Farrah

A year ago Farrah came for a day, then left again, drunk. Thus began a routine that would continue for several months. Each time she came, we rejoiced to have her with us, and gradually, the fear of leaving that which she hated was outweighed by the realization that somewhere on earth there were people who liked to be with her. Not only so, but they had no expectations from her in exchange. She did not need to prove herself, earn something, or pay something. From her childhood she had to pay prices that shamed her to gain existence. She knew nothing else. The mist of stupor was all she had to comfort her. Yet, now, the bottle held less allure. There were people who liked her. At first she could not eat our food. Her religion taught her that Christians put a white powder on the food of those they want to steal from faith in their god. Magically they make converts, against the will of the people who are lured into this trap. So she wouldn't eat. Coffee packets and tea bags were safe. These came unopened from the store. At first the restless spirit in her sent her to the back garden to smoke her way through packs of cigarettes, drowned in countless cups of this tea.

Yet, eventually she discovered that she could sew a straight line. And make beautiful jewelry. Then she made a pillow cover. Soon she could roll edges with a machine foot and was sewing scarves. Then she discovered knitting needles and the fun of crocheting. We laughed through design ideas and took color concepts to the winter window to catch them in the sunshine.

Yes, sunlight. Daylight. Day time. All these treasures I've taken so for granted. Farrah has lived only at night since she was about thirteen. That is the fate of a prostitute; written on her forehead by her god, what could she do but shrug and bear it?

Now she found the laughter that sun and beauty called out of her; she found the joy of friendships with women who were not in competition for filthy lucre. It was not long before she started eating our food, laughing with us at the joke we could now crack with her, "Farrah, honey, if it were that easy to convert people with white powder, don't you think the whole world would be Christian by now?"

One thing held her intrigue. Every time we prayed for someone, she saw that prayer answered. So one day she asked us to pray about the bottle and it's hold on her. As we prayed she broke down and told God that all she had wanted to be was a good girl. As she wept something lifted from her. The next time she went to drink she got sick. At first she couldn't believe it, then she called us excitedly, free, laughing.

Now she could come every day. She could start thinking clearly. By spring she could sew well enough to make good money. By Christmas she came to me with tears of joy to say that she was debt free for the first time in her life. As we sang together, she chose her favorite worship song, "Come, Holy Spirit, come and fill me, come and dwell within me!" No manger heart was ever so ready for Harvest.