The drying tears of a soiled woman.
“Therefore there is no condemnation for
those in Christ Jesus”
Romans 8:1
Like
every Friday night,
they
congregated and cuddled in her room to ponder on anything(s) and nothing(s).
They
went on and on, and with each utterance she felt more soiled. Matter of fact it
felt as though they were trashing soil at her, but she is keen to mention that
it was very unintentional of them.
She let
her mind wander.
She cannot
blame them for the undying desire they harbor. It is the innocent desire of
those who have not trailed this path.
The virgin
women.
But then,
who speaks out for those without a voice?
Who speaks
out for the soiled woman in the church?
Who leaves
his arms open to this woman who needs constant assurance of her place in the
church?
Who understands
that what happened to her is not as important as how it affects her now?
Still,
she listens to them.
She
listens to their a little far-fetched fantasy,
and, with a smile she silently wishes them
portions of the same intensity of fantasy and more, just to quench their
ignorant virgin bodies after they walk down the aisle.
But then,
once again, like a dose of bitter herbs,
her encounters
rewind in her mind. Her tears begin to flow on the cheeks once pampered. She cries
because her tears somehow off lift the burden gravitated in her heart.
These
are the tears of many. These are the tears of a whole crowd of those women who
smile their days and cry their nights. Tears of the soiled women. Tears of the abused. Tears of the broken
hearted. Tears of the judged. Tears of the accused, of the forsaken. Tears of
loneliness and aloneness. Tears that only Christ can take away. Tears of the
soiled women in the church…they were her tears, but somehow, the flow of the flood
of them told her she was crying for multitudes of women outside this dim lit
room, outside that mahogany door.
She opens
the pages of her Bible.
To seek
something she did not even know. To seek a voice she could not even identify. She
just wanted something, anything that would trigger transformation. That would
comfort the formation of the woman in her.
She was
never forced to sleep with any of those men. It was never a case of abuse. All she
did, she did consciously and willingly. She was never a victim. She actively
participated. She acted on the naivety she carried and the lustful thoughts
birthed from lustful content. It is not pity she needed. Neither was it false
acclaimed understanding. She just needed another experience with a supreme
being. She needed another experience with her creator. She needed to know, from
Him, that when all emotional hell breaks loose, she can still stand.
That
when all is said and done, when men take advantage of her vulnerability, when
condemnation strings her sleeves, she needed to know of a God that remains long
after. Long after the men rumble her heart. Long after victimization. Long after
she wipes her tears. All she needed to know is that as she falls and rises,
there’s a God who can be trusted. A God that remains the same yesterday, today
and tomorrow.
And she
interacted with this God on the pages of the Bible,
As she met this God, this God who is the Word,
who is with the Word, who was there from the beginning, her illumination
becomes evident, but the girls in this room don’t seem to notice.
She stood
up…walked to her bedroom window and drew the curtains. She watched the raindrops
trickle. Each of them seemed to silently signify that the gravity of her
freedom had to felt by all that it touched. It was a beautiful feeling, this
feeling of freedom. It was a quenching drop, this drop of rain. The ambiance of
the moment was indescribable.
She wanted
to converse with this God.
His goodness
was just unfathomable!
She wanted
to ask Him…
To ask
Him how He can reach out to her imperfect being and love her still.
To ask
Him how He can breathe grace into her soiled womanhood and call her pure.
To ask
Him how He can allow her to shine in her generation despite of her failed past.
To ask
Him how He can still call her His ‘child’ or ‘princess’ or ‘precious’ even at
the bottom of her pit of sin.
She loved
this God!
Because
He has remained the same when everything is changing.
He has
remained the same when people keep changing.
He has
remained the same even when she herself changes from time to time.
He
has been the God of yesterday, The God of Today and The God of Tomorrow.
And none
can compare!
Not even
the beauty of the raindrops on her bedroom window in this calm night.
and as she smiled again, those were the drying tears of a soiled woman.
Cheptoo.J.
Note from me: It is not always that the woman on the pulpit will have her life all figured out. It is not always that past pain will not recur. We too, need the constant still voice that whispers "It is well, I remain the same yesterday, today and tomorrow, I remain constant in changing times."
With love.
