It's crowded. Tense. Powerful men—religious leaders who ignore you in the street—are staring.
But even though your hands are shaking and your stomach is in knots, you had to come. Because He is here.
The room fills with disapproval as you unplait your hair—something a good Jewish woman would never do in public. But you barely hear the angry gasps, because you're crying at the feet of the most important man in the room.
Then you pull out your jar, and the room falls silent.
You’ve kept it for years. It holds your dreams. Your savings. Your future.
You break it open.
The room is filled with sweetness: rich, overwhelming, and fit for a King.
You anoint His feet, your tears mixing with the oil, and for a second, feel His hand resting on your head.
And in that moment, it’s just you and Jesus.
