how precious is a woman's hair
how precious is a years worth of savings.
but again, how precious is a woman's hair.
she was broken before Him. thankful for His forgiveness towards her. thankful for His grace, her undeserved mercy. she was a sinner. but He loved her still .
she was thankful . gave Him her years worth of savings in its precious form of perfume. and to express sincerely her conviction, her gratitude, her sorrow mixed with relief , she broke it.
her tears flowed. she could have used her dress or the towel that had been used to wipe The Masters hands before His meal.
she chose to use her hair. her hair to wipe the tears of shame,
grace received,
her hair to wipe the perfume mingled with His dusty feet
with her precious hair.
For how much more could she express her gratitude?
how willing are we to go broken before The Master?
My alabaster box.
Unlike the lady they oft speak of I gave you my alabaster box, truthfully, Lord; with a struggle and that's true. it cost me. set me back. Lord.
I wish I had her attitude Lord, but truthfully, i was very embarrassed by the snide comments, the snickering.
I admit I considered using the towel that was used to wipe your hands rather than my hair to wipe your feet.
I sometimes is tempted to complain about how I can't quite get my hair to sit like before.
But my hair smells wonderful. I'll never cut it because it reminds me consistency of your forgiveness for me. it reminds me of your that Grace I didn't deserve. I smell it always. My pillows rich, a slight turn of my head comes the sweet aroma of a new day, forgiveness. A decision to walk into a different destiny. Yesterday I bumped into the fellow who rebuked me for falling on my face and making a spectacle of myself (his words) I smiled quietly and said nothing. He'll never get the peace I feel, the liberty. His good friend who was there that night, walked past me this morning. Many don't recognize me with this new inner joy.
I thank you Lord for you did accept my gift. I was not like the woman often spoken of who gave you with no inhibitions. I did struggle that's the truth, I still do. But for the fragrance of freedom I now smell of, the freedom I have thank you.
For the stale rotting pungent smell of sin I gave you, you have traded it in for this new fresh aroma. this liberty.
Thank you Lord
how precious is a years worth of savings.
but again, how precious is a woman's hair.
she was broken before Him. thankful for His forgiveness towards her. thankful for His grace, her undeserved mercy. she was a sinner. but He loved her still .
she was thankful . gave Him her years worth of savings in its precious form of perfume. and to express sincerely her conviction, her gratitude, her sorrow mixed with relief , she broke it.
her tears flowed. she could have used her dress or the towel that had been used to wipe The Masters hands before His meal.
she chose to use her hair. her hair to wipe the tears of shame,
grace received,
her hair to wipe the perfume mingled with His dusty feet
with her precious hair.
For how much more could she express her gratitude?
how willing are we to go broken before The Master?
My alabaster box.
Unlike the lady they oft speak of I gave you my alabaster box, truthfully, Lord; with a struggle and that's true. it cost me. set me back. Lord.
I wish I had her attitude Lord, but truthfully, i was very embarrassed by the snide comments, the snickering.
I admit I considered using the towel that was used to wipe your hands rather than my hair to wipe your feet.
I sometimes is tempted to complain about how I can't quite get my hair to sit like before.
But my hair smells wonderful. I'll never cut it because it reminds me consistency of your forgiveness for me. it reminds me of your that Grace I didn't deserve. I smell it always. My pillows rich, a slight turn of my head comes the sweet aroma of a new day, forgiveness. A decision to walk into a different destiny. Yesterday I bumped into the fellow who rebuked me for falling on my face and making a spectacle of myself (his words) I smiled quietly and said nothing. He'll never get the peace I feel, the liberty. His good friend who was there that night, walked past me this morning. Many don't recognize me with this new inner joy.
I thank you Lord for you did accept my gift. I was not like the woman often spoken of who gave you with no inhibitions. I did struggle that's the truth, I still do. But for the fragrance of freedom I now smell of, the freedom I have thank you.
For the stale rotting pungent smell of sin I gave you, you have traded it in for this new fresh aroma. this liberty.
Thank you Lord
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