Adoption Sluts, Divorcees, and Fat Chicks: Whorin’ Around for Jesus
Overheard at the pool…
Granny: those boys aren’t more than 2 years apart.
Women 1: maybe she’s babysitting, or she’s the grandma.?
Women 2: no, I heard them call her mommy.
Granny: this world, going to hell in a handbag.
Women 2: hopefully the baby daddy’s are MIA, and they don’t have that confusion.
Women 1: they’ll still be screw ups. I mean they obviously have different fathers which means their mom is a tramp. Jesus, help them.
I can sit here all day.
Please, keep it up, you self-righteous Jenny come latelys, never miss a Sunday, high falutin’ “Good Christians.” I am certain Jesus thinks Y’all are all that. And perhaps they would be humiliated by the response, and then sing my sweet praises… they have different earthly fathers, one Heavenly Father, and one dear man they call daddy. They were adopted out of an adoption and foster care agency.
“Oooooh… that’s the Lord’s work, I could never, there’s a special place in heaven for women “like you.”
Alas, I will leave you to your ignorance.
For if I was what you suppose, I am still daughter of the Most High. Their worth is greater than your judgment. Your chastity and “pure living” is a mockery of the meaning of the Cross of He who died.
This behavior is the opposite of the Gospel. For even if I was the worst, I am better than you at your Pharasitical “best.”This behavior is the opposite of the Gospel. For even if I was the worst, I am better than you at your Pharasitical “best.”Click To Tweet
Honestly, sitting here with my mixed race family, would Jesus sit with me, the falsely accused, divorcees, whores, and harlots, or with you?
And sure, I would have liked to have met some moms, maybe like me, not the norm, but authentic moms, willing to admit mistakes, big and small. But I hear you, I hear your distaste for that gal’s tattoos and the disgust for that lady in that “enormous” hot pink tankini, and the woman who let her kids have a second Dr. Pepper, (fine, that was me too,) it must be nice to be so perfect. You, “good Christian” women who should rally to welcome, you who deem yourselves worthy because of who you believe yourselves to be… instead of who He is.
Honestly, I have my feelings hurt, but more because you thought I was their grandma and less by the insinuation I am a whore.
I didn’t say I wasn’t vain.
Holy rollers, who bow and stand, lift hands on high and sing loudly so that everyone might see your glory, while He fades politely into the background… His blood wasted on whores like me.
Alas, let me never be like you and always like Him… so I offer you nothing but mercy and Grace for you are more lost and I am more found.
Gladly would I frequent bars, wander the alleys in search of Johns and my next lay than ever sit with you, by the country club poolside, sipping virgin punch and condemning those who I do not know and literally cannot understand.
Friends have some freaking rum. For it is noon on Tuesday, and we are all weary from the long road. Perhaps, when your pastor confesses his addiction to porn, or you expose your husband’s million dollar gambling addiction, you will see things from the side of the “broken.”
And only then will you pull your cabana chair up next to mine and inquire… “Jesus loves me… how ‘bout you?”
Yes. He loves us. But I predict He is actually friends… with whores like me.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
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