My Alabaster Box

I love the Bible story (Mark 14:3-9) of the woman who broke her alabaster box and poured out her expensive perfume on Jesus. Whether it was Mary of Bethany, Mary Magdalene or some other woman doesn't matter.  The change that Jesus brought about in her life was worthy of the love and worship she unabandonly gave to Him.

I have a little alabaster box that a friend once gave to me and every time I see it I am reminded of this story. Thus I am reminded of the need that I have to give to Him the love, praise and worship that He deserves and desires from me.

What is in your alabaster box? What is in mine? What gift can we bring this Christmas to Jesus Who gave His all, His best, for us? Whatever it is, give it to Him with abandon, with love, with worship...as this woman did.

There is a beautiful song about this story, here are the words...

Alabaster Box

The room grew still
As she made her way to Jesus

She stumbled 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

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.

                              -Cece Winans