Her assumed place was in the tent; along with the other women who were in various stages of shedding blood. Some in their menstrual cycles. Others in stages connected to giving life. Regardless, they were to remain separated from society. “Untouched;” their worth interpreted by laws and fear.
But, for, her, when would she ever be free? Free to enter society. Free to assume an identity other than “unclean.” Freedom from a misunderstood perception that her current malady was a sign of God removing favor.
If even your Creator rejects you, how do you define your worth?
But something drew her to Jesus. What did he possess that led her to boldly venture into the public eye when she should have been isolated? To come in contact with those she was to avoid?
And to touch the “man of the hour?” What was she thinking?
Hope. The anticipation that the rumors were true. This man held the divine power to restoration-one that reached beyond her own expectations.
“Who touched my clothes?”
What if his response once again affirmed the inhumane message hurled upon her repeatedly?
But in an instant she knew differently. Her instincts correct. She receives from one human what only could come from outside humanity. Restoration. Validation. Liberation.
Jesus is never out of our reach.
Who is defining your worth?
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