Are you there God? It’s me, Rhonda

God where are you?
Where are you when the young concubine was made to go with a group of men and they knew her and abused her all night until the morning.
Where are you when her owner divided her up limb by limb, into 12 pieces, and sent her throughout the territory of Israel.
Did she ask this question of you, dear God? Did she wonder where you were? Did she know you? Love you? Did she feel betrayed and utterly, despairingly alone?
Did she know hope or utter hopelessness?
My heart aches for this woman I don’t know and yet for some reason have been given this little knowledge of. Her life, centuries later, is known only by this less than 24 hour time period. Less than half a chapter in the whole of scripture is given to her. She plays the starring role in a picture of depravity and degradation.
What colour were her eyes, my heart begs to know. Where is her mama and why has she abandoned her daughter? How could she let her become a concubine? Or does she even know.
Where are the strong, protective hands of her daddy right now, in this moment in time when she needs only to be stood up for, guarded.
Where is the heart of her master, my mind is aching at the thought. How could he? How could he make her go, forcing her into this group of vile men, knowing full well what would become of her. My stomach is sick, “and they knew her and abused her all night until the morning.”
God where were you? Where were you?
I want to yell and throw things and demand that this injustice was not your plan. How could it be?
I want to touch her hair. To hold her frail body after this night of agony, torture. I want to tell her that it will all be okay. I will stand in the gap for her. She need not fear for we will run away and hide and no one will ever hurt her again.
But no one did that. No one.
Instead she was left in a heap on the doorstep. Once she was no longer the object of their fun, their perversion. I wonder if they dragged her back there and dumped her body in that heap or if they coldly kicked her out into the night to stagger her way back home. Was her body so broken, her spirit so crushed, her soul unable to move any further that when she arrived home the doorstep was as far as she could go.
Did she return to her masters house out of duty? Or simply because she knew no other place. Did she think he may have compassion on her? Feed her? Tend to her? Did it ever cross her mind that her next day would be even worse than this night? She couldn’t have.
“…and taking hold of his concubine he divided her, limb by limb, into 12 pieces…”
What was her name? And where were you?
Did you know her name? Did you care?
My heart aches for her.
I am angry and disappointed.

[blogged from my iPhone]


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