The Beautiful Feet

“How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭10‬:‭14‬-‭15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I am writing this tonight from the hospital room where I am staying with my father. This message has been in my heart and spirit for the last couple of weeks.

I don’t always write in a planned fashion. I write as I hear God within the moments I’m living-through what He is teaching, revealing with each release.

Over the last few months, I have taken to traveling down to Baxley, Georgia, every weekend to spend intentional time with my father. During the latter part of this summer, I felt a strong tugging to visit him more often, and help my stepmother care for him.

It has been a sweet exchange: the loud and busy movement of my life and home,for the quiet, gently paced rest of the country-in their home, tucked within the heart of the woods.

It has been a beautiful exchange between us, filled with reflection, rest, and unhurried time together.

I’m a daddy’s girl. Plainly put.

No need to beat around it, sugar coat it or cover it up. I have been my daddy’s shadow since I could walk. Everywhere he went (except the bathroom) was where you could find me.

From our trips to hospitals to pray for sick church members, to my sitting on his knee during classes and seminars, to traveling dirt roads, church revivals and prayer meetings…I was right there on his knee or holding his hand, trying to match my steps to his.

I spent weekday afternoons after school in his office, pretending to read and do homework,while listening from the other side of the room as he counseled people and couples, and held meeting after meeting until it was finally time to go home.

I thought this was normal.

My mother was a nurse, so the weekends were our time. That’s when we went out for lunch, shopped at the mall, and enjoyed the time I didn’t get with her during the week. But the majority of my time was spent with my daddy.

I was always watching how quickly he moved. He never moved slowly. His feet took one step as though it were two, and his shoes were always sharp and shined.

Daddy didn’t own a pair of tennis shoes, or a pair of sandals. His shoes were always dressy, perfectly matching black, brown or navy-blue suits and dress pants he wore.

Daddy’s feet were always dressed up I used to think.

They were dressed up  beautifully for wherever he was going.

Over the last few weeks, I have been helping care for my daddy in ways I never imagined I would need to. Every Sunday afternoon, we have shared a special moment as I cut the nails on his finger and toes.

I begin with a foot bath, filled with steaming warm water. I pour a little Epsom salt into the basin, then gently immerse each foot and allow it to soak.

Then, I wash my daddy’s feet.

That moment is sacred.

It is unhurried, and it is beautiful.

I lift Daddy’s feet one at a time, and rub them. I pray over them, asking God to lift every bit of dirt, hurt, pain and discomfort from those tired feet-and that his healing would move throughout Daddy’s body.

I wash between each toe and marvel at how soft his skin has remained and how beautiful his feet still are with the coming of age.

These are the feet that have moved through decades of pastoring people, shepherding sheep, fathering sons and daughters, loving his wife and holding his grandchildren.

Those feet had weathered many storms. They have carried the weight of many disappointments and traveled roads filled with uncertainty and sorrow.

Yet they have traveled to distant places. They have stood upon the sands and soils of nations I have never visited.

What beautiful feet I held in my hands…

the feet of my father.

At this moment, I am eager to write what transpired just before he dosed off to sleep.

I pulled out my Bible to read Romans 10:14-15 quietly, but then decided to read it aloud to daddy.

As I reached the end of each sentence in that beautiful passage, Daddy finished the words in a soft whisper. He knew them well.

He seemed to sit a little higher in the bed, eager to hear more as I read:

“How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!”

We read those words together.

It was as though I had read aloud a part of his heart - a part that had been tucked deeply inside.

In that moment, I realized this Scripture was not merely one Daddy knew, or preached.

It was the testimony of the life he lived.

Our feet may grow weary. We may become tired from the roads of life. Daddy’s feet may be tired from the roads of ministry he’s traveled, yet they remain so beautiful in the eyes of our Father in heaven, for He gave them a map and a purpose.

Our feet are truly works of art:

supreme craftsmanship formed by the one and only MASTER designer.

They are beautiful because God made them in His image.

We look like our Maker, and our Maker took on flesh!

Jesus had feet.

He walked dusty roads. He entered forgotten places. He traveled toward people others had passed by. Then He knelt and washed the feet of his disciples.

Our feet are become beautiful when we surrender them to God-when we allow Him to lead us into the places He has called us to carry the good news and the gospel of Jesus.

Beautiful feet are often sore, dirty, tired and worn-not because rest is unholy, but because obedience sometimes carries us across long and difficult roads.

They move according to God’s direction, carrying the gospel into new territories and toward those who desperately need it.

Beautiful feet deserve honor for where they have been and for where God is still leading them.

Those were sacred moments.

This, is a sacred moment.

Jesus washed the feet of his disciples…and I was given an opportunity to wash the feet of my earthly daddy.

I was not only his child in those moments, I was serving the man I’ve known and followed my whole life.

He cared for me.

Now it is my turn to care for him.

He cared for so many.

How beautiful are his feet.

“How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news…”

Thank you, Jesus, for the beautiful feet of my father.

© 2026 Jantina Masters. All rights reserved.

Please do not reproduce or distribute this letter without written permission. Brief quotations may be shared with proper credit to Jantina Masters and a link to the original publication.