Tears flowed down her cheeks as she held the little bottle of fragrant ointment close to her chest. As the sun set slowly behind her, her steps trodded heavily but resolutely back home. She could still remember the first time when she first heard His teachings and Words as she sat with thousands on the hill. The authority, the power and the love of His words have made a deep and profound impression on her heart. She could still remember the indescribable joy on the faces of those who were inflicted but miraculously healed. And how could she ever forget how He specially made time for everyone - even the little restless children.
Time was running out and she quickened her steps beneath her. As she walked through the door, her eyes scanned the house quickly - past the people gathered there that day for a thanksgiving dinner, - past the modest but large spread of food laid on the table and there seated in the middle was her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Without a word, she walked towards her Lord and went down on her knees and opened the bottle of precious ointment. The beautiful fragrance immediately enrapt the room and it did seem as if everyone in the room, held their breath. Gently, she took her Lord's feet and with her long tresses, she wiped her Lord's feet with the drops of ointment, mingled with tears unknown to the crowd.
Nothing mattered to her. Not the murmuring and disapproving audience nor the cost of the ointment. All that mattered was that Jesus would leave her soon and journey towards a death on the cross. Indeed, a reality of truth and life [and death] renders all that is vanity, vanity.
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