It Dripped Like This Everyday

It dripped like this everyday. The reusable rags I used when I ran out money for the fancy pads regardless. It dripped like this everyday...

The Middle Eastern sun is hot overhead and casting shadows. The city has visitors, but I cannot see Him in the crowd. They say He is walking surrounded by 12 men, but they lie. They told me that of the 12 men, I knew 3 and could get to Him by calling in favours. One Matthew I had known several years back as a cheat at the Roman tax office.  One James ben Zebedee was a short tempered twin fisherman and customer of my father’s.  One Judas who had shady deals with my physicians. They should have told me He was surrounded by 12 men and then all of Jerusalem. I would have to press my way through the crowd of oblivious men, gawking women and obnoxious children.

With this gagging odour of infected blood which hung around me, they would smell me a mile away. It had been 12 years, but even I had not gotten used to the fishy reek. I shuffled first forward, then sideways judging my best approach. Last week, I heard he had come to one Lazarus on a sycamore tree. If he won’t come to me today, I will go to Him. If He will not touch me, then I will just touch the hem of His garment. They say anyone I touch is unclean, but I’ll take my chances.  This is really my last chance. It drips like this every day. Some mornings I just can’t get up for the light-headedness, palpitations, weakness and swooning. My life drips like this everyday.

Endometriosis. Withdrawal bleed. Cervical cancer. Bleeding Bartholin cyst. Dysfunctional uterine bleeding. They don’t know what it is. They pretend they know and spout their ignorance masked by white coats and huge books expressed in deafening technical jargon; but I know they don’t know what it is. It drips like this everyday.

Vaginal laceration, cervical ectropion or bleeding fibroid was what the first greedy, thieving scam artist and quack said it was. He kept changing his mind at each visit. Each visit made my heart heavier and my pockets lighter. After six months of experiments called practice, he passed me on to swindler number 2 who was sure it was the placenta even after I insisted that I had not been pregnant. Placenta previa or abruptio placenta. They are ignorant, these people and they are robbers armed with pills and potions. But maybe I am not fair. Physicians are humans- and flawed. Everyday, they uncover my nakedness and put their hands on my inside. Everyday the bleeding continues. It drips like this everyday.

I have travelled miles to see several physicians-the best of them and the rest of them. Fellows, professionals, specialists, generalists and herbalists. I have been under the knife twice, swallowed every potion; conventional and unconventional, orthodox and alternative, drank every pill- bitter and sweet, said every incantation- dark and light, changed my diet a hundred times and more; yet it drips like this everyday.

I have forgotten the colours on the inside of the temple courts and have not heard the Torah recited in the synagogue once these 12 years. My friends and family are gone. Acquaintances which Moses’ Law didn’t were driven away by the odours; those who weren’t driven by odours were driven away by my debts. But today...today, the odours would make a way for me through the crowd. I had made up my mind that the stories of the lepers’ cleansing, the blind seeing, the lame walking, the deaf hearing, the weak strong would transcend to my reality today. If I could just touch the hem of his garment...

As I jostled through the crowd, conscious of the angry stares and covered noses, I saw them. Pharisees and Scribes in their flowing garments and phylacteries. The established order of religion capable of stopping me by whatever ordinances were written by Moses. I must hurry. Each step is laboured, each breath shallow. My heart is pounding in my ears with the frenzy of pagan drums. He’s nearer now. Can I make it? The fainting spell seems to be coming on. My vision is now blurred with my tears. Can I make it? My clothes seem more wet than ever before and I am conscious of the eyes drilling my soiled behind. It dripped like this everyday. Shame, pain, fear...I’m not sure what I should feel. I know I feel an intensely odd blend of all three but I am overwhelmed by hope. Taken by faith. I shove people aside faster and with more daring. Everyone is pushing anyway. There He is!

I reach out now; first faltering, hesitant, cautious...then boldly. It dripped like this every day. Or did it? Done. What was that? Like a warm jolt of fire, a pleasant scorpion sting, coursing through my right hand, up my arm, through my torso and into my head and down to my feet. Every fibre of my being is ignited with an unseen fire. What was that the Rabbi had said about a bush on fire in the deserts of Midian that did not burn?

Something has happened. I feel dry. Stronger. Clear headed. The pain beneath my navel is gone. Could it be? It dripped like that everyday, but I don’t feel it anymore. Thank you unseeing Rabbi. I know you don’t know. 12 years of reproach, 12 years of going through many physicians; now poor, wretched, hurt in body and in mind and standing behind this extraordinary Saviour. Dry. Under my breath, I whisper the mantra, “Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai E ad. Yeshua Meshiach- You are Messiah...” As I turn to make my obscure escape from the teeming mass of humanity, lost in the sea of faces, I hear the clear question by His incisive voice carrying above the hum and murmur of the crowd. It was not asked in accusation. It was not framed for guilt. I heard amusement, curiosity, affirmation. Gasp. He knew!

But it had dripped like that everyday- and I knew from His voice that He had loved me everyday.

“Who touched Me?”

~The woman with the issue

 

You cannot escape unnoticed from the Grace you have touched.

*Any resemblance to individuals or patients treated by the author is purely coincidental and should not in any way be seen as a breech in confidentiality. The story is however based on a true story circum AD 28 recorded by a first century Physician named Luke (Luke 8:43-48). What is your issue?