The Prostitute's Reply

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name—you are Mine!” Isaiah 43:1

I hated Him, when first He entered the cell where I was curled in near-death. He stood there with His Father, perfect and so beautiful, and I hated Him for everything that He was. I knew Him to be wealthy, and coveted His gold, but more than that, I knew Him to be good, and I feared His goodness like I never feared death.

And then . . . it happened. He chose me. His Father, almighty and unbeguilable, looked at me, the foulest inmate of that foul place, and He changed my life. In an instant, by a word, He gave me to His Son, and His Son made me His possession. Without ever pausing to ask me if I wanted Him (I would have spat in His face if He had), He claimed me as His own. He turned to me, and then He grasped my hand, and He called me love. He took me to His home . . . the gleaming walls of gold and white, the music that trickled through the rooms! He healed my diseased body, and bathed it clean. With His own Hands He washed the dirt from my hair. But that was only a beginning.

For thirty-three years my Prince toiled to bring me from my darkness. I bitterly fought Him, but He gave Himself for me as no man has ever given Himself for a woman. The battle for my soul was a battle to death and back again, a battle of blood—but His death, and His blood, not mine. When I saw it run, rich and red, it was then I knew that He had overcome me. I had thought myself strong, strong as hard iron from perpetual sin and nights without hope, but He was stronger than I. I soon found that for every evil thing I had done in my lifetime, He had done many good. The vice that ruled my heart could not rival the integrity and beauty that filled His. His purity was greater than my impurity, and His love was stronger than my hate. Because I could not break Him, He broke me, and He bent me, changed me, and made me anew.

Oh, now, now I remember it as a dream. Now, I feel. Now, I hope. I live. I laugh, I weep, I struggle and get angry and turn to repent. The woman that I was is gone, disappeared with the night, but I am not yet the woman I must be for Him. But do I love Him, my Bridegroom, my Lord? I know none other beside Him. I know no other whose face is so radiant, whose mouth holds such sweetness, whose arms are so secure. The union that once stained me again and again now makes me holy, for it is He who is my lover. My Beloved is mine, and I am His. I have no other Husband, and I have no other Savior. He has brought me life, and without Him, I die again.


This follow-up to Love Story was written about a month later, and was the product, in part, of a passing quote I heard, that Johnathan Edwards had referred to salvation (or perhaps election) as "the holy rape of the soul." While Love Story is about election, this is about salvation.