She wakes up to the piercing ray of sunshine coming through the almost closed blinds. As she rolls away from the snoring man on her right she knocks over the empty bottle of absinthe. It hits the rubbish strewn floor with a loud clunk, sending pain through her alcohol drenched brain. Her name is Azubah,[1] and this is a typical morning for her. She quickly puts on her clothes, sneaks out of the room and hurries to catch a taxi home.
She gets home and heads to the bathroom to rinse the filth of the previous night’s debauchery from her, before getting in the shower she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and sobs in despair at the sight before her eyes. Sunken eyes, matted hair, needle tracks up her arms, bruises across her torso where so many have laid hands on her. The demons in her mind scream their hate-filled lies at her and she takes a shot from a nearby whisky bottle before pulling closed the shower curtain.
The hot water washes over her but fails to warm the icy cold chill in her heart. Upon getting out she dresses and applies her makeup, bringing a semblance of life to her dead, vacant face. She was beautiful once, but years of poor nutrition, late nights, drunken orgies, and her long addiction to methamphetamine has left her a ruined husk of her former glory.
It’s midday, Azubah has taken to the streets to try and outrun the demons, if only for a little while. She sees some guys in hoods passing around a bong just off the street in a back alley and suddenly she realizes that she owes them money. She tries to make it past without being seen but is recognized and the stoners give chase. She runs for her life, knowing that if they catch her, she will not survive the beating. The next door she comes across she darts inside, not even looking up to see what kind of building it is. As soon as she enters she realizes that she has entered a small inner-city church/soup kitchen. A young man comes over and asks her what’s wrong. As soon as she tells him, he locks the door, calls over a friend to act as sentinel and phones the cops. Azubah slowly loses consciousness from the strain as he is stroking her hair telling her it will be alright.
Months later, after some intensive rehab and that initial, unconditional love shown to her by that strange, kind young man at the soup kitchen, Azubah returns. Azubah has been completely transformed, no more is there the zombie-like prostitute-drug-addict. In that persons place is an innocent young girl with a crown of beauty upon her head. No longer is she called Azubah, her friends (yes, she now has friends!) call her Hephzibah. She has found her peace in Christ, and as the bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so God rejoices over her!
She has returned for one reason, through all the long months of pain and despair that led to her recovery, that young man had been faithful in writing and visiting her, and he had asked her to come by and see him when she was free. She walks in, he rushes over, drops to his knees and asks her to marry him. She says yes and he promises her that never again will she have to work as a sex slave to enjoy the pleasures of food and drink. That day Hephzibah earned a new name, Beulah. The young man says to her, “My God and I have sought you out, and you shall never be Forsaken again).
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