The Woman

She is a refugee, she hasn’t much, she does what she has to do, she has to feed herself. Her heart is big, she has relatives back home, she saves what she can, knowing what circumstances they live in. The money isn’t big, fifty dollars here, twenty dollars there, 100 when the times are good, she does what she has to do, the woman.

It’s a busy Friday night, the men are hungrier than ever, they like the fact she has a color, it’s more of a thrill for them. They empty they pay they go home, she puts her money in her sock, it’s safer there, by the time it gets to her village, it will be enough to feed them all, that woman, what is she doing, the days and nights have been hard.

They judge her those that pass, do you do the risky stuff some ask, how much. A veritable toe rag in the eyes of many, to be used and passed over, forgotten like she has no use, that woman. Many judged too simply, many rush to conclusions, Solomon thought of Jesus, what would he say or do, he’d certainly think less of those that judge her, the way so many do.

Remember Rehab, she found favor with God, for helping defeat the enemy. No one came to judge her afterwards, after knowing her profession before; tut tut, Solomon sighed, a mother feeds her children, while 25 trillion rests off shore, who do you think God will support, that woman of course, amen.

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