Foot Washing

The aftermath of 14 rounds of chemo in a month's time, has taken its toll on my sixty-seven year old body. Besides the neuropathy in my feet, the loss of smell, most of my taste buds, and part of my memory, I have started experiencing a tremor in both hands. When holding any object, the shaking is more prominent. Recently I have noticed that the tremor is more acute before mealtimes. So far, because of the style of art that I have developed, I have been able to continue drawing every day. One may tell the difference in the quality of my illustrations but I will continue drawing as long as God gives me my sight, function of my right hand, and a sound brain, I will persevere.

I had labs last week and with no surprise, my white blood count had dropped to 0.6. This is part of the plan that my oncologist has put in motion to kill the myeloma. I will have labs tomorrow (11/15) and also Wednesday. Hopefully the white count will be increasing. My oncologist's assistant told me that after next week, the protein in my blood would be checked. Seven more rounds of chemo may be needed.

One of the first questions I am asked from a stranger who sees me drawing is: How long have you been drawing? If I have time to answer a nurse or person in the waiting room, I tell them that I don't remember how young I was but I recall drawing my left hand while sitting in church as a child. For me, drawing hands and feet has always been difficult.

About six years ago, the staff at Park Place Church of God asked about ten of us artists to capture a scene of Passion Week. The last time I had painted with oil was over forty years ago. By the time I had enrolled at Anderson College in 1964, acrylic paint was the norm. I don't recall anyone of the art majors painting with oil. Most of us painted on canvas board instead of stretched canvas. Fast forward to 2004, I had decided to stretch myself. I told the staff that I would take the scene of foot washing. I decided to paint with oil on stretched canvas and the size would be three feet by four feet. Most who know me as an artist/illustrator, know that my drawings are eight and half by eleven inches and in black and white. I did complete the painting and it hangs in a stairway of our church.

There are times when I pass the painting that I recall the first time I was included in the foot washing service at my home church. It was the Austinville Church of God and I was about twelve years old. I remember I happened to be seated in a circle next to Brother Hickman Smith. This man always seemed bigger than life. I considered him a kind of saint singing in the church choir with his booming bass voice. There he was singing from the old red hymnal, page 255, D.O. Teasley's song “A Song of Joy” -- There's joy, glad joy, there's joy, glad joy, Now flowing from above; There's joy, glad joy, there's joy, glad joy, In the fullness of his love. -- I can still hear him singing “glad joy” with conviction. There I was sitting next to Brother Smith and the next thing I know he was washing my feet! In my development in my formative years, this was an important milestone.

Hickman Smith was the grandfather of Christie Smith Stephens. Christie and I have been friends since before the second grade. We first recall each other as we were standing at the entrance of the Austinville church. We are holding on to the screened door and watching the Dockery house on fire. Later, we were in Miss Collier's second grade class and hence the book “Oh, to be in Miss Collier's class again!”