The problem most silly women face is that we are willing to be test-driven by men who, from the beginning, pitch the dream without ever following through on the promise to secure the total package. ~ Wanda J. Murry ~
For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, (2 Timothy 3:6)
What does this woman look like today?
First, she’d be a slave in bondage to something or someone that uses her unashamedly and tosses her aside once she’s been used up and has nothing left to give.
Secondly, she’s young, in mind, if not in age. From a young age, she’s been tossed aside as unimportant and no one’s priority. Not knowing her value and or pricelessness as a human being, she starts early seeking validation for her existence.
Boys, Gangs, Girls; Father-figures in sugar daddy garb; Drugs, Alcohol, Sex, Videos, Stealing; Booty shaking, Pole twirling, Exotic-Erotic dancing, Reckless grouping groping; Exposing the skin she’s in, begging for attention from within.
Somewhere in the maze of enticing entrapment’s she finds her niche. She boasts in it, relishes the feeling of being seen, heard, discussed, wanted, noticed, talked about even when she realizes that everyone is taking, using, extracting, dismissing, pulling, yanking and wringing dry every measure of her being.
Thirdly, she’s not a hot mess; she’s just an emotional, spiritual mass of brokenness. She realizes too late that she’s dying, numbing, retreating and trying to find a hiding place in her mind for her soul. There’s no cover or bandage for the wounds inflicted by those with lying lips and heavy hands; they, too, are caught in a trap of self-denial.
How? How did I get here? Feeling trapped, ping-ponged into wanting to be free and afraid to leave. She seeks to find the lesser evil of the two but both leave her feeling alone, abused, scarred with residue that cannot be washed away or hidden. Trading one taskmaster of bondage for a multitude of others so intricately entwined, creating a spider web of strongholds.
Her only solace is the fruit of her womb or a bitter retreat into solitude. Without the intervention of a godly sisterhood, and the love of godly survivors who overcame, the cycle repeats itself like a wound that never heals.
Excerpt from “Silly Women, Foolish Men” by Wanda Murry