Shoving and pushing
Smells of humanity wafting over her.
Disdain and rejection distancing her.
But yet she fought her way through that crowd just to touch a fringe of cloth.
His cloth. The cloth of the Healer. The One who doesn’t reject. The One who doesn’t disdain.
Murmurs of disgust from the crowd and exclamations of “how dare she” hissed all around her. Trying to discourage her courage, her passion for healing. Just a touch of His garment, that’s all she dared hope for.
“Who touched Me?” He asked.
“Oh no! How could He know?! Now I’m caught, now I’m going to be humiliated and berated!” She tries to melt back into the crowd at first but then, she catches a glimpse of His face.
That face that knows all, yet loves deeply.
That face that isn’t accusing but is genuinely desiring to know who had connection.
That face that seeks each pair of eyes in the crowd and intimately knows each one lost in that crowd.
A crowd of humanity with all their brokenness and all their diseases and yet a crowd who stirs in Him the deepest love one could ever hope for, the purest healing one could ever pray for, and the divinest intimacy one could ever dream of.