at His feet...

This week at Verity is Spirit Week...meaning we all "get into the spirit" and celebrate being friends and celebrate Verity and celebrate life. Each day has its own theme...complete with costumes--if one is so inclined--and special food and games. The menu is unique each day! Crazy fun. Yesterday's theme was Bible Times, and because one of my favorite Bible characters is Mary of Bethany, I decided to dress up like her. 

I got a few questions about why I chose Mary of Bethany. Why do I love her? I thought about her all day, considering her heart and her spirit. Each time we see her in the Bible, she is at the feet of Jesus. She is not distracted. She is undeterred. I want a heart like that. I want a hunger like her's...

My spirit wants to be at His feet. But am I?

This past weekend was incredible. I felt close to people...felt loved...felt the Spirit. However...it's been a long time since I've felt vulnerable. Even when I've had "dry" seasons, I haven't felt vulnerable. I hit a very very low point on Monday. Circumstances seemed out of control to my little human mind. My heart hurt...ached. What could I do? Where could I go? Where was Jesus in all this pain?? I felt as though my feet had been kicked out from under me... and I lay on the ground gasping for air. May seem melodramatic, but try telling that to my past self...

I stop. I breathe. I watch the world around me slip by in a chaotic flow of activity, pulsing with life. I shift my gaze and look into Jesus' piercing eyes. Of course, He has never left me. He has always been right here. I position myself at His feet. I just sit there and listen and wait and bask in His presence. This is what I was made for, this is what I should be doing...

At His Feet- a fictional glimpse into the heart of Mary of Bethany

Who was I? Just a simple girl. Unassuming and shy…nothing in my face told the world I would go far in life. Nothing about me was exciting or radical.  I had no money. I was empty in the world’s eyes. But that first day, the first day I met Him, changed me forever. It was a clear, sunny day when I saw Him walking down the path to our house. I sat by the window, watching and curious. I stared unashamedly, captivated by the sun that shone so brightly upon Him, yet now as I ponder on it, perhaps the radiance came from His being alone...

                                                

He had no stately form or majesty that I should look upon Him, nor appearance that I should be attracted to Him.  But His eyes...oh… those eyes. Bright and dancing and fathomless. His eyes were like flames of fire and shone with a depth of love I had never seen. They pierced me through to my soul. I knew then, beyond the shadow of any doubt the deceiver could muster, that He was salvation.

I watched Him interact with His disciples. These men were a marvel to watch. Big, small, short, tall. Several were broad and strong. A few were slight and skinny.  A tax collector, fishermen, weavers, tent makers, sons, fathers, brothers. These men were brave enough—blessed enough—to follow Him everywhere He walked.  Even an outsider could tell that the love that bound them went beyond the natural realm. And He loved them as well, I could tell that much. His love was selfless, pure, unadulterated by hidden motives. He continually spoke to me and my siblings with quiet strength and gentle confidence.

I was inexplicably drawn to Him, pulled by His Spirit, which seemed to speak to me. If I had been less fascinated by Him, less mystified and curious, I would have stayed in the kitchen where my sister was working to prepare the evening meal.  I knew without a doubt that she would scold me for abandoning her to do all the work. Yet staying away from Him was not an option.

He and the rest of the men gathered in the lower rooms to talk, and I followed, shamelessly.  At first, I hovered near the edge of the room, not wishing to disrupt them, not wishing to draw attention to myself. My ears strained to catch His words. I did not want to miss one syllable. He spoke so zealously of the Kingdom, of God and His heart for His people, of His vast and timeless love. I was utterly transfixed. I inched forward...thinking that if I could only hear Him better, or see Him, I would be content. He must’ve seen me. Heard me. He called out to me.

“Mary.”

My breath caught in my throat. I peeked around the corner. He looked at me with those Eternal eyes and a smile lit His face. My hesitation vanished. All doubts and distractions slipped away like shadows at dawn. Thoughts of helping my sister melted, forgotten. How could I do anything else when the Son of God sat in my house? I came forward, and His disciples made room for me. I found a spot near His feet and planted myself there. I would not be moved. This was my place forever. Resting at His feet.

Every chance I could get after that, I listened, entirely mesmerized by this humble man who was God among us. I drank in every word. I was so hungry to know. Weeks passed, months. As each day crept by, I felt as though time was my enemy. I felt as though....He would be leaving soon. And yet, how could that be? He was our salvation. He was supposed to stay. I could not shake the dreadful feeling.  I prayed for Him.

As I continued to listen to His words, in person and through the stories I heard, I began to see, and tremble with the knowledge that flooded my soul. Truth itched at my heart. Understanding began to open my eyes. And I knew.... I knew what had to happen. I knew what He had to do. I knew what sacrifice He would have to endure. All for love.

A week before Passover, He came again to our house. My heart beat heavily in my chest, desperation rising. My pulse raced in my ears as I discreetly ran to my room and took up my dearest possession. I had to laugh at myself. What I was about to do was far from discreet. As thoughts of His sacrificial love flooded my mind, tears filled my eyes. I swallowed the lump in my throat and rushed from my room before I could change my mind.

He sat eating at the table, His eyes lighting on each person there as He talked and laughed. My heart still pounded furiously. My hands shook tremulously. I was not fearful for myself...only heartsick for Him. I went to Him and knelt at His feet. I opened up the jar I held; a pound of nard—my greatest earthly possession, my dowry. Slowly, gently, I dripped the perfume over His feet, anointing Him like a king. A torrential flood of emotions poured over me, and my tears fell fast and thick. I could not hold them back. I reached down and wiped His feet with my hair. I did this until all the perfume was gone, and my jar sat empty. The house was filled with the intense fragrance, musty and earthy. Like oil upon His feet, I poured my love on Him. Some may call it foolish, but I would do it again in a moment. As tears continued to fall, I knew that this was my place forever…at His feet.