This was inspired by a painting "The Touch" by Connie Baten that my mom gave to me.
Hands – so many things are written in the grooves between the lines of hands. Hands mark the flow of life that breathes within. Hands reach for the love of a parent, grasp the companionship of a friend, and embrace the precious gift of a child - hands to keep warm, to hug and hold so many. Time glazes the warm cinnamon hands worn and rough as a remembrance of the many challenges and tragedies of a journey. Turned over, the soft hands show pathways of a life dedicated to tenderness and giving.
Illness claims to be an identity. People ask how “it” is, has “it” changed, is “it” leaving her alone? “It” robs her of moments of pleasure and peace. “It” is constantly with her.
Doctors try to relieve her of pain and discomfort with their many theories and hypothetical guesses. The pursuit of an answer places her as a pawn within a game of technique and strategy. Her name and identity are forgotten. The illness is the one who answers when called.
Herbs, special serums and complex concoctions offer a promise of hope but with no end of fulfillment. Ordered to go to this magical place or walk that distance in penance, or act this particular way leaves empty wishes in the dust which fall on the muddy dirt beneath her feet.
Sighing in a song of its own rhythm, she stands but weakness invades her body forcing her to cling to a wooden chair attempting to hold her decreasing strength.
The town is on the move. With much chatter many feet run towards the city center, the rustle of clothing filters through the wind - something is different about today. Echoes of delight cheer in the streets, “Jesus is here!”
She knows of His work around the communities of Galilee. He is a healer. He is a Savior. She believes that just by a touch of a hand, she will be healed.
The crowds are overwhelming – so many people block the way from seeing Him. The scarf tumbles and bending down to pick it up, realizes that she can see His leather sandals and His robe. She kneels in the dirt and reaches to hope. She touches his cloak with her longing hand. Energy trembles within her entire body. Transformed - the pain leaves. With one touch of a hand, He heals her.
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