Sometimes I think of myself as a foot in the body of Christ’s church—relatively unglamorous (painted toenails notwithstanding), but willing to work and contribute in many ways. So when I got one of those fateful phone calls asking me to meet with the bishop, I considered the possibilities.
Maybe he’d ask me to walk or hike for a while, or skip rope or jump through a few hoops. Maybe I’d need to help with swimming or biking. I could even be asked to run, maybe a distance longer than I’m comfortable with. He might ask me to learn how to tap dance, or waltz, or heaven forbid, cha-cha (because then I’d have to work with the hips, and you know how they can be). Or maybe someone needed a good swift kick. I’m the gal for that. Continue reading I’m a foot, not a nose