Alabaster Jar

It’s the end of a long day, or perhaps you are waking from a dream. You find yourself sitting in your favorite chair. You stretch your feet out on the ottoman in front of you. Lazily you begin to drift off into a dream.  

And then you’re walking out of a fog into the edge of an abandoned ancient village. There are remnants of the life that once was all around you. 

Like ghosts of the past. Feelings, and impressions of people laughing and busily walking down the street, fill your senses. You wonder what life was like for the people who once lived in this small village.

The buildings are all made of stone,  and the streets are of dirt and cobblestone. You can almost hear the sound of horse hooves clacking on the smooth stone. 

You are moved now down the old street because you pick up the scent of something sweet in the air. It’s like honeysuckle and sweet wine. 

As you move closer to the edge of town the scent grows stronger. You follow the scent as it takes you down an alley, past the old shops, and into a street where the homes of these ancient people lived.

These homes are made of brick and smooth concrete smoothed over the bricks. Each home is colored a combination of slate and tan. And these homes are two and three stories tall. Spanish-type tile covers the rooftops.

The scent grows stronger as you move down the old neighborhood. The homes become smaller as well. The scent grows stronger still. 

Each time you breathe your lungs are filled with the fragrance. Each breath is intoxicating like a fine wine. And each breath fills you with joy.

And then you stop in front of the smallest house on the street. The fragrance is coming from this home. It is a brightly colored home. Not like the other homes. This home is white with gold trim. The door is red. 

The roof is like the color of the sunset just before it sinks into the earth.

The door is inlaid with carvings of flowers and palm trees. It seemed to tell a story of the people who once lived there. Perhaps a carpenter? 

You feel a warm presence encouraging you to enter. As you open the door, the fragrance consumes you. You walk in.

All of your senses are coming alive as you walk deeper into the house. Feelings of joy, love, peace and hope overwhelm you. 

Feelings of sadness and despair evaporate and dispel into nothing. You begin to twirl and dance as if you were a small child. And laughter flows freely from you. You feel young. 

And then after what seemed like hours have gone by your eye catches the source of the fragrance.

It’s pouring out from a small alabaster jar that had been cracked open at the top and discarded on the floor of the old stone house. 

Curiously you walk over to it, and wonder how a jar this ancient can still contain a fragrance this powerful? 

And,  what kind of oil was this that had such strength? Like it had an energy all of its own.

Kneeling down you lightly brush some dust from the front of the jar, and pick it up. It’s light in your hands.

It’s smooth and cool to the touch. And,   as you hold this oil in your hands a deeper sense of love sweeps over you. Then you see a faint inscription on the front of it that reads “The Oil of Life”. 

Then you pour it out into your hands. You feel the oil absorb into your skin. All the pain in your body is gone. When you think of your enemies there is no pain or anger in your heart. The wounds you suffered in your life are vanishing like vapor off a sizzling tin roof in the rain.

You linger there not wanting to leave. You never want to leave this presence. You never want to leave this love and you want to tell everyone you know about this amazing oil. 

As you struggle to leave you hear a voice whisper to you …

 “Now that you have tasted my love and breathed in the Oil Of Life, and have taken my oil inside of you, you can never be parted from it. You must go now, but the Oil of Life will go with you.”

The fragrance begins to fade. You find yourself standing back at the entrance of the old ancient village.

 And soon the image of it is engulfed in the dense fog. You smile as you step out of the fog. You are back in your own world now. Everything is the same as you left it. Everything but your heart. Your heart will never be the same.

Marjorie Whitley is an Atlanta-based Singer/Songwriter, Christian Meditation blogger, and Prophetic Fine Art Photographer.

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