My Uniform
By Jill Briscoe
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I see you smiling while I strip my
clothes of comfort off,
I hear you laugh as water splashes
in the bowl,
I look above and catch Divinity’s
delight,
I kneel and seek with washing word
to cleanse a soul.
Yet, I could never dare to dress in
servant’s garb
Unless I first have known Your
cleansing blood,
Have fallen prostrate, crying—
“Mercy, Lord…
forgive my filthy feet their
wayward road!”
So humble this high head
till low it bows,
Before the cross where sacred head
hangs low,
Teach me lowly secret of
the Christ
Then help me hear You say…
“My Servant—go.”
Oh, Lord - may I be known by my
uniform—
the towel!
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