Alabaster Heart

A girl throws her head back and laughs. It bubbles out because it's beautiful and misty and that smell of moist leaves is something that returns every fall.

Then everything grows still. And she stops. Leans against a tree. Inhales.

It's like God threw glitter all around her in the colors of gold. But more. Because it's not the vibrancy or hues or sweeping shapes that make her chest rise and fall like dancing leaves. It's those smells.

The dry bark of a tree, scented like cinnamon but softer and clean and musty almost.

The dancing of a creek, throwing water into the air that smells like the first drops of rain on desert ground.

A fresh breeze, tinged with wildflowers.

And always, those tattered, autumn leaves, wet with rain, that God adorned the world with, just for her.

She inhales. Exhales.

And somehow, it's praise.

   

A girl kneels, hard rock against her knees. Her head is covered, skin dark from sun. And her gaze drops. Hands shaking, she tries to thrust them together, keep them from showing how her heart is torn in a million pieces. Tabernacle walls tower around her, tall, ready to swallow her up. Did they know her ugly heart?

But something else stands tall before her. The clean, white ground creeps up into an altar made of fine acacia wood and surrounded by pure gold. Everything, unblemished. Pure.

Yet it's the smell that makes her body tense. A distant smell, like lambs, freshly slaughtered. The blood smell, the death. And it was her fault. Her sin.  She nearly doubles over, gagging.

And then something floats into the air. On the altar before her, a wisp. Smoke. But no.

It's sweet and calming and sweeps all around her. Somehow, the change of the wind makes the incense' fragrance surround her.

This altar is different. There's no blood, no sickening smells.  Instead, she breathes in something delicate but so strong it makes her forget everything else and just breathe.

In. Out.

It's the smell of forgiveness. The smell of a love that transcends all wrongs.






A girl stands, still, in a doorway.

Her hands trace the lines of a flask in her hand. It's beautiful. Smooth, yet with gentle texture like rippling waves. Her treasure.

She rubs it against her cheek, and it's cold, gently. Not biting, not icy, just a gentle touch like a wintery kiss.

But she releases it, holds it before her.

And swallows. Hard.

Yet as the jar lowers, she sees another treasure. Something worth giving everything for.

There's a Man, but He's not just a Man. He sits, laughing with the girl's brother on one side and her sister busily serving. While the girl hid in the doorway.

The Man has his head thrown back, deep brown hair edging His face. And His chest shakes, laugh rocking the house. Rocking her world.

Heat rushes to her cheeks. The memories. Him healing her, drawing her from her pain. Him loving her. Him weeping as she mourned the loss of a dear friend.

He loved. He knew all of her and loved anyway.

But that wasn't the entity either.

He was God. Jehovah. The Messiah.

And He called her friend.

With pink in her cheeks, she steps into the room. Fingers curl around the flask. Food smells rise around her, but she rushes forward. And, at his feet, she kneels, gives her all for the One who gave Himself to her.

She takes the alabaster jar. Breaks it against the floor. And with flowing tears, she lets the incense within pour out onto His bare feet and the dirty ground.

Perfume. The smell of a thousand flowers on a hillside. The depths of love flowing in smooth, soft liquid.

She pours her treasure before Him. And He smiles, again.

Let my prayer be set before You as incense, the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.

- Psalm 141:2

And walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling aroma.

- Ephesians 5:2

~♥~