This morning, the story of a woman who had suffered for years with an affliction that made her unclean in her society, is quite vivid in my mind. So many who have such suffering, some obvious and external, others hidden in the heart, are brought to the forefront of my consciousness. Acute awareness of the agony of exclusion by others, or far worse, themselves – their cries echo in my ears.
Disease-ridden bodies racked with pain, each new day a battle, simply to survive. Grieving children left motherless – desperate for their mom’s loving arms to hold them one more time. Struggling families, wondering how to make ends meet and provide basic necessities to sustain their very existence. Broken marriages, shattering spirits with one man’s selfishness. Heart-broken, hopeless, lacking, loveless… So much desperate need.
Somehow, the dim light of hope seeps into the darkest of nights. Dreams of change gently pry into personal poverty. Poor in hope, become guardedly hopeful. Dare one risk the pursuit of change?
Hope hanging on the hem of a garment. A short walk that mandates monumental faith. Belief beyond what is beheld.
The afflicted woman was courageous enough to try. Her step of fearless faith, led to her immediate healing. Not only was her broken body mended, but the countless years of ridicule and rejection, covered with the care of the Savior.
Baby steps. Miniscule moments of faith grown into miraculous months, and ultimately to an exhilarating eternity. If faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains, why not seedlings of trust turning it all around?
On my own, I will sink. In my own strength, I have little to offer. Hurts hang heavy on my heart.
Yet in minute moments of trust, I am healed. As I ever so warily step out in faith, I am met with the miraculous. With each small step, I am met by my Maker. In Him, I am capable; where on my own, I could not. Baby steps become bold bounds. His hem heals hurting hearts.
There is hope in Him. He heals the afflicted and mends the broken. He provides for the poor in provisions, and hardest of hearts. He loves the lonely, and His goodness embraces and invites every child. Heavenly hope hears the hurts and holds on, even when we want to run.
Grief to gratitude with the mere extension of a hand to a hem.
© Shannon Elizabeth Moreno and Revelations in Writing, May 2011 – present