Restored! Pressing through the Crowd #3
Faith for the Fullness of God
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 Encounter (a continuation of Miriam’s story #1 and #2)
… The world seemed to stop.
I knelt there, trembling, every fiber of my being screaming to flee. But where could I go? The one who healed me had turned, and His gaze - gentle but piercing, searched the crowd.
“Who touched Me?”
The disciples exchanged incredulous looks, their voices low and hurried. Master, there are so many people pressing against You! How can You ask who touched You?
But Jesus didn’t seem frustrated. He simply stood there, waiting, His presence steady and unshaken, as if the chaos around Him didn’t exist.
I felt my heartbeat thunder in my ears. My hand, the one that had brushed His garment, trembled as I pulled it to my chest. The joy of healing still surged through me, but it was mixed with fear. What would He say? What would the crowd do if they knew it was me, the unclean one, who had dared to touch Him?
My body wanted to shrink, but something deeper, something stronger, urged me to rise.
It was courage, perhaps. Or maybe gratitude. Whatever it was, it pushed me forward. I lifted my face to meet His gaze.
“It was me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
The crowd fell silent. Whispers rippled through them like a breeze through dry leaves. Faces turned toward me, a hundred pairs of eyes suddenly fixed on the woman they had ignored for so long.
I pushed myself to my feet, my knees wobbling like a childs. My hands trembled as I clutched my cloak tighter around me, but I stood tall.
I told Him everything.
I spoke of the twelve long years, of the doctors and their endless treatments that only left me poorer and in more pain. I spoke of the shame, the isolation, the days spent watching life happen through the cracks of my door. My voice cracked as I described how I had reached out, desperate, believing with all my heart that just touching His garment would be enough.
And then, I told Him how I was healed.
The words spilled out of me, raw and unfiltered, as if the years of silence had built up and could no longer be contained. The crowd listened, their expressions shifting from curiosity to astonishment.
When I finished, I looked at Him, my breath caught in my throat. What would He say? Would He rebuke me for my audacity, for breaking the law and risking making others unclean?
But when He spoke, His voice was warm, filled with compassion and something I hadn’t heard directed toward me in years - kindness.
“Daughter,” He said.
The word hit me like a wave, washing over years of pain and rejection. Daughter. Not woman, not unclean one, but daughter.
“Your faith has made you well,” He continued. “Go in peace, and be free from your suffering.”
Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to thank Him, to find words worthy of expressing the depth of my gratitude, but all I could do was nod.
The crowd had fallen silent, their curious whispers replaced by awe. Some looked at Him with wonder, others at me as if trying to piece together how this miracle had happened. But I didn’t care what they thought.
As He turned to move on, the crowd followed Him, their noise rising again like waves crashing against the shore. But I stayed where I was, rooted in the moment.
For the first time in twelve years, I felt whole. Not just in my body, but in my spirit.
I walked home slowly, savoring the feeling of freedom, of lightness. When I reached my door, I hesitated, looking at the worn wood that had been my barrier for so long. I pushed it open, stepping inside and breathing in the scent of the herbs Ezra had left behind.
A smile spread across my face. I could already see it - this home, once so dark and lifeless, now filled with laughter and light. It was faith, faith that simply knew that God would restore everything that was lost … just as he had restored my body a few moments ago.
Jesus had done more than heal my body. He had restored my life.
And I would never forget the moment He called me daughter.
TO BE CONTINUED next time … (click here to read #1 or #2 of Miriams Story)
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