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The entire room went suddenly quiet. It was as if someone had sucked the air out her lungs. She could hear her heart beating. Faster and faster.

The room suddenly erupted in to frantic whispers. She did not have to hear the words to know that it was about her. Every step forward seemed harder to take. She could feel everyone’s eyes following her. Eyes filled with hate, and loathing.

Her eyes, however, were fixed on the lone stately figure at the end of the room. She walked closer and closer towards Him. People were moving out of her way. Muttering as she walked by. Acting as if breathing the same air as her would somehow infect them.

She knew what they thought of her. She was a sinner. Someone who was spoken of in hushed tones or not spoke of at all. Someone who was not welcome in public life. She knew that she was not welcome here. She knew that more than anyone else.

Yet, she could not but be drawn to Him. She had heard Him speak many times. She had followed Him wherever He went. She had seen the blazing fire of anger in His eyes as He overturned the moneylenders tables in the temple. She had also seen a tenderness and compassion in His eyes when people went to Him with their needs.

She had seen the hard heated Pharisees  at a loss of words at the wisdom of His arguments. She had heard Him condemn sin in the strongest of terms, and yet offer forgiveness and grace to the weakest of men who repented.

Grace. Compassion.

Those words seemed alien to her. Yet, those were what that were inexplicably drawing her to Him.

Her feet almost faltered as she approached Him. She could not stop now. She had tried to gather the courage for a long time to see Him. Here was the one who melted her heart with the fire of God’s love. The people counted Him as a prophet, but she knew He was more than that. Here He stood, in flesh and blood, she could not but think that there was more to Him.

She stopped at the table He was reclining in. His feet were outstretched. Tears filled her eyes as opened the alabaster flask containing Spikenard. She broke open the flask. And poured it on His feet and wiped it with her hair. The smell of the expensive perfume filling the room was only rivaled by the angry whispers that filled the room.

She gathered the courage to look up at the peoples faces. She could see anger, outrage mixed with loathing. Her hands shook. She almost fell backwards in fear.

A regal hand reached out and steadied her. She looked up in His brilliant eyes. With one look she knew He peered in to Her soul. His eyes communicated His forgiveness.

Tears flowed down.

Not tears of fear. But tears of happiness. Of love. Of worship.

She had no words for Him.

Something told her she didn’t need them.

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