I am the stranger. I am the slave. I am the surrogate wife. I am the refugee. I am the immigrant. I am the outcast. I am the other.

You know me but perhaps you do not understand me. I am the biblical non-Hebrew matriarch. I am the mother of Abraham’s first son, but not included among “God’s chosen people.”

And yet, my story continues.

Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.” Isaiah 58:12 NRSV

Whenever I read this Isaiah passage about the repairer of the breach, the restorer of the streets to live in, interestingly what

When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, ‘What is it?’ For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, ‘It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat. … those who gathered much had nothing over, and those who gathered little had no shortage; they gathered

I want to tell you about my miracle.I grew up in a city called Jericho. I belonged to a people who had no regard for God, and from an early age I was taught to live for myself—simply for whatever I thought I desired. The problem was… life was really hard, and women in my day were not considered to be of much value. To make a long story short, in an attempt to support my family as best I could, I found myself as a