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How she loved to be in His presence. Talking to the Father about her Beloved, she poured out her heart to Him. She wished she could piece the puzzle together of His mysterious wonderful words, yet the Father gave her shalom, peace. Yes, peace was what she needed while she waited.

He was going to be there for Shabbat dinner! She would squeeze every word from Him, His words were like honey to her soul. As she prepared to leave, she quickly grabbed the delicate vial with her hands, and placed it in her pocket. She raced down the street, for it was almost sundown.

As the glow of the Shabbat candles cast a soft hue in the room, she sat at the feet of the Guest of Honor. Her eyes fell upon her sister, busy serving dinner. She lovingly looked at her brother, who had been miraculously brought back from death. How blessed am I, she thought.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she reached in her pocket for the vial, the treasured oil, a symbol of her lavish love. It was only fitting for the Guest of Honor.

Lowering herself to His feet, unbinding her hair, she proceeded to pour the oil lovingly on His feet, wiping them with her hair, mingling the oil between His toes, around His heels

not caring that it was servant's work to attend to feet

not caring for her reputation, as no decent woman

would unbind her hair in public

not caring that the oil was to be used for the head

He knew her heart.

She had had close fellowship with Him, He sat at her table, He listened to her concerns, He heard her prayers, they dined together, He cared for those closest to her - her family. It was sweet time with Him. She could do no less. Her joy was His. Her joy was well-pleasing, an acceptable sacrifice.

"While the King sitteth at His table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof"

Song of Solomon 1:12

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