There is s special time in the early morning before the demands of the day begin. It is almost a magical time, before the first word is spoken, before the time when the cars start swishing by outside my window. In that quiet time when the silence almost rings in my ears, I love to curl up at the top of my bed, open my Bible and read the stories of Jesus. I love to imagine that I am there, walking with Jesus. I look into his eyes. I imagine . . .
She rolled over in the darkness. A ray of bright sunlight peeked through a crack in the door of her little house and fell across her face, awakening her to the new day. She lay there motionless in bed, trying to will herself to rise. The pain in her belly that never went away was still persisting. Her head throbbed. She moaned at the thought of another day with this misery. She was so weary of this valley filled with the shadow of death that never offered relief.
It had been twelve years now, since she had felt whole. Twelve years of doctors who made her worse instead of better, with their strange potions, their leeches and powders. Twelve years without going to synagogue or to Temple to worship, because anyone with an issue of blood was unclean and unfit for worship. Oh, how she longed for wholeness. She was weary of trying to figure out her way, tired of the loneliness, tired of blood, and just tired of being tired.
She had heard of one last hope, a teacher called Jesus of Nazareth, but she did not know if she had the energy to endure one more quack. One more man examining her, judging her, could prove to be the last nudge pushing her to insanity, or worse. She took a deep breath, held her aching head with one hand, her cramping belly with the other, and forced herself to get up and get dressed.
On her way to the well for the day's water ration, the woman wondered why the streets were empty. Where were all the peering eyes? Was there no one there to whisper about her today. Then she overheard neighbors shouting good news to one another. "Jesus of Nazareth is passing through our town!"
Jesus of Nazareth! Was this the day she could be healed? Did she dare even hope for healing? Then she saw the commotion down the hill from where she was. There were many others who dared to hope for healing this day. She was unsure of what she was going to do, but her feet were moving toward the mob surrounding Jesus. It was as if the power of her desire to be whole was drawing her toward him. Nearing the group, she heard the many cries for help. "Heal me, Jesus!" "Save us!" Then she heard someone say, "Lord, come heal my daughter, who is dying!". She knew the leader of the synagogue. His daughter was ill? She could not interrupt such an important errand. She did not really want to attract the attention of all of these people, anyway. She decided to try to just touch the hem of Jesus' garment. Surely just a touch would be enough to heal her. She need not disturb him.
She plunged into the crowd of people who were all reaching out, calling to Jesus. They pushed her back, but she pushed forward. She used her elbows to make her way to the Healer. Someone gave her a shove causing her to lose her balance. She fell, but she did not give up. She got up and tried again. Drawing closer to him, she lunged forward to touch his robe, but she again fell to her knees, missing. Even the added pain of skinned knees would not discourage her. She took a deep breath, gathered her strength and pushed forward once again, this time straining to extend her fingertips as far as she could reach, just brushing the hem of his robe. The surge of power that she felt from that light touch left her sitting, stunned, in the dust. She had no more pain! Her belly did not cramp. Her head did not throb. Even the pain in her knees suddenly ceased. She felt life flowing once again through her veins.
Then the crowd stopped. Jesus had stopped. He was asking who had touched his clothes. His disciples looked confused. " Master, everyone is touching you!" they exclaimed.
His voice was as quiet as a gently flowing stream. "No, someone touched me. I felt the power go out of me."
The woman knew she had to admit her deed. She rose, stepped forward and bowed low to the ground. Some heard her whisper, "I am sorry, Lord. I did not want to disturb you, I only needed to receive healing.
The look in his eyes as he reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet warmed her heart like a mother's embrace. "My daughter," he said, "Your faith has healed you. Go in peace."
Oh, how her heart sang for joy as she returned to the well to fetch her forgotten water jar. Singing, she walked with a light step, even with her water jar on her head, back to her house. The birds twittered a happy tune in the cloudless sky. The shadow of death had lifted. She was free once more to care for her family, to go out in crowds, and to worship in the synagogue or the Temple. That one touch, that one look, that voice like a gently flowing stream had washed through her life, cleansing her, refreshing her, giving her life.
Taking a few moments in the quiet of the day fills me with new life to face a new day. I love to read, imagine, and retell the stories of Jesus.
The rest of the story can be found in Mark 5:21-43.
4 comments:
This is s a great slice for today. Thank you for the imagery you put into this story. "The shadow of death had lifted. . . That one touch, that one look, that voice like a gently flowing stream had washed through her life, cleansing her, refreshing her, giving her life." Just imagine. . .
Wow! Every paragraph has such great and intense description. I could really imagine the scene and her desperation. Thanks for bringing this story to life for me!
You were definitely painting a picture for me! Familiar story, but now with new dimension! Thank you!
Beautiful.
And what a wonderful way to start your day. I mean to do that each day, but want to get ahead. Get a load on laundry in. Then I forget,and the bible is unopened by my chair. Tomorrow will be different.
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