Hope 4 The Widow
One of the great American sports is called “blaming the victim.” Anyone can play; all that’s needed is a readily identifiable victim, a deep-rooted set of myths and stereotypes, and a rigid, determined refusal to face facts.
-Vernon E. Jordan, Jr.
They lie in the shadows of the outskirts
Like a leper, their rejection is a societal norm
Our apathy is fueled by pride
And other man-made harm
The family is in ruins
The family is a myth
Known only as history
The Lord’s image scarcely known
The mother… just lays there
In a fetal position like a baby being born
She is weak and naked
A woman, but seen as a girl
No compassion is found for her
And mercy is shushed like justice in the courts
We all make choices and we all choose to abort
Self-inflicted wounds
On a woman fully grown
The man walks away
And with him he takes the stability of the home
To feed his lust, rationalize his selfishness, he hides like a little boy and temper tantrums are consistently spasmodic
One day we will understand he and she was meant to be 1
Divisible by none
How can you not grieve over the widow and her son?
Chance had no play in this
He willfully walked away, his heart was amiss
Lord be merciful to the widow
Comfort her with your loving kiss!
“Record my misery; list my tears on Your scroll, are they not in your record?”
