She wasted it all
This woman who sat at the feet of Jesus
Who suffered the rebuke of her sister for leaving duties undone
This same one would be called Beautiful
because of what Jesus saw in her Act of Worship
Pouring our her costly perfume
Just for Him
Last week, as I read a beautiful post, “God’s Treasures in Clay Vessels” from Wendy at “Widows Manna,” her words took me back to a day several years ago before my RA/Fibro journey had begun. (Thank you, Wendy for encouraging me to share my story here.) I was that Woman in a dramatic portrayal Jesus had put on my heart. I had portrayed The Woman at the Well many years before, but after a time of brokenness in a relationship, the Lord stretched my heart to write one final drama that would combine the stories of three women whose brokenness had been turned into worship. And the final segment belonged to Mary, as she broke open her alabaster box, anointing Jesus with her costly perfume.
Oh what a freeing time of expression the Lord gave to me through that portrayal. For you see the main thought that I expressed through Mary’s Worship was in the Joy that she felt to be at Jesus’ feet. Joy to be allowed to sit and glean from His speaking, Joy to find her grief turned inside out when Jesus raised her brother Lazarus, and finally, Joy to have her Love be fully accepted when she poured out her worship on his feet. That portrayal was a kind of culmination for me: an expression of what Jesus had worked in my own heart through the years of letting go of pain and embracing His healing.
But it turns out the culmination was actually a beginning. (Isn’t that just like our God? He seems to delight in re-telling our stories!) One day last year, as I faithfully massaged my daily essential oils onto my sore and tired feet, my vision clouded and I saw myself going through the motions of pouring that oil out as Mary did. And I heard the whisper of God saying to remember that anointing every night as I poured out the oil onto my own feet, because Jesus was now anointing me. My act of worship to portray Mary, had now become my own act of prayer as I waited for the healing that was in His hand to provide.
But as sweet as that was, the days moved on, and my feet continued to ache. The inflammation continued to wax and wane. Even as I found myself shut-in with Jesus, I chafed at the restrictions. But He has been fulfilling my heart’s desire: to be at His feet.
In the night when my soul aches with anxiety, my words are few, and I have come to a new place of being poured out. Even as healing comes to joints long stiffened with pain, my silent love is spilling out, Worshiping at HIS FEET.
My dear friend sang this song at the conclusion of the Drama, when we offered it for our Church’s Women’s Retreat. I hope this version by Clint Brown blesses you as much as it continues to bless me.
Linking with Jennifer Dukes Lee at #TellHisStory