One afternoon a month after we had arrived in Haiti, a neighbor and his young nephew took my husband and me out to see their garden. In the hot sun we tromped through mud and hopped over small irrigation canals on the ten-minute walk to the field of banana trees. Once we arrived, our neighbor went to work digging up small banana stalks to be replanted in another field. We, happy to be included in the work, carried the stalks to a nearby pile and held them steady as the nephew chopped at their roots with his machete.

After a couple hours of this work we returned home, again slugging through mud and hopping over canals. At the last canal before reaching home our neighbor stopped and motioned for us to wash our muddy feet and ankles in the canal. I leaned down and splashed some muddy water on my feet and wiped off a few smudges of dirt. When I stood up, our neighbor came over to inspect my work. After one glance, he knelt down wordlessly, took my foot in his hands, removed my sandals, splashed cold water on my legs and feet, and vigorously scrubbed off every speck and smear of dirt. He even washed in between my toes. At first I felt self-conscious about my neighbor’s touch on my soiled feet, but soon the cold water washed away the embarrassment and a deep feeling of gratitude and love filled me. I sensed here in my neighbor’s expert touch something like the tough and tender hands of Christ washing away my shame.

My husband and I came to Haiti to give, to serve, and love our neighbors. But so often we’re the ones who receive. So often we’re the ones served and shown love by our neighbors. We attempt to respond with gratitude and generosity, reciprocating the love and giving what we can.