Touched with a touch

Words. Judgments. More like life sentences I suppose. They burn in my mind, their constant singeing leaving scars across my soul. Year after year, burn upon burn, I am left with only the ashes. They don't realize that my life is held in their every word. They say they will fix me. They say this time with be different. Yet I watch the smoke rise, my money burned away in the flames, burning away also the wick of my life that could run out any day now. My heart like a leper, growing numb to any promise of hope that somewhere may remain. 

I step out into the busy marketplace, alive with activity. Merchants make their trades, men argue over goods, women scurry around in many directions, hustling to get today's tasks complete. I cover my face, my hands, lest they give me away. My cloak, my cover, my attempt at normality.

I run fragile fingers slowly up my arm, drawing my arms close to my chest. Oh, to be touched again. To know I am loved, accepted. Not brushed aside, not rejected, no longer an outcast. To feel the warmth of an embrace, to hold the hand of a child or to know that affirmation of a hand on my shoulder. How the absence of these little things pain me so! To be looked upon with eyes of gentleness and grace. To be seen as something lovely and not regarded a burden or as society's wretch. For only a moment, I wish to once again be looked at and have people not wonder what sin I must have committed for me to be the way I am.

I begin to walk without an idea of where I am going. I slip through back alleys and blend into my surroundings. I reach a part of the city I have not dared to go for quite some time. I see the Temple and my heart breaks. How I wish to enter, how I long to worship the Lord. Why I should worship I do not know, but there remains a desire within me all the same. What God must think of me, it's a thought I don't wish to ponder for long. I don't let my eyes linger here, but lower them to the earth beneath me and try to disappear as if I was even visible in the first place.

As I walk mindlessly back from where I came, I hear great chattering and the loud bustle of many feet. A throng of people has formed, the whole town must be here. Suddenly, something clicks in my spirit. There is no other explanation, it has to be Him. It's Jesus, the One they call the Messiah.

I push myself into the crowd of people, straining to reach Him. The crowd tries to suffocate me, but I will not quit. If I would rather die to live than live another day of constant death such as this. I trip and stumble through the mass of people as every muscle presses with all its might. "If only...if only..." the words I mutter under my breath only make my heart beat faster. 50 feet. 30 feet. 20 feet. 10. My limbs move without me having to tell them to. I reach forward, praying I will make it, praying I won't collapse.

I touch the fringe of his coat and am overwhelmed and healed. Warmth overcomes me, yet it's not the warmth of healing or fresh blood coursing through my veins that could explain this sensation.

Love. It's love I feel.

Twelve years. Twelve years an outcast. Twelve years left un-whole. Twelve years of brokenness. They evaporate almost instantly.

"Who touched me?"

The question makes me tremble. He knows. Suddenly, I am laid bare. For years I have become good at disappearing, but now I am known and exposed. The joy at my healing is overcome by the fear of what may come next.

People are discussing what is going on, but their rambling slurs into a haze, drowned out by my heartbeat, loud and looming in my head.

"I felt power go out from me." he states, "Who touched me?" 

I realize what I have just done and my soul shakes in fear. I throw myself on the dirty ground at his feet, prepared to plead with him.

"It was me Lord. I touched you, perhaps I shouldn't have, but I did. I have suffered now twelve years now with a blood disease. No doctor could fix me and I have been without hope, living daily in death. I thought to myself, "If only I could touch the hem of his garment, I will be healed." So I pressed through this crowd to get to you. I touched you Lord and I am healed." 

The explanation pours out of me like fire. I dare not lift my eyes from the dust. Though I cannot see him, I can feel the weight of his gaze.I hear his steps toward me followed by the warm kindness of his voice.

“Daughter," the name rolls from his tongue, so sweet and so wonderful.  "Your faith has made you well; go in peace.”

I hesitate before I draw my eyes upward, unsure of what I'll find. Eyes full of love meet me. I search his face for a rebuke, yet it is not condemnation that he carries. We are alone together and he loves me. We are alone together and I am whole. We are alone together though the crowd still surrounds us and my heart knows that He is the Christ.

As He carries on, I feel again the warm downpour of love cocooning me.

His love.

God's love.

Once marked, sentenced to death. Now marked, given freely healing, peace, joy and love.