King Solomon told his son to be careful. So so careful of the woman who would lure him down in her bed..

  And in a moment of physical bliss, lose his soul.

This woman was evil. Her tongue was smooth, her movements practiced, and she knew exactly what she was doing. She was destroying him, by allowing him to numb his mind with her body.

She was evil.

She is evil.

She is not evil because she is woman.

Femininity.

She is not evil because she has breasts, a soft inviting belly, a beautiful butt. She is evil because her heart is wicked.

Women are not evil.

Women can be evil, but it's not their body that makes them evil.

It takes only a time or two for a young girl to hear adults speaking of a rape that happened, to settle deep into her soul that should she be raped, the fault lies at the door of her sensual body. A body you don't get to chose. In horror she listens. "What was she wearing," someone asks.

What was she wearing? She looks down over herself. She is thirteen. Her dress is long and big. She sighs. Relief. She might be able to not be raped that day. She hopes so.

Before she goes to church she contorts in front of the mirror. She bends over so parents or sisters can check for cleavage. She has covered her back. She is not rapable today she thinks. She hopes so.

Except that once she walks into church, she sees them looking. That one over there called her father on the phone because she had elastic in her dress when he saw her last week. This one thinks her dress is too long which is a sign of pride. That one is just staring. Not at her eyes....

She feels sickened.

Dirty.

Broken.

Stuck in a sexual body too beautiful to be ignored. Her eyes are cast to the ground and she wishes she was not a woman.

When the handsome boy asks her for a date, it's because of her breasts. That's what they say anyway. She wishes she was not a woman.

The church meets to discipline a young couple.

How did it happen?

The old men ask.

Give us the details so we can properly discipline the offender. She obviously seduced him. He was helpless, doing what God made him to do.

To be attracted, and then to….

… take.

To consume.

Rape, if that's the only way.

"What was she wearing?"

She folds over herself on the bench. Her chest hurts. Her adrenaline rushes.

Fight or flight takes over and still she breathes. Sixteen years of rigid training kicking in. She can no more make a scene than pigs can fly.

They slept together? Now the men are excited. This is the manure they needed to lovingly fill their pipes and picture it while they breath in deeply of the smoke as it soothes and fills their sick need.

“No more details.” The bishop stands up.

"This is enough now."  His normally gentle voice cracks like a whip.

She feels a warm circle go around the ice of her heart. She feels defended. She feels less rapable. She feels like someone would listen.

She gets up and walks outside. She breathes.

Never again, She promises herself.

And when I leave, She might be broken. Yet, slowly, she heals.

Eventually she no longer hates.

Precious progress.

Now she can see past the clothes to the heart. She realizes finally, you either are or you are not.

A child of his, you know.

If you are not, you are wretched.

If you are, well then...

We see it in your windows that are between your soul and ours.

We look deeply, we see peace and joy.

Your eyes hold mine for a minute.

You hold... you allow me to see you are indeed first of all his, even if your clothes are religious.

Your eyes did not flicker down to assess my goods. They hold.

Jesus in you is beautiful. I feel less rapable now.

I am safe.

I breath.

I smile.

Heal.

Written by Anonymous and sent to me. I felt it was valuable. I am grateful to the woman who was brave enough to write this. And God our Father who healed her.