Touch is enticing.
A new bride slipping into her wedding night bed.
A new life emerging and being placed bare on a mother’s chest.
Hands wiping tears from a pain filled face.
Fingers intertwining in support, love, and encouragement.
People would go to great lengths for a simple touch from Jesus.
They knew there was healing power in the touch.
Today my hands touched.
They didn’t mean to.
They started out in a protective barrier.
But in my frustration of my hands not working hard enough, fast enough, efficient enough I ripped the barrier from me. Freedom came.
I needed my hands to perform more. I needed them to be better.
As the skin of my fingers touched the skin of their feet I could feel their life.
Life lived in their feet.
The rugged, the rough, the open wounds, the scars of healing were lines tracking all over their feet.
My hands needed to touch to connect.
Today my eyes did not have time to glace at their faces.
There was not room in the numbers going past me for my smile to connect.
But, today a new part of the body was His. His hands.
In the touch I was triggered to feel.
In the feel came the prayer.
In the prayer came the faith.
Faith that God is at work.
Faith that God will heal.
Faith that in the touch there was connection and Jesus was revealed.
Jesus: Who just touched My robe?
His disciples broke the uneasy silence.
Disciples: Jesus, the crowd is so thick that everyone is touching You. Why do You ask, “Who touched Me?”
But Jesus waited. His gaze swept across the crowd to see who had done it. 33 At last, the woman—knowing He was talking about her—pushed forward and dropped to her knees. She was shaking with fear and amazement.
Woman:I touched You.
Then she told Him the reason why. Jesus listened to her story.
Jesus: Daughter, you are well because you dared to believe. Go in peace, and stay well.
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