Feminine 101

All my life, I’ve dwelt in their shadow.

Paints a persistent, menacing tableau,

Their decades-old wilderness post.

They’ve camped there so long one, almost,

Might believe that’s where they planned to stay.

Still so long, I could forget them any given day.

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I could go about my unseemly work,

Collecting my dues while their wives smirk.

Not precisely successful though hardly bereft,

In my line of work, I’d little shame left.

Let them judge and turn up their noses,

I’ll sleep just fine in my bed of roses.

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My family never stopped being embarrassed,

By me, by those by whom I am caressed.

Still, they eat the bread on their plate,

And I don’t begrudge them their distaste.

Let them fret over my every misdeed

After all, I’ve got mouths to feed.

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Yes, I’d managed to forget the looming mass,

Parked forty years in the wilderness.

That is, until their spies appeared,

And I recalled everything we’d feared.

I remembered the story of a distant sea

And waves standing aside at their God’s decree.

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When those men darkened my door,

I remembered much I’d worked to ignore.

The growing invasion in the desert,

Mirrored my own nagging regret.

It wasn’t until after they drifted off to sleep,

That I allowed my own counsel to keep.

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In the quiet of the night, I saw another way,

Where shame had no part in the role I would play.

Given ears by grace to answer His kind call,

And any fool could see the writing on the wall.

Jericho’s mighty walls would crumble,

But it’s possible He might spare the humble.

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It was plain the Hebrew agents,

Dealt with this harlot with reticence.

I’ve long since ceased to be bothered,

By men who are equally dishonored.

For all my sins, I own the stain I bear,

Know well that it pollutes each and every hair.

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In my mind an idea is thrumming,

I know this strange multitude is coming.

Like Og and Sihon, we will be consumed,

‘Neath the weight of our sins be entombed.

I owe this city nothing but scorn,

For the contempt, the disdain, that I have born.

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In my two heaven-sent guests

A chance to save my family rests.

And so I ensured their help as I could,

And sent their pursuers away for good.

Now, we wait while our neighbors dread

And all our hope hangs by a scarlet thread.

.

It was with desperate men that I bargained,

And our desperate souls were pardoned.

Among this peculiar people we made a new life,

To dear Salmon, I became a wife.

In that camp I became the mother of kings.

And of God’s mercies my soul still sings.

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Who am I? I’m Rahab; I’m nobody.

But in light of my story, I’m sure you’ll agree,

It’s the nobodies that He uses best.

The stranger, the alien He has blessed.

Ever, He’s stitching the castoffs into His story,

Weaving for them a place in glory. 

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How many of my sons came from obscurity

To shape history under His authority?

Dear David, even my daughter Ruth,

Were mere forebearers of the Truth.

And when that nobody rose from Nazareth,

All of history held its breath.

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Whom am I to claim Him as my son?

I’m Rahab, a harlot and only one

Of many whom He has sought to redeem.

He raised me from ashes to great esteem,

A nobody, blind to the weight my shame,

Made new by the power of His Great Name.

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