In the midst of a crowd, she stood all alone.
"Can you see me?" she silently called.
"But maybe it's better that I stay unknown,
If you knew me, you'd surely be appalled."
What, you may ask, was her dreadful sin,
Which she desperately feared to display?
Hidden from others, she was broken within.
With a wound that would not go away.
"Unclean!" they would say by the look in their eyes,
Even if not outwardly said.
She wondered each time as she felt their despise,
If she really was better off dead?
But "No!" she would shout to that voice from the grave.
"I'll hang on with all of my might.
I won't let despair make me its slave,
For this girl was one born to fight."
And fight she had for twelve long years,
Chasing the experts' advice.
Spending all she owned on frustration and tears,
Gaining nothing at a very steep price.
Now she stood in a crowd that was looking for hope,
Or maybe just there for the show.
Some, like her, were just trying to cope,
With weaknesses hidden below.
She was there to see Jesus, a teacher she'd heard
Could heal with merely a touch.
A claim, it's true, that sounded absurd,
But she needed healing so much.
As she stood in the crowd, she thought, "I've been a fool.
Why would he help someone like me?
Another disappointment would be just too cruel,
If he chose to ignore my plea."
"I must remain hidden, unseen, and unheard,
To safely, give this a try.
If He comes my way, I won't say a word.
I'll just touch him as he passes by."
Just about then a murmur arose.
Jesus was almost there.
People strained for a look upon their tiptoes,
As excitement surged through the air.
The crowd pressed forward, people shouting his name.
With a shove she was knocked to her knees.
She was missing her chance to be healed of her shame.
"Dear God", She cried, "help me please."
"Make a way!" came the disciple's command,
As they walked past her there on the floor.
As Jesus went by, she stretched out a hand,
Just brushing the robe which he wore.
She nearly cried out as she felt in that touch,
A tingling that spread to her toes.
Not once in her life had she experienced such
A feeling that in her arose.
And she knew, yes, she knew, oh she knew it was true.
Her wound was finally healed.
What had long been broken was now made anew.
"Praise God," she cried, as she kneeled.
But she jumped up in fear, when Jesus called out,
"Who touched me?" as he looked all around.
The people stepped back who were standing about,
Leaving her with no cover to be found.
The disciples, to Jesus, said, "You must be joking,"
As they looked all around at the view.
"Hundreds are here all pushing and poking,
And you ask, who it was that touched you?"
"But someone did touch me", Jesus replied,
As he smiled at the woman now healed.
"I felt the power flowing out from my side,
And that someone should not be concealed."
The woman stood shaking, and trembling in fear,
Then fell at the feet of the Lord.
She told of her struggles year after year,
And how she had now been restored.
Jesus helped her to stand saying, "Daughter, fear not.
Your faith has made you well.
Go now in peace, with the healing you've sought,
And escape your long-broken shell."
Now, Jesus surely knew, just who had touched who,
And could have just passed on his way.
But he took the time to bring into view,
A woman who touched him that day.
The Lord made sure she was seen and known,
Though shadows and hiding she'd sought.
To her, and to others, her value was shown,
Whether she was broken or not.
Sometimes it is we who are broken inside,
With wounds no one can see.
Our pain and our fear we struggle to hide,
Wondering just where hope might be.
But though the hope be hid from our eyes,
And the future, to us, appears dim,
Our weakness and shame Christ doesn't despise.
For the broken are precious to Him.
Safe in the shadows we may try to hide,
While still longing to be really seen.
Christ calls us out, to come to His side,
To find healing and truly be clean.
"Come," he calls to the broken and bruised.
"Come for the healing you need.
Come as you are, you won't be refused.
Come and finally be freed."