I AM THAT WOMAN

I am that woman. The one who spent most of her life feeling sick, being sick, and dealing with doctors who charged for services that left me the same. I am that woman. Many times shunned, not popular, not heard or seen unless the focus was on my faults, my mistakes, and my dark moods. I am that woman. Stranded on the sidelines while everyone else gathered in the crowd. I waited to join, wanted to join, but the invitation never came. It still has not come. It might never arrive. I am that woman. Tired. Exhausted. Begging to be loved. Longing to be part of their moment and their laughter but only able to listen from afar. I am that woman that has been left out in the dark, out in the night, because the doors were closed and I could not enter.

I am that woman. The one that was not clean. The one who was not properly dressed. The one with the dirty clothes. The one with the rags. The one without the name brand labels. Not good enough. I am that woman. The one that got tired of being left out and I wanted to die. I wanted to give up. I am the woman that saw from afar and heard from the distance. Oh, if only it were true that someone, anyone could actually love me, care about what I am feeling and what I am thinking? But, I was tired. Too tired. I was done. I was exhausted of trying and planning. My heart was beyond hurting. The expectation of anything good coming my way had dried up and my heart no longer believed. For a long time, I was that woman, living only because my heart refused to stop beating, living only because the sun was up and out and I found myself feeling the warmth of a sun that mocked me. But, I saw from within the shadows and I heard of Him from outside the gates. If only... If only I could get close enough to... Could I dare say His Name? Did I have the courage to say, "Excuse me, do you have a minute of your time to spare to just hear me out because I am sort of at the end of my rope here..." Could I have the strength to walk, walk close enough to join the multitude that surrounds Him as He walks. Oh, but my feet are blistered and my clothes will let everyone know I am that woman, the outcast. I am that woman that everyone knows, "She is not whole." "She cannot be loved." "Stay away from her." I tell myself, "You got this." One last time, I dare to hope. Believe. One more moment in this wretched existence I have to dare and hope that the God of heaven can hear the whispers in my heart because if I try to speak them, the cries I have been keeping inside for so long will break forth and everyone will hear my ache, the sobs, the cry I can no longer hide. If only... If only I could... I fall to the ground. The crowd is too great. I try to rise and walk but they push me down. They know who I am and are trying to push me back out and away. I push myself up and take a deep breath. I am...

I am that woman... I have no choice but to be the one who is going to get to Him if all I can do is just... If I could only but touch... Touch the hem of His garment. The garments that cover the holy one, the healer, the deliverer, the One who has come to set the captives free. Oh, if I could only touch one of the threads at the end of his garment, the tip of a thread that moves as he walks in the crowd. I focus. I stretch forth my hand and do not care that the men push me with their might. I cannot fight them but I will reach out through the bodies that deny me the right to press in and follow. I reach and then force my fingers to move as if I am a dried up desert and He is that last drop of water. Oh, I reach out and believe that if I could just touch Him, I might, perhaps I could, no, I shall be healed and be made whole. Reaching out my hands make it to the fabric that covers the Healer.

Jesus, it is me. Heal me. Make me whole. Hear what is in my heart because I am too afraid to speak and reveal my secret here in the crowd. I reach out, I touch Him and the world around me stops. "Who touched me?" I hear His voice but I am too wrapped up in the power that is moving inside of my body, my heart and my mind. The pain exits. Strength grips me all over. I am filled with a love I have not felt in ages. Jesus stops and asks. "Who touched me?" Jesus calls me out with his eyes and invites me to come near while everyone else around Him is trying to figure out what is happening. But I know and Jesus knows the miracle has happened. I am not that broken and dying woman from a few seconds ago. I have been healed. He turns around and looks at me, with love, with a smile that says, "Yes! I was waiting for you to reach out and take hold of your miracle!" "Yes! I was in front of you but I was walking slow enough to let you catch up to me and be able to grab a hold of me." And there, like a child that has been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, I confess that it was I who touched him. The crowd is dignified. "What?" "How dare she!" "Oh!" Their voices fade and life stands still as I am in the powerful presence of my Healer, the One who sees me, my Redeemer and the God who loves me. Jesus smiles. "Daughter, your faith has made you whole. Go in peace.You are whole from the plague. Your sickness is gone. Your faith, your courage to take hold of me, has given you a new start on life." I am that woman. I am that woman that dared to reach out to Jesus. I am the woman that was pushed, shoved, scorned, and ridiculed.

But, I believed. I dared to hope. I am renewed. Restored. Healed and made whole. I am that broken woman. I am she that was forgotten and forsaken. I am the one who was counted as non-existing and society had shut me out. Oh, but look what Jesus has done. He has restored me and made me whole and I can live again. I belong again. I exist again. I am the woman with the issue of blood that was healed because I touched the hem of His garment. Are you that woman, also? Biblical Story of this Woman I would love to hear your thoughts. God bless you.