To sit at the feet of Jesus is to come home.
In the Gospel of Luke 10, Mary chose that place. Not because she was lazy. Not because service didn’t matter. But because love was speaking, and she recognised the moment. She placed herself low, beneath Him, in the posture of a disciple and Jesus defended her right to be there.
To sit at His feet is humility, yes. But it is also belonging.
In that culture, sitting at a rabbi’s feet meant learning, receiving, being shaped. It meant drawing so close that the dust of the teacher would settle on you. It was not casual interest. It was devotion.
When I picture myself at his feet I am not tense. I am not anxiously taking notes. I am leaning. Resting my head against Him. Safe.
That matters.
I may be in a season where much feels altered. My son has left home. My husband’s illness has reshaped companionship. The house may still stand, but something relational has shifted. There can be a quiet ache in that a subtle sense of displacement.
And then my spirit says, “At His feet feels like home.”
Home is where you do not perform.
Home is where you are known and not evaluated.
Home is where you can exhale.
When I imagine Him looking at me, He is not disappointed. Not distant. Not measuring my productivity. He was looking at me with love like a parent who delights in their child. Proud, not of output, but of me.
That echoes the heart of God throughout Scripture. In the Gospel of John 13, John leans against Jesus at the table. That physical closeness is not corrected. It is welcomed. In Luke 8, the delivered man sits at Jesus’ feet, clothed and in his right mind. Before mission, there is restoration. Before doing, there is being.
Receiving can sometimes make you uncomfortable or embarrassed but not in His presence.
That is the gospel at work.
Because the gospel creates a place where receiving is no longer shameful. We are saved by receiving grace. Sustained by receiving mercy. Changed by receiving love.
In His presence, you are not indebted. You are adopted.
And perhaps this is what the Spirit is gently emphasising today:
You are allowed to belong before you contribute.
You are allowed to rest before you serve.
You are allowed to lean without apology.
Following Jesus can mean hardship. It can mean loss. It can mean death to self. But sitting at His feet is never wasted time. It is the place where identity is restored and strength is quietly rebuilt.
You are not escaping reality there.
You are anchoring in it.
Your true address is not defined by your roles. Not mother. Not carer. Not teacher. Not strong one.
Beloved.
And home is wherever the Beloved is.
So when you sit at His feet and rest your head against Him, you are not imagining comfort. You are responding to covenant love.
You have chosen the better part not because you are striving for it, but because your heart recognises where it belongs.
And He will not take that away from you.
In the Gospel of Luke 10, Mary chose that place. Not because she was lazy. Not because service didn’t matter. But because love was speaking, and she recognised the moment. She placed herself low, beneath Him, in the posture of a disciple and Jesus defended her right to be there.
To sit at His feet is humility, yes. But it is also belonging.
In that culture, sitting at a rabbi’s feet meant learning, receiving, being shaped. It meant drawing so close that the dust of the teacher would settle on you. It was not casual interest. It was devotion.
When I picture myself at his feet I am not tense. I am not anxiously taking notes. I am leaning. Resting my head against Him. Safe.
That matters.
I may be in a season where much feels altered. My son has left home. My husband’s illness has reshaped companionship. The house may still stand, but something relational has shifted. There can be a quiet ache in that a subtle sense of displacement.
And then my spirit says, “At His feet feels like home.”
Home is where you do not perform.
Home is where you are known and not evaluated.
Home is where you can exhale.
When I imagine Him looking at me, He is not disappointed. Not distant. Not measuring my productivity. He was looking at me with love like a parent who delights in their child. Proud, not of output, but of me.
That echoes the heart of God throughout Scripture. In the Gospel of John 13, John leans against Jesus at the table. That physical closeness is not corrected. It is welcomed. In Luke 8, the delivered man sits at Jesus’ feet, clothed and in his right mind. Before mission, there is restoration. Before doing, there is being.
Receiving can sometimes make you uncomfortable or embarrassed but not in His presence.
That is the gospel at work.
Because the gospel creates a place where receiving is no longer shameful. We are saved by receiving grace. Sustained by receiving mercy. Changed by receiving love.
In His presence, you are not indebted. You are adopted.
And perhaps this is what the Spirit is gently emphasising today:
You are allowed to belong before you contribute.
You are allowed to rest before you serve.
You are allowed to lean without apology.
Following Jesus can mean hardship. It can mean loss. It can mean death to self. But sitting at His feet is never wasted time. It is the place where identity is restored and strength is quietly rebuilt.
You are not escaping reality there.
You are anchoring in it.
Your true address is not defined by your roles. Not mother. Not carer. Not teacher. Not strong one.
Beloved.
And home is wherever the Beloved is.
So when you sit at His feet and rest your head against Him, you are not imagining comfort. You are responding to covenant love.
You have chosen the better part not because you are striving for it, but because your heart recognises where it belongs.
And He will not take that away from you.
To sit at the feet of Jesus is to come home.
In the Gospel of Luke 10, Mary chose that place. Not because she was lazy. Not because service didn’t matter. But because love was speaking, and she recognised the moment. She placed herself low, beneath Him, in the posture of a disciple and Jesus defended her right to be there.
To sit at His feet is humility, yes. But it is also belonging.
In that culture, sitting at a rabbi’s feet meant learning, receiving, being shaped. It meant drawing so close that the dust of the teacher would settle on you. It was not casual interest. It was devotion.
When I picture myself at his feet I am not tense. I am not anxiously taking notes. I am leaning. Resting my head against Him. Safe.
That matters.
I may be in a season where much feels altered. My son has left home. My husband’s illness has reshaped companionship. The house may still stand, but something relational has shifted. There can be a quiet ache in that a subtle sense of displacement.
And then my spirit says, “At His feet feels like home.”
Home is where you do not perform.
Home is where you are known and not evaluated.
Home is where you can exhale.
When I imagine Him looking at me, He is not disappointed. Not distant. Not measuring my productivity. He was looking at me with love like a parent who delights in their child. Proud, not of output, but of me.
That echoes the heart of God throughout Scripture. In the Gospel of John 13, John leans against Jesus at the table. That physical closeness is not corrected. It is welcomed. In Luke 8, the delivered man sits at Jesus’ feet, clothed and in his right mind. Before mission, there is restoration. Before doing, there is being.
Receiving can sometimes make you uncomfortable or embarrassed but not in His presence.
That is the gospel at work.
Because the gospel creates a place where receiving is no longer shameful. We are saved by receiving grace. Sustained by receiving mercy. Changed by receiving love.
In His presence, you are not indebted. You are adopted.
And perhaps this is what the Spirit is gently emphasising today:
You are allowed to belong before you contribute.
You are allowed to rest before you serve.
You are allowed to lean without apology.
Following Jesus can mean hardship. It can mean loss. It can mean death to self. But sitting at His feet is never wasted time. It is the place where identity is restored and strength is quietly rebuilt.
You are not escaping reality there.
You are anchoring in it.
Your true address is not defined by your roles. Not mother. Not carer. Not teacher. Not strong one.
Beloved.
And home is wherever the Beloved is.
So when you sit at His feet and rest your head against Him, you are not imagining comfort. You are responding to covenant love.
You have chosen the better part not because you are striving for it, but because your heart recognises where it belongs.
And He will not take that away from you.
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