(Oratory)

(Dressed as Bag-Lady…walk onto stage, take hat off and hold it, look around, see a chair and go sit down.  Put the hat down and remove gloves)

(Look around again, wait…)

Addressing congregation…

“Oh, hi.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t see you there!  I hope you don’t mind if I wait here.”

(Wait for short time)

I have a feeling I might be waiting a while.  I’m kind of nervous.  I start chatting when I get nervous.  I kind of need someone to talk to.  I hope you don’t mind.  (Pause) You know, I haven’t always been a bag-lady.  Growing up I had a wonderful home.  My dad had a great job.  We had a nice house and everything we needed.  My mom didn’t have to work so we always had time to do things together.  My family and I did lots of things together.  It was a great life.

Then one day, my dad lost his job.  The economy was down and jobs were very few.  No matter how hard he looked for a job, he couldn’t find one.  Soon we lost everything.  We lost our house, our car, our friends.  After a while, Dad got so discouraged that he started drinking…a lot.  Then he started getting mean.  The more he drank, the meaner he got.  It was after that, that he started hitting my mom when he was angry or drunk, which was most of the time.

One day, he got mad at me.  He started to hit me.  My mom jumped in between us to stop him.  She ended up in the hospital with a broken arm and with bruises on her face and arms.  She told everyone that she fell down the stairs.  After that, whenever my dad came home, I went to my room to stay away from him.

When I was 13, one night Dad staggered into my bedroom, drunk.  My mom had gone to bed already.  That was the first time he molested me.  I couldn’t tell my mom though.  I was afraid that she would try to stop him and he would hurt her again.

About a year later when he came in my room, Mom saw him.  She went crazy.  She attacked him and yelled at me to get out of the house. I ran outside.  On the way, I grabbed the phone and called the police.  Then I hid in the bushes.  I watched the police come and take my dad out of the house in handcuffs. I watched the paramedics carry my mom out on a stretcher and put her in an ambulance.  She looked like she was dead.

The police looked for me for hours.  I stayed in the bushes and never moved.  Eventually they gave up for the night.  What was I going to do?  Dad and Mom were gone and I had nowhere to go.  I was afraid the police would find me.  I don’t know why.  All I could think to do was get out of there.  So, I hitch-hiked, caught a ride, and went from one place to another and didn’t stop until I was a very long way from home.

Finally I found a town that was large enough to get lost in but small enough to survive.  After searching for a while, I found an alley behind a grocery store and restaurant.  It was somewhat hidden from view, so I had some privacy.  It had some doorways to sleep in and a dumpster to find food in.  Since I had to live on the street, this was a good place to stay.  I lived in the alley all summer and most of the fall.  As the weather gradually got colder, so did I.  I wasn’t sure what to do in the winter.

Then, one day a guy came along and saw me shivering as I was digging through the dumpster looking for food.  He offered me a room to stay in and food to eat.  I was desperate so I took it.

The first few weeks were great. I had my own room and all the food I could eat.  Eventually, he started bringing marijuana home.  He offered it to me, and I tried it.  As I smoked it, all of the horrible memories went away.  I could forget about my dad and mom, about my situation, about all of my problems.  But as soon as I came down off the drug, the memories flooded back.  Eventually, grass was not enough to make me forget.  This guy, this supposed friend of mine, started bringing home harder drugs, which I thought was  great.  Before long, I was addicted.

One day he told me that he could not afford my habit any longer.  If I wanted drugs, I would have to work for them.  Thus began my career of prostitution.  He became my pimp.  I worked for years supporting my drug habit and my expensive life style.  But all things do come to an end.  Eventually, over the years, my body became worn out .  At age thirty-five, I looked fifty.  The drugs and my life style were killing me.  I was skinny and sickly looking.  My eyes and cheeks were sunken in.  No one wanted me any more.  I got so sick that I couldn’t work.  He finally kicked me out and found someone else to work for him.

I wandered back to my old alley, found a doorway, and curled up to die.  But I woke up…in a drug rehab center.  Some caring person had found me and took me to the hospital.  After months of rehabilitation and training, I was able to be on my own.  They helped me find a job and an apartment.  I was finally able to be a productive contributing citizen.

I was a good worker and employee.  I loved my job and worked hard.  Having my own place was a dream come true.  But something was still missing, something inside me.  I knew it was not drinking, drugs, or men.  I had tried all of those things.  So I started looking for something else to fill that hole in my life.

Down the street was a small church.  I had heard that there was a God.  I thought that I would go find out myself.  Maybe that was the answer.

On Sunday, I walked into the small church, not knowing what to expect.  As I walked into the sanctuary, a hush fell over the noisy  congregation.  It was a small town and a lot of the people knew who I was.  Women started pointing and whispering about me to their neighbor.  Some of the men turned their heads away hoping that I wouldn’t recognize them.  No one would talk to me.  Well, I figured that I deserved it.  My past life was not easy to forget.

I went to church for weeks.  But things didn’t get better.  People would still turn their backs on me.  They would ignore me and gossip about me.  But the one thing that bothered me most was, you know when the pastor says, “Let’s have a shake break.  Make sure you welcome someone you don’t know and tell them that you’re glad they are here.”?  No one, no one ever shook my hand.  And after church, I would stand in the foyer and wait for someone, anyone, to talk to me.  As I stood there, I heard so much gossip.  Gossip such as…”Did you know so-and-so is seeing so-and-so?  …Did you hear what ___ did?  …I heard that…

Then one day, I decided that if this is what Christianity is like, I didn’t want any part of it.  So I left and never looked back.

Not so long after that, my boss at work called me into his office.  He told me that his business was not doing well.  The economy was down and he wanted to retire.  So, he was closing up the business and he had to lay me off.

I started looking for another job, but try as I might, no one would hire me.  Eventually, I lost my apartment and returned back to my alley.

This time I decided to make the best out of it.  I dragged in a large old  appliance box and made it into a small home.  I laid a blanket in it and got a small box for a table.  The dumpsters were a good source for food with the waste from the grocery store and the restaurant.

One day I was digging through the dumpster and found a cloth napkin with a napkin ring on it.  When  I took off the napkin ring and unrolled the napkin, inside I found two forks, two spoons and a steak knife.  I took this back to my box-table and placed the cloth napkin on the box as a table cloth.  I put my chipped plate and the silverware on it.  After that, every time I found something special to eat, I used my plate and silverware.  It made my box feel a little like home.

But life was such a struggle.  One night as I was lying in bed in my box, I got to thinking back over my life.   Most of the things that I had known were violence, abuse, betrayal, and disappointment.  Life made no sense.  It was no longer worth living and I had no reason to go on.

So…I rolled over, picked up the steak knife from the box-table, and slit my wrists.

…That’s right!  I took my own life.  I’m dead.  So now that I have met the one and only God, I realize how much He loves me.  And I’m sitting here in God’s waiting room, waiting for His judgment.    I know that I haven’t lived a very good life.  And I know that God is a just God, and I’ll deserve whatever judgment that I get.

But it’s not fair!

It’s not fair because…because no one told me that God loved me.

…no one told me that He loved me so much He sent his Son to die for me.

…no one told me that Jesus loved me so much that He gave his life for me.

…no one told me that all I had to do was believe and ask forgiveness.

Now it is too late.  And all those people…they knew!  They knew and they didn’t tell me!  It’s not fair…

Wait!  Listen!  That’s my name!  God is calling my name!  It’s time for my judgment…I have to go.  (Act nervous)

(Mumbling as you step off stage)

…It’s not fair; …no one told me…

(Rushing down aisle and speaking loud))

I’m…I’m coming God!  I’m coming!

By Marsha K. Hood