything in return. I decided that I would give my best to the very end. After all, isn’t that what Christ did for me?

Nights were long with the ticking and chiming of several old grandfather clocks. As I watched Dorothy sleep, I would often pray that somehow I could introduce her to the one who died for her, Christ Jesus. One morning after serving breakfast, I sat reading my Bible as Dorothy nervously changed the channels on the television. She was irritated with me and directed me to attend to other jobs around the house. I kindly submitted. It was her home and I would respect her wishes. From then on, Bible reading took place only when she was sound asleep. One afternoon, Dorothy awoke as I was reading. In a cynical tone, she asked me what was so interesting that I would desire to read the Bible so often. I explained that the words contained in the Bible had become a way of life for me.

Later that evening, as I dusted and looked at old photos set on untouched desks, sadness overwhelmed me. I noticed the unhappy faces and not one photo of a single child. I could barely keep from crying, wondering what Dorothy’s life had been like. A great compassion and love for Dorothy swept over me. A visit from the neighbor who asked us to stay with Dorothy revealed her past. She was only seven when her father walked out of a church service with her and promised to never again set foot in another church. Her mother passed away leaving her as an only child with an angry, harsh father. Dorothy became an atheist with a bitter heart towards life. She married a man just like her father, an atheist. She chose to remain childless as she felt she was doing a favor by not bringing life into a hateful world. Now I could understand her pain. I had so much love for Dorothy I felt I would burst. This could only be a taste of what my Lord felt for lost Dorothy.

Now that Dorothy was immobile, I would slip into the kitchen where she couldn’t see me to kneel and weep bitter tears for her soul. I prayed for some way to break through the walls around her heart, erected through years of bitterness and hatred. Time went on and for some reason she found me to be very funny. I was very amusing, even entertaining. She allowed the entire family to come in to her home and sing a few holiday songs. Seeing our younger children made her smile. Dorothy loved music. She would sit and listen to me play “As the Deer” on her piano repeatedly. Yet something was still missing in our relationship. How could I open Dorothy’s heart to receive the gospel?

That evening, as I was preparing tea, a thought entered my mind to wash Dorothy’s feet. She had often complained of sore feet, but didn’t like her socks off due to crooked, unsightly toes. As I prepared for the right moment to suggest a foot washing, the doorbell rang. It was our neighbor friend who got wind that I was going to wash Dorothy’s feet. She had come with a vibrating foot washing machine in hand to do the job. How I struggled that evening as repeatedly the Lord said “No” to the machine and “Yes” to the way demonstrated in John chapter thirteen.

Finally deciding to be bold, I filled the old basin I conveniently found in the kitchen. As I knelt down before Dorothy, it was as if she couldn’t refuse. I began to tenderly wash her feet. When I glanced up to see Dorothy’s face, tears were running down her cheeks. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

I replied “It is Christ in me who washes your feet, because He loves you so very much.”

Never before had I considered literally washing someone’s feet. I had read it many times in the Bible, but my eyes were not opened to the principle of humility behind the act of foot washing. I cannot say whether the work done in my heart that night was less than what was done in Dorothy’s heart. From that moment, everything changed. It was as if a door had been opened, and I now had a way into her heart. I was allowed to read scripture at her bedside. Dorothy and I walked through Roman’s road together, yet no decision was made.

Later that week, I was home when the call came from Heidi. Dorothy was having difficulty breathing. I knew her time here on Earth was almost up. I rushed to Dorothy’s praying all the way “Lord, finish this work You’ve begun.” As I held her hand, I asked her, “When will you open the door of your heart and let Jesus come in? He is still knocking.” With tears running down both our faces she said she was ready. I was honored to hear those precious words of repentance and brokenness as she asked for Jesus to save her soul.

Within fifteen minutes, Dorothy was gone. She breathed her last effortless breath, and she was gone. She was now meeting her Savior for the first time. I could rest now, as I knew Satan had lost and Christ had the victory. I would see Dorothy again one day.

As time passed, I would often question the act of foot washing. Was it really for today? Had it broken through to Dorothy’s heart or was it all in my mind? Thanks be to our Lord, for he answered my questioning heart through “The Remnant.”  I was visiting a friend who introduced me to this soul-stirring publication. I had to have this wholesome reading for myself, so I called for a subscription. There on the cover of my first issue of The Remnant was a beautiful picture of foot washing. As I gazed upon the picture and read the article, the answer came. The Lord was confirming in my heart that it is for today, and it certainly had made a difference in Dorothy’s life. I bring my sincere thanks to the Lord. He inspired Matthew Weaver to put together a photograph of a most beautiful act of humility.

John 13:14 “If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another’s feet.”

Because He Lives,
Gretchen Zielski
Wilson, New York

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