Bleeding Tears

As she pushes through the noisy crowd
She thinks on days gone by
For twelve long years she’s suffered
Borne the same, no tears to cry.

Today might be her only chance
A healer’s passing through
She knows no pills, no doctors,
And no cures will ever do.

They’d said, “He is a prophet
Ateacher, leader, king!”
But to her, a poor, ill woman
All that doesn’t mean a thing.

What she needs now is healing
Relief from constant pain
She needs a miracle divine
To free her from the shame.

She needs someone to care enough
To feed her hungry soul
Someone who won’t charge a fee
To make her body whole.

All that she has ever known
Is loneliness and scorn
Society’s condemned her
Her heart is weak and torn.

The flickering candle of her life
Will blow out very soon
Her little strength is fading
Like the waning of the moon.

With nothing left to live for
Yet no hope for when she dies
She forces her way through the crowds
Ignoring piercing eyes.

I’m just an interruption
Echoes, nagging at her brain
For a second, she turns back
I can’t be failed again.

But a diiferent voice inside her
Urges, No you mustn’t go
This healer may be your last chance
How are you to know?

It may be true that He’s God’s Son
Or a heavenly prophet sent.
So, she turns back to those piercing eyes
And heeds the counsel lent.

She sees Him circled closely round
Jesus of Nazareth
The people absorbing every word
Cherishing each breath.

I’ll never reach Him now, she pants
Besides He won’t heal me.
He raises the children of noblemen
And he makes the blind to see.

But surely, I’m not as important as they
My issue is minor at best
Requesting for healing will only be mocked
I never again will find rest.

As she is struggling fiercely within
Without she fights forward much more
Finally, her weak legs refuse to move on
And she drops, with her face to the floor.

The crowds do not notice, she’s lost in the noise
Silent and helpless, unseen
Her story of life in this moment is told
And she feels her hot pent-up tears stream.

Her eyes a blur, she glances
At the face of whose feet she’s beside
She’s taken aback when she finds it is Him
She watches Him, eyes open wide.

“I’ve reached Him, I’ve reached Him,” she utters in shock
“Maybe to be healed I must
Only reach out, touch the hem of his robe,
And place in Him my simple trust.”

Grasping for any relief she can get
She reaches for Him, crying out
The tip of her finger touches His robe
And washes away all her doubt.

Her strength is returning, the bleeding has stopped
She sits up shocked, Healing that soon?
The candle is steadily burning again
Her sky boasts a shining full moon.

Who is this man?, her heart races in fear
And amazement that she cannot hide
Suddenly, all become silent. She hears
“Who touched me?” from Christ at her side.

He felt that? It can’t be, she thinks, there’s no way
The crowd probably bumped Him, that’s it.
Then He repeats it “Who touched me?” He asks
And she falls at His feet to admit.

“My Lord, please forgive me, but for twelve hard years
I’ve suffered and bled constantly.
Penniless, You were my very last hope
For all I loved abandoned me.”

“I’d lived with the shame and the scorn for so long
The pain was so fierce, my mind reeled.
I thought if I only could reach, touch your clothes
And trust You, then I would be healed.”

His soft knowing eyes show her He has forgiv’n
That He knows of her pure, longing heart
That He knows of the healing He’s laid upon her
And He wants to give her a new start.

“Go your way in peace, my child,
Your faith has made you whole.”
She gives Him a deeply grateful smile
And runs out, new joy in her soul.

She knows she must go and tell others the news
Of the Son of God Most High
Of how He healed her, forgave her soul
And wiped all the tears from her eyes.

 

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