Friday Thoughts

My Friday thoughts…
I have sung this song many times. But for some reason these last couple of months the song has brought on new meaning.
The truth is you don’t know my struggles or my pain. You don’t know my tears. And I don’t know your pain either.
I don’t wear perfume because I’m allergic to most of it. But I can imagine breaking open a bottle of natural oils to wash Jesus’s feet. Mary did this as a thank you to Jesus. This was her thank you note to him.
There are so many things to thank him for. My list is long. I want to thank him for sending me rest when I needed it. For drying my tears, and for restoring my soul. I want to pour on him my praise from my Alabaster box.

The room grew still
As she made her way to Jesus
She stumbles through the tears that made her blind
She felt such pain
Some spoke in anger
Heard folks whisper
There’s no place here for her kind
Still on she came
Through the shame that flushed her face
Until at last, she knelt before His feet
And though she spoke no words
Everything she said was heard
As she poured her love for the Master
From her box of alabaster
And I’ve come to pour
My praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
Don’t be angry if I wash his feet with my tears
And I dry them with my hair
You weren’t there the night He found me
You did not feel what I felt
When he wrapped his love all around me and
You don’t know the cost of the oil
In my alabaster box
I can’t forget the way life used to be
I was a prisoner to the sin that had me bound
And I spent my days
Poured my life without measure
Into a little treasure box
I’d thought I’d found
Until the day when Jesus came to me
And healed my soul
With the wonder of His touch
So now I’m giving back to Him
All the praise He’s worthy of
I’ve been forgiven
And that’s why
I love Him so much
And I’ve come to pour
My praise on Him
Like oil from Mary’s alabaster box
Don’t be angry if I wash his feet with my tears
And dry them with my hair (my hair)
You weren’t there the night Jesus found me
You did not feel what I felt
When He wrapped his loving arms around me and
You don’t know the cost of the oil
Oh, you don’t know the cost of my praise
You don’t know the cost of the oil
In my alabaster box

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