Touching His Hem

It’s been a killer week. Month. Year. Decade. I came out of the dark to experience a sea of change. And I needed it. Slowly, I have started to catch my breath, find joy, say no to endless demands on my energy. I’m still limping along, but I’m happier. More whole. The light has dawned, and I’m moving toward it.

But life is still life. Sometimes, it sucks. Sometimes, people that you love fall sick. Or you get stuck in an impossible job situation. Or you find out two weeks after your 37th birthday that you need back surgery.

And, sometimes, those things happen in the same month.

And, sometimes, you look at your life and realize that the path that you are about to walk is one that you would have never, ever guessed just a few years ago. It doesn’t look like anything you recognize, except that the light you’ve been seeking is somehow shining on it. No one who talks about having faith and trusting God would ever, in a million years, suggest putting a single toe on this path.

And yet.

And yet.

So what do I do? I think about the prophet Hosea. No one from today’s Southern Baptist Convention would ever endorse what God told him to do. I can just imagine someone like John Piper or Owen Strachan shouting, “Show me in the Bible where a prostitute makes an acceptable wife!” But God told Hosea that His command had a purpose, and He blessed it.

So what do I do? I think about the woman with the issue of blood mentioned in the Gospels. She was cast out from society. Everyone called her bad, unclean, unworthy—a sinner. They said her touch would contaminate anyone it fell on. After 12 years of chronic illness and shunning, she had become weak and desperate. So she crawled into the street and touched the hem of Jesus’ robe.

If only I can touch his hem, I’ll be whole.

He stopped. He turned. He looked. He called her daughter.

I don’t know where this life is going to take me. When it comes to exercising my faith, I feel like I’m crawling around in the dirt most days. But dear God, remind me…I can still touch his hem.

No matter what, I can still be called daughter.

No matter what, I can still be made whole.

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