Wednesday, December 12, 2012


There was a time in which I didn't believe I was much of a Christian.  I didn't fit the mold I had constructed in my mind throughout my youth of the soft-spoken, panty hose clad, skirt to the knee, Sunday school attending fine Christian lady.  I didn't necessarily (and still don't, as a matter of fact) subscribe to any one denomination of thinking.  I don't want to be given a list of things to believe by someone else; I want to discover what I believe on my own.

I felt that because I didn't look and act and talk like the ladies I saw sitting in the pews of the church when I was little that I didn't belong in the Kingdom of God.

I was wrong.

Remembering there was once a day when there were no fancy buildings, little plastic cups with grape juice, sound systems and doctrinal codes gives me a fresh perspective of Jesus.  Rereading the Gospels opens my eyes to Jesus' acceptance of all.

People brought all their sick to him and begged him to let the sick just touch the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed.  {Matthew 14:35b-36}

I guess word spread across the land at record speed.  Some called Him a prophet, some The Messiah, some the Son of God, but seemingly the masses deemed Him the Great Healer.  People came from all around, they followed Him, they drew near just to touch the edge of His clothing.  And, furthermore, they believed that if they did, they would be healed.

This is beyond anything I can fathom in our modern society.  Beyond how I felt about the New Kids on the Block when I was 13.  More than the Justin Bieber craze, the Dave Ramsey phenomenon, more than adoration and appreciation for one's talents or beliefs, whether secular or religious.

It was hope.  Pure, divine Hope.  And Jesus didn't with hold it from anyone.  No one.  He didn't stop in the crowds to ask if they had prayed a special prayer, had been baptized, if they drank too much of the wine last Friday night or had eaten eat pork, if they had bowed and prayed to an idol that very day... He healed as He walked through the crowds.  And not even an active healing, a laying on of the hands, but rather giving permission to allow His Power to transfer through the act of Belief and Hope in Him.

Am I the only one who is so humbled and amazed by this?  That Jesus, had I have lived in that day, would have healed me from any ailment if I simply believed and touched the edge of His cloak.

There are so many days that I don't have the energy to do much more that reach my hand out and barely touch the edge.  Many days I don't feel worthy enough to get too close to Him.  Truth is, none of us are worthy, but He doesn't care.

Reach out your hand, my friend.  He is there.  And He asks no questions.

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