The Bleeding Woman, from Luke and Mark

Twelve years. I opened my eyes, but stayed in bed, wondering why I would even need to get up. Twelve years unclean--like one of the lepers. So many doctors had come in and out of my life. They each tried their various cures, collecting my money, then got frustrated and left. Now, I was alone, sick, and completely impoverished.

That morning, a crowd of voices drifted through my open window, and I recognized the voice of a man who lived down the street-- "He's coming across the lake! Jesus is coming this direction!"

Something in my heart leapt. Is this what hope felt like? It had been so long since I had felt anything but the pain of constant bleeding and the poking and prodding of doctors. Something deep inside of my broken body stirred as I heard the name--Jesus. With a struggle, I pulled myself to a seated position.

Once, I had been beautiful. But now, the blood had drained from every part of my body. I knew just from the horrified stares that I had gotten when people caught just a glimpse of me, that I must look gaunt and gray-faced.

I stood, feeling dizzy enough to fall face-forward onto the ground. I steadied myself against the wall, sweat forming on my upper lip and on my brow. I pushed with one hand against the wall, and started determinedly taking one step at a time. Somehow, I knew that if I could get to this man, this Jesus, I could be healed. Stories of his miraculous signs and rumors of him being the Messiah that we had all waiter for had filtered through the town.

I took step after step, sweat pouring down my face. It took hours to make it the miles to the lake--and I finally began to see the edge of the crowd. The hope in my heart that had pulled me instinctively in this direction began to build even more. From this distance, I couldn't see him, but I knew he had to be in the center of the crowd. I craned my neck, taking all the strength I had, and there he was. He had a kind face, but wasn't handsome. He looked ordinary. However, he had definitely caught the attention of the crowd. I knew that I would never make it through. I dropped to my knees and squeezed through the edge of the crowd.

A woman stepped on my fingers. I scratched at the hard clay ground with my fingernails, clawing past numberless pairs of feet. I didn't care, I just knew I needed to get to the center. The dust was coating my sweaty skin, and I was exerting more energy than I had in 12 years. The tan hem of the man's garment was in sight. I wearily reached out my hand, my sore fingertips barely brushed his garment--I wasn't even sure that it was enough to get his attention.

I felt the warmth flood my body, and I knew I had touched him. Somehow, the bleeding had stopped, and blood was reaching parts of my body that had been deprived for so long. My breath was still coming in deep gasps, but I found the strength to peer up at him, the sun shining into my eyes.

"Who touched me?" His voice was kind, like his eyes. I rose a little from my crawling position. His deep brown eyes scanned the crowd as I struggled to my feet. I managed a step towards him before I fell at his feet. It wasn't lack of strength that forced me to my knees--it was the awe.

"Sir...Lord. It was me." I met his eyes briefly, but quickly looked away as the whispers about me, "that unclean woman" began. But I knew I had to explain the feeling that had led me to find him. "I knew if I could only touch you, I would be okay."

He kneeled down and laid a hand on my trembling shoulder as tears welled in my eyes. "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering." He gently put his hand under my elbow and helped me rise to my feet. I watched him walk away and the crowd that followed him until he was gone from view.

I no longer felt pain, nor bleeding. Months later, our Messiah was crucified. He bled and suffered--so that I wouldn't have to.