Like most, I've struggled to hold onto the belief that God had my back when I was trapped in a mudslide. Doubt can be the loneliest of places, where God doesn't feel real and every problem seems the size of T-Rex. And I'm usually a panicky mess, wondering how I'm going to pull myself out of the mire, without a rope or anyone on the other end to yank me out of my predicament.
I imagine it was that way for a woman from the Bible who had suffered through a twelve year menstrual period.
Twelve years.
I've had some pretty lousy periods of my own, I can’t even wrap my mind around what this poor lady suffered. I had medication to relieve cramps, a heating pad, a bathtub to soak in and a healthy diet to replenish iron lost during my cycle. I had support from my family and a good doctor. Most importantly I knew that at the end of a week it would be over.
Her bleeding wouldn’t stop. It ran like a river and no one knew how to cure her.
Worst of all her bleeding made her an outcast.
Multiple scriptures from Leviticus as well as in Ezekiel are very clear about the penalties for a woman in her predicament.
She was unclean.
Anything she sat on or lay on was unclean. Anyone who touched her bed was unclean and was required to wash themselves and their clothing if they did. Furthermore they were outcasts themselves until that evening.
And if she had an irregular discharge of blood at any time other than her period, her uncleanness ended only after seven “clean” days.
Twelve years with no one who was willing or able to care for her.
It must have been torture. A living hell. I’m amazed that she lived through it, that she didn’t throw in the towel.
Then someone came along who was able to fix everything; the Great Physician.
Luke 8:43 (ESV) describes her encounter with the Son of God.
“And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and though she had spent all her living on physicians, she could not be healed by anyone. She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his garment, and immediately her discharge of blood ceased. And Jesus said,
“Who was it that touched me?”
When all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the crowds surround you and are pressing in on you!”
But Jesus said, “Someone touched me, for I perceive that power has gone out from me.”
And when the woman saw that she was not hidden, she came trembling, and falling down before him declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed.
And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”
Wow. The perfect ending. And the faith it took for her to reach out and touch that robe.
Marvelous.
If Jesus were a regular everyday guy, the mere touch of her fingertips would have rendered him unclean. But she was convinced that he was the real deal and perhaps the touch of his garment would be enough to cure her.
And it did.
Imagine the testimony that bubbled up within a heart that was once hopeless. To be relieved of that intolerable burden, to feel free to mingle with people, to finally find comfort from family and friends. To tell everyone what Jesus had done for her.
Faith.
To be released from panicky flailing to find answers to impossible questions. To be released from despair. To rediscover the beauty that lies outside and within.
What the world needs now, more than ever.
Faith.
Michelle Close Mills ©
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