Even a "Ho" needs a superhero

There was a preacher who once said that when you want to put your past behind you, you have to call it what it was. I used to be a whore. Or "ho" for short. At least that is what was said in whispered giggles as I walked by on my college campus, or among groups of fraternity men trading stories of female conquests.

Some women liked to call it being sexually free. I used to say it was my way of 'dating like a man'. That was much sexier than admitting that I used sex to get as close to men as I could...  desperately hoping I could keep them. Desperately hoping to experience the true love I used to read about in my mother's racy romance novels. 

I was young, naive and broken.

It started at age 13. I had weird short hair. I was skinny and knock-kneed. My mother tried to tell me my dark skin and long neck were beautiful. But boys my age were only into big breasts and backsides... things I didn't have.  I just wanted to get my first kiss. So I let an 18 year old boy I barely knew come into my aunt's home for sex. He was heavy. It was quick. On a floor. He did not want to kiss me. I only got his first name. I sobbed and cried when he left.

I kept trying. Trying to use sex like it was cupid's arrow. An attempt as ridiculous as cupid himself.  I'm still not sure why I needed their love. In fact, I'm still trying to figure that out. There were no discussions about what sex or love really looked like. My mother tried to teach me, but her actions spoke louder than her words. 

Broken.

Luke 7:37-38 There was a sinful woman in that town. She knew that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house. So the woman brought some expensive perfume in an alabaster jar. 38 She stood at Jesus’ feet, crying. Then she began to wash his feet with her tears. She dried his feet with her hair. She kissed his feet many times and rubbed them with the perfume.

I long for a moment when I can lay at Jesus' feet and wash them with my tears and perhaps wash away all of my shame and hurt. I feel like I have spent the last decade of my life longing for his forgiveness, but being afraid of how the other people in the room would judge me when I walked in.

"Look at that hoe. What is she doing here? Did you hear what she did back in the day? Who she did? Once a hoe always a hoe. Does her husband know?"

At this moment... as I write these words... tears are beginning to fall. I see these words as steps into the door of my savior's forgiveness. I know there will be stares. I know there will be whispers. But my superhero is waiting.

And maybe, if I take the walk, some young woman, wearing that scarlet letter, will learn to forgive herself and accept the forgiveness Jesus already has for her.

Luke 7:48-50 Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”⁴⁹ The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” ⁵⁰ Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Healing.

Dear Father, 

Thank You for making me clean. Thank you for saving me... even me. I pray now for the young women who need to know that your grace doesn't skip over them because of their past. My sins were dark and disgusting. Embarrassing. Life-threatening. But through faith, You saved me.

Thank you.

Amen.