Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Justified (02/26/26)
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TITLE: A Name Written In Heaven | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marilyn Meiners
02/26/26 -
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Luke calls me “a sinful woman of the town.” Perhaps that is mercy. Perhaps it is truth. It seems the name fits.
Sinful.
I learned early how to survive. My home was a storm of shouting voices and slammed doors. By the time I was twelve, I knew how to lie. By fifteen, I knew how to sell what should never have been sold. No one forced my feet into that street. But once there, it swallowed me whole.
Men knew my face. Women knew my reputation.
And I hated myself.
One afternoon, while walking near Galilee, the wind snapping at my veil and the smell of fish clinging to the air, a crowd surged ahead of me, pressing toward a man standing on a rock.
“Jesus,” someone whispered.
I almost turned back. Holy men and I did not belong in the same sentence. But something in His voice held me.
“You can be forgiven.”
The words cut through the noise of waves.
“All sin can be forgiven.”
My chest tightened. I pushed closer. If He saw me, surely He would stop speaking.
Instead, His eyes swept the crowd—and paused.
On me.
I felt it. Not accusation. Not disgust.
Compassion.
“You can have peace.”
Peace. I had gold bracelets and silks at home, coins hidden in clay jars, admirers and enemies.
I had no peace.
The crowd shifted, and someone stumbled into me. I nearly fell. In that moment, with the wind whipping around us and His words burning in my ears, I gave Him the only thing I had left—my faith. Small. Fragile. But real.
And something inside me broke free.
Three weeks later, I heard He was dining at the house of Simon the Pharisee. A man who crossed the street to avoid my shadow.
My heart pounded so hard I thought I would faint. This was madness. Respectable homes did not welcome women like me. But I had to see Him
I took my alabaster jar - perfume bought with shame. I clutched it to my chest and ran.
By the time I reached Simon’s courtyard, guests were already reclining at the low table. Laughter drifted into the street. I slipped past the servants before anyone could stop me.
There He was.
Reclining, relaxed.
My courage faltered. Every eye in the courtyard found me. A murmur rose—sharp and ugly.
“What is she doing here?”
Heat rushed to my face. My hands trembled. I could still leave.
But then I saw His feet.
Dusty. Unwashed. No servant had offered Him water.
I moved behind Him and fell to my knees. Tears came—violent, unstoppable. They splashed onto His feet, carving clean lines through the dust. I wiped them away with my hair, uncaring that it tumbled loose before the entire company.
Then I broke the jar.
The fragrance burst into the air—thick, sweet, impossible to ignore. It filled the courtyard, clung to the walls, silenced the whispers. I poured it over His feet, kissing them again and again, my tears and the perfume mingling.
Simon’s voice cut through the stillness. “If this man were truly a prophet, He would know what kind of woman is touching Him.”
I froze.
But Jesus turned—not to me.
To Simon.
“I have something to tell you.”
The courtyard stilled. Even the servants leaned closer.
He spoke of two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii. The other fifty. Neither could pay. Both were forgiven.
“Which of them will love him more?” He asked.
Simon shifted. “I suppose the one who had the greater debt forgiven.”
“Exactly.”
Then Jesus gestured toward me.
“You did not offer Me water for My feet, but she has wet My feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not greet Me with a kiss, but she has not stopped kissing My feet. You did not anoint My head with oil, but she has poured perfume on My feet.”
Every word struck like a hammer breaking chains.
“Her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown.”
Then He turned fully toward me.
“Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”
Peace.
It settled over me like a cloak no one could rip away.
I came “as is” but I left “as His.”
History may remember only “a sinful woman of the town.”
But heaven knows me differently.
Forgiven.
Justified.
Redeemed.
My new name, ‘a forgiven woman of the town.’
Story from Luke 7:36-48
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I really liked this phrase.
I came “as is” but I left “as His.”