What’s Really in Your Alabaster Box?

Sometimes, I wonder if we truly surrender all of the contents of our alabaster box to God.

In the story of Mary pouring out the oil from her alabaster box to wash the feet of Jesus, it can read like a graceful act—almost like something out of a romance novel. But when you really dig deeper into it, you begin to see the weight of the sacrifice.

In those times, Mary was seen as a harlot. In other words, she was the side chick, the hoe, the “worthless” woman who had been used and abused. No one was checking for her. She didn’t get an invitation to lunch, let alone this prestigious event.

This event was for the upper class—the celebrated, the religious elite. These were the bishops, the deacons, the head leaders of the church. This was the kind of gathering people bragged about. The kind where you needed a special invitation just to get in. The kind where the elite could later say their honored guest was the infamous Jesus of Nazareth.

A known female sinner was definitely not on that guest list.

So, imagine the desperate state she must have been in to decide to crash that party. Imagine feeling so low, so worthless, so unseen feeling like every mistake you’ve ever made will follow you for the rest of your life. Feeling like your entire existence could be summed up in this one alabaster box.

Yet at the same time, feeling something deeper stirring in your soul… a spiritual awakening that tells you the only person who can relieve you of your pain is about to be taken away—killed, silenced, gone. And even though you know He sees every dark place you’ve ever been, every hidden corner of your life… in sheer desperation, you run to Him anyway.

This is your last chance. Your last hope.

Before you leave… relieve me of this burden.

I ask myself—could I be that kind of party crasher?

This woman walks into a room full of judgmental, hierarchy-driven, holier-than-thou men and goes straight to Jesus. She throws herself at His feet, weeping uncontrollably. She lets down her hair—which in those days was as intimate as stripping naked—and begins to wash His feet with her tears and dry them with her hair.

Then she breaks open the most valuable thing she owns.

And she keeps going—rubbing, scrubbing, crying, pouring out everything… her tears, her pain, her shame, her worship.

She empties her entire soul—equal to the contents of her alabaster box—before the Master. In many ways, she becomes His own funeral preparer.

And everyone in the room looks at her with disgust.

How dare she come in here?How dare she embarrass Jesus like this?

Even His own disciples felt contempt for her.

Yet Jesus—full of wisdom and compassion—saw something different. He saw the love it took. He understood the sacrifice. He saw the hurt in her tears. He saw the honor.

And I believe that honor came from what Mary was willing to do to be completely free.

It reminds me of how often we put on a show for the world. Acting like we’re okay when we’re not. Hiding the very things that are slowly breaking us. Afraid to be seen. Afraid to be judged. Afraid that if people really knew, they wouldn’t look at us the same.

So, we protect the image—

“I’ve got it all together.

”I’m good.

”I’m fine.”

But what’s really in our alabaster box?

I recently saw an article about a beloved pastor who had been married for over 30 years, killed by her husband. Her family and community were in shock. They saw them as solid, Spirit-filled, a model marriage.

But what was in their alabaster box?

What hidden things were they carrying? Not just from others—but what were they withholding from God?

We know we can’t hide anything from God… but we can refuse to let Him all the way in. We can hold back the places that need the most healing. The places we’re too ashamed to even bring before Him.

So, we suppress it. Ignore it. Bury it.

But trauma and pain don’t just disappear. They spread like a cancer.

They show up as anger, control, overachievement, bitterness, mistrust, isolation, judgment, mental illness… and deep, unhealed pain.

So today, my prayer is this:

God, give me the courage—and even the desperation—to completely empty my alabaster box before You.

Let my tears wash Your feet in honor. Let my sobbing reach the places that still need healing. Let me not be trapped by pride or fear of what others might think—because You already know the truth about me.

Let me pour out the oil from every hidden, damaged place within me…so that You can refill me with something new.

Fill my alabaster box again—

this time with only Your purpose, Your will, and Your love.