Made Well by Sarah Beth Gerbers

You do not know much about me; this I realize.  It is not for you to know the details of my life.  You will never know if I had children or held my stillborn child in my arms; if I was barren or miscarried.  The details of my life — even my name — will not be written in the pages of history. 

      I will only be remembered for this one thing, and I would have it no other way: I was once entirely ravaged by sickness; but Jesus made me well.

      I remember the disease first creeping upon my body so many years ago.  It stretched its fingers across my abdomen like a ravenous cancer.  As life began to drain from my body, I could neither halt the depletion of energy nor replenish its supply.  Weak and tired after months tainted in red, I began to gather both savings and coins meant for bread as I set out to find a cure.

      I spent everything.  Every last coin I had to my name was scattered across town after visiting all the doctors and healers I knew.  Every potion proved useless, each treatment failed miserably, and both seemed to add to my illness’s insatiable appetite growing stronger with each passing day.  I was tired of being poked and prodded as if I were a hopeless science experiment destined to decline.    

      Even worse was the social stigma biting at my heels - I was not welcome anywhere, for I was unclean.   Twelve years passed as my body warred against itself; and I couldn’t even visit the temple to worship or seek help.  In fact, anything and anyone I touched would instantly become as tainted and undesirable as me.  Instead of a leper coated in white spots, I was shunned for my crimson stains.

      But on that hot, chaotic day with dust-caked feet, tear-soaked cheeks, and sweat-filled brow, my disease met its end when I met a man named Jesus.  His reputation preceded him wherever he went; and I had heard captivating stories about the miracles originating from his hands.  Rumors had been floating around like vapors in air about how a single touch cured a leper and a paralyzed man was made to walk from mere spoken words.  Stories like these had never before come across my ears. 

      “Were they true, or mere folklore?” I wondered.  “Might be able to heal someone like me?”

      When Jesus passed through our town that day, I watched the crowd grow thick.  He was quickly swallowed whole by the mass of people, and soon I could barely see the top of his head. Something began stirring deep inside the pit of my stomach as I watched the scene unfold.  Even though joining the dizzying crowd pressing into Jesus would bring disgrace upon me and anyone I would touch, I needed to be near this man. Every ounce of dignity I once possessed had bled away years ago; and that day a fire of desperation filled its place. 

      So I ran.  Pulse racing and feet sprinting, I pushed headfirst into the crowd.  I had to get to this Jesus. If I could just touch one fiber of His cloak, maybe I could be made well.  Persisting through the dusty, sweaty swarm of voices shouting and elbows jabbing, I stretched out my arm. It was as if time suddenly stood still, and with the tips of my fingers, I touched his hem.

      All at once, warmth filled my core.  Clutching my stomach I stumbled back, for I knew the blood had instantly stopped flowing.  As a cascade of tears abundantly tumbled from my eyes, Jesus turned around and the whole crowd stilled.

      “Who touched me?”  he asked.

     I was terrified.  Had I acted foolishly?  Out of the many who had been touching him, he knew what I already felt - his power had cured my disease.  I did not know if Jesus would scold me, but with voice and knees trembling, I stepped forward and fell before his feet.  Through emotion I explained myself; and glancing up at his face I saw only kindness in his eyes.  

     With a slight smile on his face and softness in his voice, he tenderly said, “Daughter, your faith has healed you.  Go in peace.”

      With that, my life was changed forever; and with those nine words, my story in scripture came to an end.  However, this is where my life truly began.  Not only did Jesus restore my body when I merely touched his clothing, he gave me a new life.  I had known the depths of sorrowful, frustrating, draining sickness for years; and his power untied every single strand of disease from my body.  He restored my body to health, yes, but my soul now knew the richness of hope and joy I had never before tasted.  The goodness of this healing changed everything about my life.  I was now healthy and free.

      I am proof that one encounter with Jesus can alter the trajectory of a life.  One moment with this man erased doubt, fear, and shame.  One touch from him told sickness to leave.

      You don’t need to know my name; you only need to know my story.  I was once “The Woman With the Issue of Blood,”  but my disease no longer defines my days.  My heart once felt hopeless, small, and forgotten, but Jesus saw me.   I once was weak and war-torn, but he made me well.  My faith, even if I saw it as meager, brought me to his feet.  And there, I was made well.

Sarah Beth Gerbers lives in a small home nestled on a riverbank in the sprawling Wisconsin countryside.  She is a pastor, musician, poet and artist who can often be found in coffee shop corners with her nose buried in books.  She is currently writing her own collection of essays and poetry to help others heal from grief and loss.