If I only touch Him, I'll be Healed

Hi Everybody,
I don't know about you, but I've always felt a certain kinship to the woman in Luke 8 who had the issue of blood and wanted to touch the hem of His garment for healing.  I felt as though I could almost get inside her head.  Today I am sharing a short story I wrote that does just that, as I really need to keep pressing forward in faith for my own personal healing.  I am sharing it today, hope you feel blessed through it!

“Jesus is coming,” and with those three simple words, my hope swelled.
“He’s a fraud and a charlatan! He makes lofty claims only to attract followers and no doubt their wealth,” and just like that my hopes were dashed.
I really didn’t think that I could take another disappointment.   Tired, so tired of doctors bleeding me more, giving me medicines and herbal remedies – restricting my diet , telling me to eat this or don’t eat that.  Some looked at me with confidence, others with uncertainty, but they all had the same result – failure and no problem taking my money.
The money of a merchant’s widow is supposed to last the rest of her life.  But now it was gone along with the medicines.  What remains are salutations of “get well” and promises of prayer.  Pain, aches, tiredness and the never ending flow of blood were all that I was left with.
Some days were good - the flow would be light and the abdominal cramps minimal.  But then there were days like today, where I could hardly stand up straight for the pain in my back and left side.  And the blood flow so heavy I could hardly be out of doors for more than an hour.
So now I knelt in the place of prayer, my doubt overwhelming my faith that I could ever be healed and I heard the name of Jesus.  It wouldn’t be the first I’d heard of him.  The stories of him healing the blind and sick were so prevalent and numerous that they could scarcely be believed.  And my doubt gnawed at my sides again.
What difference did it make, anyway?  My time of prayer came to an end and the time to change my pad had come.
As I stood up I felt the blood rush downwards.  I stood still for a moment with my eyes closed.  When the moment passed, I continued down to the door of the temple my back bent like a much older woman.  The prospect of the walk before me seemed like a million miles, even though I only needed to walk two.  My son’s house became my home when I lost all the money I had to the doctors and now the money I make from dying cloth goes to them so that no one would consider me a complete burden.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, grandma!” I didn’t realize that I had stopped shuffling along until the person behind ran into me.
I couldn’t help but stop, an enormous crowd stood before me, each person trying to look over another’s head.  My arms wrapped around my waist, and the realization sunk that I’d never make it home in time to change.  Imagining the blood leaking down my leg gave me the courage to try to press through the crowd so that I could make it home.
“What’s going on?” I asked the young couple in front of me.  The man lifted a toddler up to his shoulder.
“Jesus is right up the road. He’s heading toward Jarius’ house, but he’s too late, the girl is already dead,” The mother told me.
                At the sound of his name, my heart leapt, then sunk as the reality came that even if I wanted to see him, it would be impossible to make it through the crowd.  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to go around the crowd, closer to the buildings, but the crowed packed together so tightly that I couldn’t make it through.  I considered trying to go down the side street to another road, but there I was met with another crowd pressing to the main street.
                Impossible!  I wanted to cry, but just hung my head and remained standing on the spot, jostled right or left occasionally by the crowd.  I closed my eyes and prayed “Oh God, please help me.”
                A simple prayer, to be sure, but as I opened my eyes, I saw a small gap in the crowd, just big enough for my hunched body to fit through.  Taking advantage of the breach in the horde I scooted through the opening.  Finding myself at the front of the crowd, I could scarcely believe that the middle of the road was so barren of people.  It was completely empty.  I started along the edge of the crowd in the direction of home.  Finding that clear way made me thankful to God, and I couldn’t help but look up for a moment to the sky.  I took a deep breath and crept along, but the crowd grew thicker again.
                When I found I could walk no further, I finally noticed the crowd buzzing around me like locusts.  Young men skipped backwards, their eyes locked on the person walking beyond them.  One of the men knocked into me gently, then grabbed my elbow and apologized.
                “It’s okay,” I answered. 

Then I looked up and saw Jesus.  He wasn’t at all what I expected.  He wasn’t handsome, he wasn’t tall, he was nothing extraordinary at all.  But when I looked at him, I knew that it was Jesus.  There was something about the way he smiled at the children, as though they belonged to him.  Even though his eyes looked sad as he followed Jarius to the girl’s bedside, he still had the time to smile at the children.
                All the doubt that lingered within me came quickly to the surface.  There’s nothing extraordinary about him – he’s a small man, probably sickly, how could he possibly have the power to heal the sick?  He’s no doctor, if they couldn’t heal me, how could he possibly.  He’s just a man, not God.
                A small voice inside me reminded me: “Did not Elisha and Elijah heal the sick?  They were men of God, not God, not even doctors, and yet they healed.”
                The crowd pressed in around Jesus, surrounding him, so that I almost lost sight of him.  The realization dawned on me that there was nothing I could do.  Even if he could heal me, there were so many people asking so much of him – even Jarius’ daughter needed Jesus more than I did, if she was still alive.  How could I have the courage to ask anything of him at all?
                As Jesus and the crowd started past me, panic rose to my throat.  Too late, I’m too late.  Then that small voice inside told me one thing: “If you believe that God’s power is running through him, then all you’d need is to touch his cloak, even just the hem.  God’s power could heal you just like that.”
                I wanted to believe.  But it was so hard to trust when I’d been disappointed so many times.  I repeated it to myself, trying to force myself to believe.  “If I only touch his cloak, I’ll be healed.”
                I could feel the liquid leaking down my leg.  The cloth pad no longer contained my blood, the flow was too heavy.  “If I only touch his cloak, I’ll be healed.”
The cramps in my abdomen and back were so great, my vision started to tunnel down.  I shook my head to clear it.  “If I only touch his cloak, I’ll be healed.”
  And there, in the crowd, another small space appeared.  If I ducked under a young man’s arm, I could just reach him.  I could only see the back of his garment.  “If I only touch his cloak, I’ll be healed.”
                A spark of hope kindled within me and I started to believe.  Without further thought I struggled through the gap.  “If I only touch his cloak, I’ll be healed.”
Pushing a little I made my way through and hopped forward, my fingertips reached the edge of his jacket and the pain suddenly ended.
                I gasped and stood upright.  The shock of it hit me like a bucket of cold water.  Even the blood that had been running down my leg was no longer there.  A Miracle. Tears sprung to my eyes and I looked up just as Jesus came to a halt.
                “Who touched me?” He demanded, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the crowd around him.
                “Not I, Lord.” The mantra was repeated several times over as those who were crowded around him one moment backed up a step.
                One of the men who were standing close to him said, “Master the multitudes surround you and press on every side!”
                But Jesus said, “Someone did touch me, and I felt the power of healing go forth from me.”
                He looked over the crowd once again, and his gaze settled momentarily on me before moving on again.  My heart rose into my throat, and my head pounded with guilt.  I felt like a thief, and I had stolen from Jesus. I stepped forward, and the crowd parted as though they were afraid to be accused and pushed forward themselves.  When Jesus looked at me again, my leg buckled so fast that I fell to my knees in the dirt.  The tears fell from my face in an embarrassing way, but I didn’t care. 
                In a voice that cracked and quiet, I said, “Forgive me Lord, I touched you and took your power.   For 12 years I’ve been sick, and no doctor could cure me, but I believed that if I could just touch your cloak that I would be healed.  And when I touched it, I was made well.  Forgive me, Lord.”
                I looked up at him, my tears still streaming down.  He looked at me, and in the same way that he smiled at the children before, he looked at me as though I belonged to him and he said, “Daughter, your faith has made you well.”
                And in his eyes I saw so many other things, courage, forgiveness, but most of all love.  Though our eyes met for only a moment, it felt like forever.  And he was called away by Jarius to continue to help his daughter.  And the small faith within me swelled, and I knew that Jesus would be able to help Jarius’ daughter, because she was Jesus’ daughter, too.

No comments :

Post a Comment