I sit in a house of heathens.
The sanctuary is teeming with wild people.
We are Gentiles.
I am a Gentile.
The people of this world who turned away from God.
We were once in His perfect garden.
But we threw that away.
We mocked God's People- the Jews.
We tried to make them become like us.
We enticed them with our fancy customs.
We lured them in with our gold statues.
We turned them from the true God above.
But they always went back.
Their God saved them from us.
Deep down, we all knew that their God was the real God.
But we buried that part of ourselves in resentment.
Why would He choose them and not us?
Bah!
That is no true God.
How could He ignore our Wisemen and our temples full of treasure?
We left them to their tabernacle.
But then, one day, strange men came to us.
They told of a Messiah, an Immanuel.
They said that the Jews had rejected Him.
That we could go to Him.
And... some of us did away with our pride, with our resentment.
We accepted what the strange men said about Jesus.
Finally, we were able to be God's people.
I was able to become God's daughter.
I don't deserve it.
I'm not Jewish.
I am an outsider, tainted and unclean.
But, for some reason, God has decided to love me just like His chosen people.
I am no longer condemned by my heathen ways and ungodly beliefs.
I am His.
Grace has been shown to me like no other.
A miracle has been done.
A dog has been given a seat at the Master's table.
For a Gentile has become His.
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