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  • Writer's pictureKaty D-H

Perfume poured out

Callings are smelly



Click 'play' here if you want me to read it to you.


I want to be popular. I want more clicks. I want what I say and think and feel to carry weight in the world. To be noticed and…liked? No it’s stronger than that. To be beautiful. And important. I do not want obscurity.

I want this blog to reach countless people and for everyone I’ve ever met to think I’m something special.

I want that. Don’t I? I want to be rewarded for hard work and to be well thought of.

I want to be seen and loved. For my legacy to outlive me. To be great.

I want it all. To quote Sharpay. No wonder I’m so mangled. I just quoted Sharpay.

You know - Sharpay? From High School Musical.


Sometimes I find myself wearing ghostly handcuffs that feel more real than the things in front of me. Recently, I found myself living how I used to before I was poorly. Constantly uneasy, every day slightly too much of a stretch, motivated by trying to feel significant.

Old lies chanted in my tired ears. I felt like my worth was somehow linked to my outcomes. Like I needed to be better. I crawled my way into an imaginary hole so I could panic in peace. Jesus came too. He’s nice like that.

As ever it was fear that was driving me away from him and into the ground. I told him my worries and “What ifs…” The “What ifs” that line the road to my fabricated future. “What if I’m not enough?” “What if you don’t come through for me?” “What if I am only ever a beginner, only ever weak, only ever what I am right now?” He has his own what ifs. They are better than mine. “What if I go with you? The one who turns every darkness into light? Who made your graveyard of disappointment into a mine full of treasures?” “What if unqualified and unable is exactly how I want you?” “What if you already have everything you desire, right beside you?”


“It’s all I have Jesus,” she said. Everything she had was in that bottle. Her riches, her dreams, her tomorrows, molten and held in glass. Every hour of hard work. Every hope that was yet to germinate. Every vision of finery, of applause and respect. Everything she had was in that bottle. “It’s all I have Jesus,” she said. She upended it. In one smooth movement, she poured it out. And oh how it fell. Cascading diamonds on his feet, on the floor.

“What a waste,” they said. “What a waste.”

It trickled into the gutter. It disappeared. But it also rose. It drifted. Like a breath held. Like a musical rest.

Perfume stirred up memories like a magic potion, blossoming in corners of the mind long locked away. One watcher remembered their grandmother. Her hands had been lined, and useful, and extraordinarily kind. Another thought of a dreams he had as a child, a flight through endless stars. Another was reminded of an ache long supressed and buried beneath fuzzy blankets. The ache to be held.

But they fought these feelings. This simplistic generosity. What a waste! Why spend all that you have worked for, for so little gain?

The woman saw not one of these things

as her insurance dripped over toes and wet the dry ground.

She only had eyes for him.

And they smiled at each other because they knew what the others did not. It was not a waste. It was a trade. All of hers for all of his. And they knew who was getting the better deal.

What she received from him that day was greater than storehouses of perfume and mountains of treasure. What she received was then and now and eternal. For there is no inheritance greater than the one he had for her. No call higher than the one that begins at his feet.

She gave him all she had in the world. And he gave her all the world in him. Inspired by Matthew 26:6-13




Maybe you know that I started writing a children’s book. It’s a tricky thing to do it turns out. Takes a lot of time of writing and even more time dreaming and scheming and the forecast on publishing is gloomy. It started off super fun but it has become increasingly difficult to hold on to the wonderful thing it is just to do something with Jesus.

It’s that ‘hitting the wall’ of a run. Where what started off so dreamy gets so difficult to hold. Where you lose sight of the ‘light burden’ Jesus talks about. It was like that with moving away from our lovely church and planting here too. We left with backpacks full of good ideas and quickly discovered it is a lot steeper when you’re actually walking up the mountain. Steeper and harder and smaller.


So here’s my mangled heart Jesus.

Confession: I am trying to be exceptional. Not specific. I am trying to be something spectacular, instead of being yours. I am staring at my perfume and wondering if it’s worth much on the market, instead of pouring it out.

Who cares what the market value is? I traded my life long before I got here. So I am making the trade again. The trade of all the world can offer me. For all of him.

You can keep your security, your accolades and your praise. I’m off on a pointless adventure with my Jesus. Pouring my perfume on his bunions because I love him more than anything the world can offer me. He’s better.


“They tell me to abandon you and make my dreams come true. So what am I, supposed to do, If I only dream of you?” Tree63



Katy x

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(c) words, pictures and recordings, Katy Durdant-Hollamby, 2021


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