Do not silently accuse the man who sits while everyone stands, his head bowed in his lap while others gaze into the sky, his worship a solemn prayer while joyful shouts echo around him. Do not judge his silence, or criticize his tears that contrast with the smiles around him.
Do not cast glances at the woman who dances in the back of the sitting church, her body moving in the rhythms of worship while others sit in reverent awe. Do not judge her raised hands, or her voice that creates her own melody over the soft words of the chorus.
You do not know the cost of the deep love that he cannot put to words even while others raise their voices in song. You do not know the price that was paid for the freedom to sets her free to worship His name.
You do not know the cost of the oil in the alabaster jar.