If only I were an unruly horse
in need of breaking
and lucky enough to cross paths
with a whisperer
gentle but firm – one who refused
to give up on me
or put me out to pasture,

brand me beyond hope.

But I am just a little lamb, lost, afraid,
in need of mending
and unfortunate, having been cast out
by congregation
abrasive, harsh, who gave me up, branded me
“inappropriate”
bid me be gone, sinner,

and sin no more.

Only this wide pasture

is not my home.
I need to belong,
and those who say, “Go.
Worship somewhere else.”
know not what they do.

If only I were the woman who cried
at Jesus’ feet, then
wiped her tears with beautiful long hair. Her
gift acceptable,
welcome sacrifice of self anointed
by a Savior’s grace
and all my sin forgiven,

forgotten.

But I’ve been dubbed the woman living in
sin, drawing water
from the well at midday, no tears, no shame,
unacceptable,
unwelcome reminder of all that’s wrong
with society,
condemned with a shunning,

sin remembered.

Only my sin was

to tell the truth, seek
forgiveness, grace, love.
Like woman at the well
I was thirsty
when they spit on me.