Those who said
they would help
have only hurt me
more.
The blood
won’t stop
coming & all
these wounds
refuse to be
bound.
But I heard a rumor
yesterday—
it caused my heart
to leap inside
my frail & aching
chest.
They say:
a man—
a prophet—
a healer—
has come to Israel
again.
In the crowd
I hide my face
behind my shawl.
I hope no one
recognizes me—
I don’t belong here.
All who touch me
are unclean &
in this crowd
I could pollute
dozens—yet do I really
seek to touch him?
Not him
I say to myself
just his hem—
if I can just touch
the hem of his robe
I know I will be healed—
After all this time
walking alone
perhaps I could be
a mother—
a friend—
a daughter—
again.
When my fingers
graze fabric I feel
the Power working.
My body feels
more whole
than it has in
twelve long years,
but with the joy comes
like a lightning flash
both awe & terror.
What have I done?
But before I can slip
away anonymous &
unnamed his eyes
turn toward me.
His gaze is searching
& he’s asking;
“Who touched me?”
And I, shaking
in a body only
moments made whole,
confess it all
before him.
I thought
he would
chastise me
for making him
unclean—
instead I feel
his hand beneath
my chin, lifting
my eyes to his gaze.
He looks at me
like he knows me
from the top of my head,
to the soles of my feet.
He calls me daughter
& says my faith
has made
me well.
If only everyone
could be seen
like this—
his loving gaze
made well
parts of me
even miracles
couldn’t heal.
Grace Kelley is a writer, speaker, and podcast co-host, inviting you to kneel down in the dirt of your difficult circumstances and plant seeds of hope, trusting that in time they will grow into something glorious. You can connect with her on her Blog, Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook and be sure to follow her brand-new podcast “The Rock and a Holy Place.” Grace lives in sunny Northern Colorado with her husband and three small kids where she balances her love of gardening and tea drinking with her hatred of folding laundry.
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