From outcast to daugther: a woman made whole

I need to touch Him, I need to touch Him.

She pushed her way through the crowds, focussed, determined, desperate.

He was her only hope.

But she had hope - she was certain of it.

For weeks now, she had heard story after story of this healer, this Man who was able to give sight to blind eyes, open the ears of the deaf, even to raise the dead! He heals all who come to Him, she had heard.

For the first time in years, hope had flickered. At first, a tiny fragile flicker, almost too fragile to burn. Doubts and lies had crept into her mind which had almost extinguished it: He won’t heal you; He won’t even want you touching Him! You’re dirty and unclean, and you know it. There is no hope - you gave up on that years ago.

It was true - she had given up. She had spent all her money on doctors and one after another they had pronounced her hopeless. There is nothing we can do, they said. You will have to live with this condition.

It wasn’t just the daily struggle of constant bleeding that brought her pain. Much deeper than the physical pain was the pain of being an outcast. Untouchable. Unclean. A woman who was bleeding was a woman who could not be associated with.

Of course, most women were able to go and be cleansed after their time of impurity in the mikvah - the pool of cleaning waters.

But her ritual time of impurity had started 12 years ago, and it had never ended. And neither had the shame, the loss of dignity and the isolation. Nobody could associate with her; nobody could come near her, or they too would be made unclean.

Over the years, her heart had become broken with sorrow. Loneliness. Rejection.

Nobody wanted her. Nobody could help her. Nobody understood.

But then, He had arrived. This man whom they said could heal. At first she was skeptical. Years of seeking doctors only to find that nobody was able to cure her had worn her down. She had given up on healing and had come to accept a life of rejection and pain.

But as story after story had trickled through, and she began to witness these miraculous healings with her own eyes - people she had known who were once without hope, just like her, were now walking free, unbound and healed - something in her heart had begun to stir.

It was hard to feel hope again. Hard to allow that part of her heart to warm, where it had lain dormant for so long. But as it did, the small trickle slowly grew into a stream, and then a river, and now it gushed like a mighty waterfall within her.

She didn’t understand what was happening inside of her. All she knew was that she had to see this man. Just to touch Him - that was all. She didn’t expect Him to even acknowledge her, but she knew that if He was who He said He was, just a touch of His garment would make her well.

The crowds were thick and people jostled and pushed. One or two who knew her glared at her scornfully and some even spat. Shame bristled inside of her, but she pushed it away - she was not going to be stopped.

She caught a glimpse of the Man from afar - He was close! But then she realised He was with another man, who appeared to be wailing, as if he had lost a loved one.

As she approached, she heard him tell the Healer that his daughter was very sick and on the point of death.

Perhaps this isn’t a good moment.

But her heart cried out for healing, and so she pressed on.

I will just touch Him - I won’t interfere or disturb Him as He is clearly busy. All it will take is a touch of the hem of His garment.

Finally she was within reaching distance. She stretched out her arm and brushed the tzitzit on His robe - the tassel of His prayer shawl that was dangling closest to her.

Immediately she felt an incredible power flow over her; a warmth that radiated right through her being. The pain within her was gone and she knew instantly that she had been healed! Her heart leapt and she glanced up at the Man, longing to thank Him but unwilling to interrupt Him and draw attention.

He stopped.

‘Who touched Me?’

She gasped. Was He angry that she had done so? No - His voice was not angry. It was curious and gentle, not angry.

‘There are all these people around You and You ask who touched You?!’ His followers replied.

‘Somebody touched Me. I felt power leave Me’.

Swallowing back shame and pride, she stepped forward. All her hopes of remaining anonymous were dashed, but she longed to thank Him for what He had done and so she couldn’t hide it any longer. She fell on her knees at His feet.

‘It was me. I didn’t want to disturb you - I only wanted to be made well. But I know You have the power to make me well, and so I just wanted to touch the hem of your robe, as I knew that would be enough’.

The Man’s eyes met hers. They were full of love. But not just love. She saw pride in them too. Pride in her. He was proud of her. He was delighted with her. How could this be?

‘Daughter. Your faith has made you well. Go in peace.’

Her heart leapt! She was a daughter! His daughter! Not an outcast - a woman that nobody, not even her parents, wanted to associate with. She was precious and she belonged.

She had spent years seeking this. Acceptance. Value. Belonging.

And now, in one instant, He had given this to her.

Instead of being rejected, she was accepted. Instead of being ashamed, she was given value. Instead of being worthless, she was made precious.

She was His daughter and she was made whole.