I have taken on a thousand names, playing each and any part that was asked of me; demanded of me. I have given myself away for less than I am worth. I have taken little in return. I have walked by the disapproving eyes. I have spent my life sitting on the wall, partially in but mostly outside. I have begged you to leave me there.
I have felt the weight of an empty heart as often as I have scanned the bare cabinets of an empty kitchen. I have tasted dirt and gold for my sins. I have taken the beatings that come as often as the jewelry.
Time has left me nameless, my resignation bearing my defeat. I have heard of you; your pursuit. The stories of you have melted my heart, making me aware of what stopped beating long ago. Those stories claimed my courage, taking hostage the false bravery I muster every morning just to get out of this stained bed. I see only the fear of you…at the moment of my last breath, please let the flames come quick. I, more than anyone, am aware of this economy of gracelessness, knowing where I stand and how little I have to offer. Surely they reflect your judgment—and my own—that I do not deserve you. Just leave me there.
—Rahab. Gomer. The Church. Me.
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