My Uniform

By Jill Briscoe


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


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


the towel!

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