She came from a broken family
Which had nothing to eat
As an early age she discovered
She could offer her body for bread
Shame dominated her existence
As day after day she prostituted herself
Being good in her profession
She earned a reputation
One day she saw a Stranger
And she could not help but wonder
The Man had a way with people
And spoke words like salve to the soul
Several days had past
Yet He was all she could think about
She knew the Man had awakened something
Could it be Love?
When she heard that the Teacher was invited to a Pharisee’s house
She decided she would go just to see the Teacher
In her clothing she tucked an alabaster box
Then went quickly to the Pharisee’s house
There she witnessed how the Pharisee showed no respect
The Teacher received nothing upon entering the house
Neither handshake nor kiss, nor basin of water to clean the feet
Not even an oil to refresh His head
His humiliation so reminiscent of her own
The prostitute could not help but throw herself to Him
There she began to kiss His feet
Washed it with her tears and wiped it with her hair
Soon the woman reached into her garment
From it revealed the alabaster box
From this box she pulled a flask of expensive perfume
And poured the fragrant oil on the feet of Jesus
Her perfume, her primary form of advertisement and shame, was now gone
Compelled by the Love she had never known until the present moment
She gave up the primary means of her occupation
The aroma once meant to allure now become an aroma of worship