I’ve been bleeding for 12 years. My family and friends have distanced themselves from me, afraid they might catch what I have. Even when standing near them, the space between us is immeasurable. I have watched from afar as each of my friends married and had children. I watched all my dreams slip away with each passing year. As my body bled, so did my heart.
I have no money left, it is all gone. Each time I saw a new doctor, I’d have hope that this one would heal me. But it was always the same. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong. It was “unexplained bleeding” and there was nothing they could do to help me.
After so many years of pain and suffering, I was out of hope. I had finally accepted my shell of a life for what it was. I would never be “normal”. I would never have a husband or a family. I had no future.
When I heard of the new “miracle” Healer, I simply felt tired. I didn’t want to play the fool yet again. But the more I heard, the more excitement I sensed in those who had seen him. He’s the Son of God, they said. He heals the sick. Reports of miracle after miracle filtered my way, and soon, despite myself, I began to believe too. What began as a tiny seed, grew and blossomed as each new story found its way to me.
When I heard Jesus was coming, here, to my town, my heart fluttered and my hands began to shake. I suddenly knew with inexplicable clarity that he could heal me, that he would change my life.
As the crowd gathered in anticipation of his arrival, I hovered at its edges. I heard shouts of excitement as he appeared, everyone jostling for position, wanting to see him or get near him. I crept along behind them, waiting for my chance.
At the far end of the street, I saw Jairus, coming out of the synagogue. He was pleading for Jesus to come and help his dying daughter. I didn’t dare speak to Jesus or to anyone, but I had to see him for myself. I didn’t know how, but I knew he could help me.
Jesus made his way toward the synagogue, the crowd swelling in his direction. As people shifted, I saw a space just big enough for me to slip through. I pressed forward, determined to get closer. I twisted and turned past elbows and shoulders until I could see Jesus just ahead. Just then, Jesus turned and I saw his face. Never had I seen such mesmerizing eyes, so deep, so wise, so kind. I inched closer. The tassels of his robes brushed past me and I reached out, my fingertips just touching him for a moment. I inhaled sharply, feeling the rush of healing throughout my body. My bleeding stopped.
My elation lasted only a moment as I realized Jesus too had stopped. “Who touched me?” he was asking. I tried to move away but I was caged in by the crowd. “Someone touched me, who was it?” Jesus asked again
“This is a large crowd, many people have touched you and pressed against you,” his followers assured him, amused at his seemingly ridiculous question. My face burned and I shrank into myself, wishing I could disappear, hoping he’d just move along.
But he wouldn’t let it rest. “Someone touched me,” he insisted. “I know that power has gone out from me.” Now the crowd was starting to back away, and a space cleared around me. I had no choice but to confess. My knees buckled as I knelt, trembling, before him. I heard gasps as those nearby realized it was me who had dared to touch him.
“It was me,” I whispered, my voice failing me. “I was the one who touched you,” I repeated more loudly. “I touched you because I need you, because I knew you were the only One who could stop my suffering.” I paused, and then, in a loud, clear voice, told him, “And you did. You healed me in the same instant I touched you. My Lord and My God, I am eternally grateful.”
Jesus laid his hand upon my shoulder. “Daughter,” he said, his eyes filled with love, “your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”
Based on Luke 8:40-48 NIV
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