I’m an old rag.
Stained. Tossed aside.
I’ve scoured and polished. But now?
I sit in a pile with others. We stink.
What? What’s that I hear? A servant says he needs us?
Ebedmelech takes us in his arms. “These’ll do. Soft. Just right.”
”Here Jeremiah!” Ebedmelech shouted as he lowered us down into the dungeon. “Put these rags under your armpits and under the rope tied around you.”
One more use for us. Not to wipe or clean, but to cushion and protect the fragile skin of the emaciated prophet.
Our softness and gentleness absorb his frailness.
What made us old rotten rags?
And Ebedmelech the Ethiopian said unto Jeremiah, Put now these old cast clouts and rotten rags under thine armholes under the cords. And Jeremiah did so. So they drew up Jeremiah with cords, and took him up out of the dungeon: and Jeremiah remained in the court of the prison. Jeremiah 38: 12, 13 KJV