A time to be like the Prostitute...

I weep at the thought.

As my heart pumps pictures of life once lived.

As the story runs wild in my mind, I picture me as her.

The prostitute.

I see her heels, kicking up dirt, running with urgency down the beaten streets to find Him.

The One. Her only. Salvation.

Bare soles making piercing strides, tripping over garments of well-worn linens and garments of heavy shame.

Her long hair dancing into a matted mess of tangles, as she searches with desperation to fall lowly before Him. Gripped tightly in her hand is the alabaster jar, her only possession of worth.

The beating of her heart is fast. Her breathing weighted. Her chest is tight, ready to explode. "Which house is it? I need to find Him!"

The necessity is overwhelming, as she keeps racing toward mercy and grace, our God who pulled on flesh to bring these specific gifts to us.

She hikes up her lengthy gown to keep herself from stumbling, as she barges in through the door. A strangers home. A home where the religious leaders are reclining. Pharisee's judging and questioning.

Her only care is to find sweet release.

To find freedom.

To live in truth.

And to know love.

Through the crowd, she spots Him. Her eyes glazed with wells of tears.

All other eyes are on her, and she only has vision for one.

Focused on her mission to seek and find.

With a thundering thud, her knees drop. The wailing of years sends a shudder through her spine.

With shaky hands she opens her jar of oiled perfume, and begins to give all that is of any significance to the only one who is significance. Alabaster contents and salted prostitute-tears clean the feet of Christ, the only one who needs no cleansing. Her hair, a woman's crown of glory, wipes the dirt from dusted sandals and gritty streets.

As she cries. And pours oil. And wipes hair. And kisses feet. There is not a care in the world that would deter her in that moment.

As judgements are being passed and silent accusations are made by bystandars, she continues. The prostitute has heart.

This prostitute gets it.

Without a word spoken, Jesus knows what they are thinking of her. He knows how grace grates the nerves of those who think more highly then they ought. With all of His fierce humble love, He educates the proud by stating that they could learn from her.

The prostitute understands that humility and courage are one of the same, when they come barging through the door, desperate for the One in whom life comes.

Humility and courage don't worry about on-lookers or their small-minded judgements.

Humility and courage will lay down their life, for the sake of finding it.

Humility and courage are fragrant with tears and a sincere offering of repentance.

Humility and courage are clothed in a simple and honest knowledge that everything comes through and is through... One. The Only. Jesus Christ our Saviour.

May I always humble myself like the prostitute.

Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for

"God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble."

~1Peter 5:5