Pouring Out My Soul

This is a short, short story about the woman in Luke 7, whose only name is "a sinner."  You can read her story in full here.


I held my breath as I entered the house. I was shaking from head to toe. Every eye was upon me as I made my way through the crowd of men, many who had known me. 

And then, there he was. This man. This Jesus. One, like no other man before. They told me He was different. They told me He would love me; He had talked to my friends. 

The closer I got to Him the more I began to shake. He looked at me. He was different. He smiled. 

With every eye upon me, I stopped. Then I realized I was weeping. The tears rolled slowly down my cheeks. I felt a sob well up within my heart and then roll out with a tide of tears so overwhelming, they landed upon his feet. 

I knelt down and unfastened the pin that held up all my beauty. The locks of midnight that had garnered me many a coin. 

I almost forgot the jar I held in my hands. I wanted to bring it as an offering. It was the most extravagant thing I had ever owned. It came at a great cost to my soul, but here was the one that could provide the balm this perfume never could. 

So, I will pour it on him.