you knew...

For twelve years you bled.
 

Every day.
 

Twelve, long years you watched helplessly, as your life blood flowed away... unquenched.

Nothing could stop it.  No doctor, no healer, no remedy... nothing worked.
 

Nothing.
 

You must have been tired.  All the time.  The Bible speaks not of this, but it's true... you would have been chronically tired. 

Exhausted.

Anaemic.

I am sure that fear became your constant companion?  It must have...

I often wonder whether you were betrothed to someone?  Married to someone?

The Bible says nothing of this either... your personal life.  How old you were... whether you had ever known the joy of feeling a baby move in your belly.  Whether you knew the security of a husband's love, at least.... before.

 

But none of these things are mentioned.

Just that you bled... for so long... too long.

The rest I read between the lines... that you were desperate. 

 

Scared. 

Ostracised.

Alone.

Lonely.

Did you call out to Him?  Beg Him... for mercy... for healing?

Did you wonder where He was... whether He really cared?

I would have. 
At times my faith is like a wave on the ocean.  One moment it swells... full of hope... and then... it crashes.
 Splits... fractures... Splashes into a million directions... waiting for the next pregnant moment.

But you... Did they whisper about you?  Did you walk about your daily duties... the market... the washing... did you walk about with your head hanging low...? Knowing that you couldn't LOOK... That it would hurt too much to see their faces... their expressions of disgust.
 

Knowing shame.

 

Did they gossip amongst themselves... righteously of course... about your sin... what evil sin you could have done that made Him punish you as He did?

 I can just imagine.

Did you carry Shame like a mantel on bowed shoulders? 

The other women would have avoided you. 

Actually... everyone would have.  Nobody would have spoken to you... they would have looked away as you hurried past.

You were unclean... You would have made them, ceremonially unclean.

Oh the sickening shame... with you every day... and nobody to help.

Nobody to Free...

Unclean... Did you feel that way?  Unclean?

Did you feel dirty? Did you too, feel forgotten?  As if for a brief second, God turned His face from you... never to look upon you again.

Did your heart ache ... did you feel a desperation so intense, that it almost tore the fabric of your being?

And then... that day... when you heard of Him? 

The One they called 'The Healer..'?  Did you know immediately?  Did your spirit surge with hope, or was it just a flutter at first... a quiet stirring?  Did you wonder whether the stories that made their way back to your village were rumours... or Truth... come at last?

No.

I think you KNEW. 

I think your heart must have beaten wildly... I imagine you bent low over the well... drawing water. Heaving heavy buckets with a body that is tired... from blood loss.

And then?  You hear some talk.... and you strain to hear... strain to hear what the other women are saying... can it be, you think?  He is HERE?

The One who heals?  The One who speaks Freedom?

Can it finally be?

For a second everything inside you goes still... quiet... and then!
You run...  wildly... dropping your bucket of water on the way... the drops spilling on the dry, dusty ground... an offering... like blood.

But you don't notice. Desperation spurs you on... breathless you try to locate the sound... your heart is beating in your ears... your breath comes ragged.

You are close... you see the crowds.  I imagine your tears starting to fall.  Disappointment threatens to crush your spirit... How will you get close?  How will you get past the ones who follow him?  Disciples they call them? They hedge Him in.  Protectively... against the pushing, thronging crowds... They stand like soldiers... guarding... they won't let you close.

 

Unclean.

 

Did you panic, I wonder?  Did your heart start beating erratically... did your throat threaten to close up... Did you feel frantic... so close to the One whom your spirit knew...

even if you didn't... yet. 
 

And then... I see you dropping to the ground... crawling... trying to protect your head from the trampling feet of the crowd... trying to see where His feet are... the dust stinging your eyes... streaking your face with dirty tears.
You know... if you can only touch His hem... only touch...
You push forward... hands in soil, eyes on hem... you keep pushing... the desperation in your face tangible... your hands reaching... almost there.... almost there...

A man's foot crushes your right hand... the pain! It's almost too much too bear... but you inch your way forward...

Your tears flow freely now.... but you keep crawling... because you know... by now something has ignited within you... you are a prisoner seeking Freedom...

You KNOW.... That this man Jesus... that He is the One... how were you to know then, as you fought your way forward through the dust and grime... that His blood would be spilt... like yours... but that His would redeem... yours.

Clean made Unclean, to redeem unclean to make clean.

You.

Me.

The moment your hand brushes that dusty hem... that dirty, soiled hem... you feel it...

Oh you feel it... power surges through your body! Something changes!

 

Everything changes!

Someone must have noticed you by now.  Did they draw back in fear... disgust? 
Did it still matter to you?
 How could you explain... how would they ever be made to understand?

But then... You hear His voice... "Someone touched me...." His disciples look at Him in confusion. 

Your world stops. 

 

Silence settles on the crowd. 

How could He know? 

How could He possibly have known?

 That in all the hundreds pushing against Him... shouting His Name... how did He know that you...

YOU... the Unclean one... that you... had dared to touch Him.

Were you afraid, when trembling, you stood up to face Him?  Did fear have a choke-hold around your throat as you stumbled over words... tripped over a multitude of explanations that would not see you cast out... Condemned... Unclean?

And then... when He moved through the few still brave enough to stand around the filth of Unclean... when He... the Holy One... took YOUR hands and looked at you and smiled... What did your heart feel dear one?  Was He the first to touch your hand in twelve long years?  Did your skin register the touch of Another... when He looked you in the eye and told you that your faith... your FAITH had healed you?  When He said it again... louder this time, so that everyone could hear... could HEAR that you were free... Clean... Healed!

Redeemed.

Ransomed.

 

Did you weep?

I know you did.

How could you not...

Freedom had come for you...

Redemption had called YOUR name!

You knew, didn't you?

You knew.

xx gracegirl

on blogging... again...and being vulnerable.

This is not my first attempt at blogging.

 

It is in fact, not my second or even third attempt either. 

 

Let's just say that I have a little issue with allowing myself to be vulnerable.

 

I have, in my opinion, some really good excuses for this, but suffice it to say that if I were to admit them, it would mean allowing myself to be vulnerable.

 

So... just why am I starting yet another blog?

 

It's very, very simple really.  When you love writing, you have to write.

 

And I love writing.  Very much indeed.

 

I also love God.  Very, very much.

 

I am by no means a perfect Christian.  And this realisation hit me square between the eyes a while ago and it was one of the reasons I closed my previous blog.  Please understand, I had not laboured under the misapprehension that I was by any means a perfect 'anything'... but situations arose that caused friends to view me in the light of a 'really good, strong Christian'... and my spirit rebelled at this.  You see, I am in reality far, far from perfect. 

 

I worship a perfect God.

 

And my heart has always been to encourage.  To bring something for someone... and to encourage their heart. 

 

So... if you would like to share in my crazy, simple, sparkly, unplugged kind of life... my life that revolves around my incredible husband, that centres on Home Schooling my precious little boy, my life that is at times completely consumed with therapies as we fight against Autism and Sensory Processing Disorder... then you are more than welcome to stay awhile.

 

I shall not promise perfection.  There is more than enough out there in the blogosphere.

 

I can't even promise a weekly blog post and a perfectly executed 'Wordless Wednesday'...

 

But I promise you real.  Vulnerable. Transparent. Crazy. Sparkly. Different. Creative. 

 

Filled with Hope, Joy, Faith and mountains of Grace.

xx gracegirl