Relabelled
She had thought it would stop.
After all, it could extend for some more days. It had, before.
But it did not.
She met the apothecary.
He had never seen anything like it.
Had she wronged Jehovah?
Had demons inflicted her?
What manner of infirmity was it?
Why did it cling to her alone?
The months rolled past.
The physicians could not help.
She had travelled to wherever they referred her to.
She knew them all. Had seen them all.
Other women went every month for the purification rites.
She saw the relief on their faces.
They were clean again.
She craved the joy of that liberty, liberty from the pain and shame.
The pain had seized her, tied her up.
The shame grew into progressive, dedicated derision.
And she slowly slipped into chronic penury.
Yet no cure was.
None awaited her.
She had become a miserly accursed woman.
Bound. Unclean. Suffering.
She heard the hushed tones when others passed by her deserted house.
No one wanted to be cursed.
No one wanted anything to do with her.
How she wished to die each day she lived.
Why live on when no one cared of her pain?
Why live with excruciating pain and loneliness?
Why live with an incurable, permanent infirmity?
She had heard of Him.
He did unusual things. Marvellously odd things.
He raised the widow of Nain’s son.
The poor woman had been torn apart by grief.
Such wonder who could do?
Hadn’t he allowed the sinful woman anoint Him- in the presence of all the Pharisees?
She heard He had forgiven the woman.
There was hope for her.
“All I will do is touch His garments.
No one would even know I’m there.
If I just touch him, I will be healed.”
The crowd was thick.
It made her disguise easier.
But everyone wanted a piece of Him.
She struggled to where he was and she finally touched the helm of his garment.
It was quicker than a blink.
The bleeding had stopped-immediately!
She knew it!
As soon as she did He had stopped in His tracks.
She thought He’d go on walking but He did not.
He began to ask, “Who touched me?”
She saw His disciples argue with Him, but he insisted and perused the crowd.
Trembling, she came forward and owned up.
She saw compassion in His eyes.
He was the first person who listened to her story of anguish and pain.
He had not hurried her.
He had stopped everything to listen to her.
She had expected His rebuke.
How dare she, an unclean woman, touch Him?
But he had said, “Go in peace Daughter. Your faith has made you whole.”
Twelve years of suffering and a thousand deaths had never thought this day would come.
Never.
But this freedom, her freedom, had come (to stay).
Inspired by Luke 8:43–48.
