Just A Touch
It had been nearly a year since her recovery. The money in her pocket testified to restored skills. The heat of the summer had passed into the chill of fall, but this year she was warm. She had new clothes and plenty to eat.
She studied her reflection, gently touching her face, still amazed at the smoothness of her cheeks. She examined each hand, stretching her fingers, enjoying the freedom from pain she had felt for so long. She stood on tiptoe, turning this way and that, relishing each movement.
This was the start of every day for her: a time of thankfulness. She had only to close her eyes and as easily as if it were yesterday, she could remember everything that had happened.
She had overheard the locals talking about a stranger who had come to town. Some said he was a revolutionary; others said he had a new treatment for disease--still others said he was merely a publicity seeker. It was worth one last try, to her. He didn't yet know her: it would be easier to persuade him of her needs. Perhaps...just perhaps in all his travels he had found that which could cure her.
All the wealth she had once possessed was gone. It had been spent to try to find a remedy for her painful, debilitating illness. She was unable to earn her own way because her hands were useless. The doctors had readily taken her money, but had no more time for her now that it was gone.
She had sold her pretty clothes and family possessions to pay the doctors. The care she had once taken with her appearance no longer mattered --the disease ravaged her body. Long, painful years ago she had been graceful and poised; now one careless move could cause instant fracture. Thus, her steps were slow and measured. Her body was withered and twisted. Gaunt and pale, eyesight failing, she knew death could not be far away. She would die alone and abandoned-- an outcast from those she had once counted as friends.
Her hope lay in the newcomer to the area. If only she could get to him before someone told him how hopeless her case was! She dared not approach anyone to inquire of his whereabouts. They would know her purpose and warn him.
As she made her way along the streets, they became more crowded. She began to overhear snatches of excited conversations about "the stranger"; they had to be talking about him! Now: to find a way to get to him. No one would offer her a ride--it was all up to her.
Hour after hour, she moved steadily on, refusing to give in to the dreadful pain. She was putting all she had into this last, desperate effort. The local children taunted her with their cruel jests. Even when she stopped to rest, she didn't linger. It was better to keep moving than stop long enough to realize how tired she truly was. This man was her only hope. If she missed him, death was her only relief.
She found herself caught up in the press of people, rudely shoved from side to side. Progress became impossible.
The crowd began to call out and surge forward. The man she had come to find was walking with his friends. Frantically, she fought her way to the front of the crowd --just as she saw him pass in front of her. He was gone! What was she to do? He was her last hope!
With a strength born of desperation, she plunged headlong out in the path behind him. If he could do all she had heard he could, perhaps she could just touch his clothes. She had no money. He would never need to know!
Frantically, she reached out to touch him, only to lose her balance and stumble! Horrified, she realized she was falling! Instinctively, she threw her arms out, her hand brushing the hem of his garment as she landed on her knees.
Just as quickly, she drew her hand away and remained crouched on the path as the young man stopped and turned. The crowd grew quiet and held its collective breath as he asked, "Who touched me?"
She heard someone close to him answer, "We are packed one against another. So many have touched you."
"No, this was different," she heard him reply. "I felt the virtue leave my body."
Could he be made to understand? Persuaded to forgive her rudeness? She did not want to be thought a thief-- she had to admit it was she who had touched him. Surely he would have pity and not deal too harshly with her.
Still he stood there, waiting, turning to look around at those close to him. She trembled in fright as she stood and took the few steps to stand in front of him. Suddenly she realized: all her pain was gone! She was not hurting anywhere in her body! She had longed for this moment. She had prayed for this moment. Still, she was stunned. She had no pain! She tried to remember the instant it had left. She couldn't!
Even now she could remember the look in his eyes, how gentle they had been. Never had she experienced a sensation of such warmth and compassion. Never before in her life had she felt such love...
His voice compelled her to lift her face and look into his eyes as he asked simply, "Why did you touch me?"
There was such a gentleness about him...the words tumbled from her as she related how she had spent all she had trying to find some relief from the sickness she had endured so long. She described the agonizing, endless pain from the constant hemorraging in her body, all the years she had suffered. She could barely talk through her tears as she told him the pain was now gone; she felt peaceful and calm, her legs and arms had strength in them.
Each day since then she had whispered the words he then spoke to her: "Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole." "Just A Touch" Copyright © 1997 by Patricia Sikes. All Rights Reserved.
Was it the actual touch of the woman's hand to the hem of His garment that He felt or was it her faith that healed her? Nowhere does the scripture mention a lack of faith on her part that she could be healed. Her only fear was that she would not be able to reach Him.    Jesus, Himself, told us what had healed her. She believed and in so believing, she reached out. It was her faith: "Your faith has made you whole." Surely, she must have whispered His name countless times for the rest of her life.    Jesus, there is just something about Your name. Something that gives me peace and comfort, that quietens the storms of my life. Oh, that Name Above All Other Names, the name of Jesus.
There's Just Something About That Name
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