W.A.S.



The sun dims,

the candle flames dance in anticipation.

Doors open, a polite introduction,

across town, she ponders performing an unction.

Oh, but who is she to do so,

who is she to be the one?

Day after day she had fallen short,

decidedly more lower than dirt.

And day after day she was reminded of this,

her wrongdoings and pitfalls: a prolonged list.

The whispered word assaults.

The repulsed looks.

The “you don’t belong here”s

and “go back to your lepers, men, and crooks”.

She paced, heart racing faster.

She looked back to that dresser.

Was it worth it?

Would facing humiliation be worth it to meet her master?

Holding her breath

hearing her heartbeat in her ears,

she grabbed the glass

and here came the panicked tears.

She refused to further ponder,

she set her mind to it; she would not let it wander.


In her hunger for him, she left her door wide open as she hurriedly ran out.

Amused chuckles and honest questions circled behind the intimidating door.

Does she push it open? Would she be called a “whore”?

But how could she keep away when her very soul cried out?

Hot tears fell once more,

she burst through the door,

ran to the man,

the teacher,

as she hit the floor.

She felt her lack,

she knew his reputation, and had no water, no rag.

Just herself, her heart and this perfume,

certainly no room to gloat or brag.

The closer she got, the more her heart ached.

Hot tears fell on his feet.

“Let me never be separated from such love” she thought.

She hadn’t even discerned that the fear she once felt

was fully dissipated.

This man who she had seen from afar,

who said it is possible to be forgiven by God.

She had heard from the holy leaders all her life she was inhuman;

Irredeemable

Unwanted and used.

But this teacher, the Son of this God, said she need only come,

and understand she is what she is,

but she doesn’t need to remain that way;

There is a way out.

You weren’t created for this.

There is more if you want it.



And she wanted it.

She wiped the caked on mud from the most precious of feet.

Her hair, the rag she didn’t own.

The perfume she poured.

This peace was the purest she’s ever known.

Since her entrance, there had only been silence.

Silence and her tears.

And a pleasing aroma to the Lord.

And a perfume in the air.

“Simon”, the teacher began, “I have something to say to you”

the words peacefully but strongly suspended in the air.

The teacher, knowing her full story, and not considering her irredeemable,

spoke to her accuser.

It seemed a blur.

She had heard stories.

She had seen him from afar.

Never did she think that he was for her.

But as soon as she allowed Him to affect her life,

it was most definitely affected.

It was changed.

The warm voice now directed back to her after a conversation with the table of holy leaders,

“your sins are forgiven”.

Agitated mumbles circled around the table above her buried head.

The very thing she thought could never be,

was said so simply.

She looked up with muddied, damp, tangled hair

and a tear stained face.

Love met her gaze, and she knew it was true.

No false promises this time.

No men asking for anything in return.

“Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

Her heart burned with love, knowing that God was real.

And he chose her.

All she did was come,

and he met her:

unintimidated by the tears

not repulsed by her reputation

calling her ‘Beloved’.

We Are She.

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