I am only five feet tall and therefore I often need the assistance of a footstool to reach things in high places. I use it almost daily in the kitchen, often in the garage, and in our bedroom to reach my shoes when my husband is not available. My simple, gray Rubbermaid footstool really comes in handy.
As I was standing on the stool this morning I recalled a nasty message that Eliza had left on the voicemail several years ago. The message was long and incoherent. She quoted numerous Bible scriptures in a rambling diatribe admonishing my evilness. She was upset that I had inquired about Evan’s wellbeing after he had been grazed by a car. I had learned this information from a former acquaintance of hers. After sharing this news with my husband, he tried calling Eliza, however, her number had been changed! Therefore we decided to verify the information with social worker. I made the call, which in turn made Eliza furious because I was “meddling.”
I am assuming that she feared that this would get her into further trouble with CPS since she had not informed them of this incident. I’m really not sure why she thought this because the court had already closed the case. The social worker was simply monitoring her on an informal basis as she finished her report. Besides by then she had won the caseworker over. But she claimed that I could have called her if I really wanted to know. Yeah right. I guess she forgot the fact that she had changed her number and didn’t share it with us.
I remember that she quoted Matthew 22:44, heavily emphasizing the words “enemy” and “footstool.” She also rebuked me in the name of Jesus, “because we fight not against flesh and blood, but principalities…”she then proceeded to plead the blood of Jesus on my behalf–how kind of her.
I was rather puzzled after listening to the message. Honestly it sounded so fanatical and bizarre that I didn’t know what to think. Humorously I wondered what my life as her footstool would be like. Back then I thought to myself that it would be a beautiful day in Hades before I ever stooped low enough for her to place her dirty hooves on my person. It was a thought that I didn’t find too appealing.
Flash forward to 2008. Now I understand that sometimes we need to be footstools to others. It is how we cultivate a servant’s heart. Maybe in leaving that message years ago she knew something that I didn’t. In a sense I am a footstool to her while she is in prison. I don’t see it as her “stepping” on me in a negative manner, but I see myself as giving her a little assistance just as my stool does for me. We can all benefit from support now and then. If I didn’t have my stool, I would be forced to climb the counters to get what I needed. Likewise, if she didn’t have me, I know she would be climbing the walls.