Inspired by | Luke 8:43-48 | Matt 9:20-22 | Mark 5: 25-34 | Click the link to see the official song release. |Pressing through the crowd |
The Crowd (a continuation of Miriam’s story #1)
The air was heavy that morning, buzzing with energy I hadn’t felt in years.
I heard whispers of His arrival before I saw Him—Jesus. The streets were alive with rumors: “He healed a blind man!” someone exclaimed. “I heard He cast out demons!” another said.
My heart raced. Was this the day I’d been waiting for?
I pushed my way through the alley, gripping my thin cloak tight around me. It had been years since I’d dared to enter the marketplace. Even now, I kept my head down, avoiding the stares of the women filling their jars and the merchants haggling over prices.
The crowd thickened as I reached the main road. At first, I couldn’t see anything—just the backs of people pressing forward, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Him. I hesitated, standing on the edge like a child afraid to join a game.
What am I doing? I thought. This is foolish. He won’t notice me. And even if He does…
The law was clear: I wasn’t supposed to be here. If anyone realized who I was—what I was—I’d be dragged out of the village in shame.
But then I heard His voice.
It wasn’t loud, but it carried over the commotion with a clarity that made my breath catch. He was speaking to a man in the crowd, and though I couldn’t make out the words, the tone was unmistakable: calm, firm, and full of authority.
I moved without thinking, stepping closer.
Every instinct screamed at me to stop. I’d spent years learning how to shrink into the shadows, how to avoid drawing attention. But something about His presence pulled me forward, closer to the throng of people pressing around Him.
I tried to squeeze through the crowd, but it was no use. Men and women jostled me from every side, their voices blending into a chaotic roar. My pulse pounded in my ears as I stumbled, nearly falling to my knees.
That was when I saw Him.
He wasn’t what I expected. He didn’t look like a king or a prophet, not the way they were always described—wrapped in fine robes and surrounded by servants. His clothing was simple, his face sun-worn. And yet…
There was something about Him.
He didn’t push people away. He didn’t scold the children tugging at His tunic or the old man grasping at His arm. His presence was steady, unmoving, like a tree in the wind.
I felt a lump rise in my throat. This was the man I’d heard about, the one who healed with a word or a touch.
If I could just get close enough…
The thought was wild, reckless. I didn’t need Him to speak to me. I didn’t need Him to stop and lay His hands on me. All I needed was to touch Him, even just the hem of His garment.
It was foolish. It was desperate. But it was my only hope.
I forced myself deeper into the crowd, my heart pounding with every step. The people around me were oblivious to my presence, their eyes fixed on Him. I was jostled and shoved, but I didn’t care.
He was so close now. I could see the edge of His robe, the fringe brushing the dusty ground.
My hands trembled as I reached out.
Just one touch, I told myself. That’s all I need.
And then my fingers grazed the fabric.
It was barely a touch, so light I wasn’t even sure He would feel it. But in that instant, something happened.
The bleeding stopped.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. It was as if a weight I had carried for years had suddenly lifted. I felt it—deep inside me. I was healed.
Tears filled my eyes as I staggered back, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of relief and disbelief. It was over. After twelve years of pain, of shame, of isolation, it was over.
But before I could slip away, He stopped.
“Who touched me?”
His voice cut through the noise of the crowd, sharp and commanding.
My stomach twisted. The people around Him froze, glancing at each other in confusion. “Master,” one of His disciples said, “the people are crowding and pressing against You.”
But Jesus shook His head. “Someone touched Me. I know that power has gone out from Me.”
Panic surged through me. I had wanted to remain invisible, to take my healing and disappear quietly into the background. But now all eyes would be on me.
What would He do when He realized it was me? Would He be angry? Would He condemn me for my boldness?
I sank to my knees, trembling. There was no hiding now.
TO BE CONTINUED next time… (click here read #1 of Miriams story)
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