The Touch

She pushes her way through the crowd with determination born out of desperation. Her head is slightly bowed and her eyes downcast. The years of shame, unworthiness, heartbreak and pain are etched on her forehead and around her mouth. She wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders, not because she felt a chill, but because sin and shame have a way of trying to hide to cover up. She increases her pace with her eyes focused on him.

She remembers when in her youth she tried to follow him; he seemed so distant, unreachable and her view of him was distorted. There were so many obstacles back then. She was a teenage mom. She remembers, with surprising clarity, the shame of her growing belly, the heartbreak in her parents eyes, but more then that she remembers the day her son was born. His newborn scent, the swirl of dark curls at the crown of his head, the selfishness of her thoughts of having someone to love her. She loves her son even though his dad walked away from them when her son was four months old. She was not married to the new guy, but he was willing to take care of her son. She even stayed after he started hitting her. The sin and shame increased and she lost her focus.

The dust rose and settled in symptomatic rhythm and rested on his sandaled feet. His saunter was self-assured, his Deity unmistakable and she was drawn to him; though she feared him. I have to reach him she thought with a familiar ache. Was she mistaken or did she notice his stride slow as if to wait for her, as if he knew she was behind him. No, he would never wait for anyone like me, she thought with cynicism and bitterness bred from unforgiveness and pain.

The crowd appeared to narrow as she meandered her way to where he now stood. His back was to her, her heartbeat raced and sweat ran down her brow, the closer she got to him the more her body trembled. She was close enough to touch him to call to him, to beg for mercy, to ask him to please help her. Time seemed to stand still as she stood in his presence his virtue overpowering her sinfulness, her weakness. At that moment she knew she could never face him, she was not worthy she thought as her head resumed it's bowed position, but before she could turn and walk away her eyes caught the sight of the end of his garment, the hem. She had come to far, life has been so hard and she has overcome to many obstacles to leave without what she fought her way for. She needed a touch, just one touch would help; it would make her whole. She raised her feeble shaking hands and lightly touched the hem of his garment.

He turned and asked, "Who touched my clothing". He looked around until his eyes fell on her. She lifted her head and their eyes met. His eyes where full of the fire of God and a tenderness reserved for those in pain. At that moment she knew that she was loved have always been loved; and tears stream unabridged down her cheeks. With tears in her eyes she fell down before him and told him everything. She's crying now as she types away on this keypad tears of gratitude and thankfulness. Jesus I love you so much thank you for making me whole.