It was so wrong, me being here in this crowd, touching so many people. I knew that each person who grazed me now carried my unworthiness, and if they knew of my dark shame, I would be punished severely. You are unclean, they’ve said to me for the past twelve years. You are unworthy, unholy, invisible. The blood that left my body wasn’t supposed to last this long. I was supposed to be able to marry, have children, be happy. Instead I was alone, isolated, and unwanted; a castoff whom no man loved and was mother to no child. I was nobody.

As I shoved and pushed past the sweaty bodies, I remembered all the doctors and their cold, compassionless eyes. I’ve spent all of my money and time on them, looking for a way out of this, for healing of this cursed womb. There is nothing more we can do for you, they all said, their empty sentiments echoing through my soul like a deep darkness. This body, this cavernous womb – all it has ever brought me is pain and loneliness. I didn’t know how much more I could take, how much longer I could live with this.

But then he came along. At first as whispers in the streets and among the gossips, but eventually as praises and hopeful jubilation. He is a healer! He is a miracle worker! He can bring the dead back to life! Something inside me stirred as I heard the stories of those who saw with their very own eyes the impossible things that this man could do. The believers said he was their king; the naysayers said he was the devil himself. But my spirit knew something else: he was my only hope.

I could see him, I could see the back of his head now. Just a touch of his clothes, I need to feel even just a thread. Sweat slid down my brow as my frail body tried to keep up with the throng of people hoping to get a glimpse of him. I was starting to feel dizzy, my pale skin getting cold as I felt the blood leave me yet again. I summoned every last ounce of my strength to throw my body forward. I need to touch him, just once…

It was like the world slowed down. I could hear my breath, my heart beating in my ears. I felt the warmth of the air resting on my skin as the sounds of the crowd disappeared and my eyes caught sight of his robe flowing behind him. I stretched my arm out as I fell forward, and with barely a graze, I felt the cloth on my fingers. I had touched the robe of Jesus. Through the pain of landing on the hard ground, through the rush of feet past my head, I knew healing had come. I have been so attuned to this body for so long, all of its frailties and flaws, that I knew the very moment I was bleeding no more. Joy and awe surged through me as I sat up, touching my belly, tears welling up in my eyes, when I realized that the crowd had stopped around me.

Who touched me? I heard him say. I stood up quickly, feeling my limbs tremble and shake. Oh no, I muttered under my breath, how could he have known? I heard another one of his followers, the one they called Peter, say, There is a whole crowd around us, how can you ask if somebody touched you? But he insisted and said, I felt power come out of me. I know somebody touched me. I stepped back, trying to disappear into the crowd, but then he turned around and looked me straight in the eye. I thought there would be anger on his face, that there would be condemnation, but all I saw was… love?

Everyone was looking at me, and I knew that there was no getting out of this. Throwing all caution to the wind, I moved towards him and fell at his feet. With my eyes looking down on the ground, I told him all about my story, my pain, my disease, my loss; I told him how hopeless my life had been until I heard of him and I knew, I just knew, all I needed to do was touch his clothes and I knew I would be healed. The tears rolled down my face, salty and constant, as I awaited his judgement. The people around us were silent, and all I could hear was my breath, and then the shuffling of his feet as he knelt down in front of me, touched my face and raised it to meet his gaze. The crowd around us murmured, and those that knew me did so in disbelief, but he kept his eyes on me. I have never known anything so tender, so loving. Suddenly those years of loneliness left my body and my mind, and I knew that none of that mattered now. I was new.

With a voice both gentle and sure, he said, My daughter, your faith has healed you. Go, be at peace. He helped me to my feet, and then the crowd started back up again and slowly he disappeared from my sight. Somebody yelled something about someone’s daughter, but I stood there in silence, awe-struck, until I was the only one left on the street. The darkness, the empty shame, the bleeding of a body that didn’t work quite right – it was healed. All of it.

Almost all of my adult life was spent in isolation; a lonely existence that was lived in the fringes. I had forgotten what it was like to matter, to mean something, to hope for a future. But in one moment, and with only the slightest touch, Jesus himself knew me – in my unclean, unworthy state. He saw me, and then he touched me. I don’t remember the last time someone willingly touched me with such a love, perhaps not since I was a young child. Even among the noisy, crazy cacophony of humanity, he felt my need and my faith and he saw me. What love is this?

I can’t take back all the life that was taken away from me, but I can begin to build a real one now. Whatever that may look like, I know it doesn’t have to be lived in fear or in sorrow. Today, my life finally begins.

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The woman who bled for 12 years is one of my most favorite stories of the miracles of Jesus. I love the version in Mark 5:25-34 in particular. Whenever I remember this story, when I think about the sorrow of the woman and the love Jesus had for her, I can’t help but cry. What a beautiful thing – to be seen and loved as we are. Even when we try to hide, Jesus knows us. If just a little bit of him, if a touch of the corner of his robe can give us healing, imagine what a life lived immersed in his presence can be?