As the 2018 seasons melted one into another – From the frigid winter air that constricted my airways, to the Goliath-sized allergies spring ushered in; from the humidity of the sweltering summer months, to the dramatic fall into, well, fall – Repercussions of cystic fibrosis induced lung infections, sinus surgeries, and my battle weary 5’3” 92lb frame acted as constant reminders of just how feeble my body is on its own.

It was in the exhaustion of waking up every morning to debilitating muscle and bone aches. It was in the heaviness of every inhale. It was in my doubt that when it came to my day-to-day living for Christ, I would ever be good enough, fast enough, or strong enough to bring glory to His name. It was in the nights I sobbed myself to sleep because I’d lost sight of His promise that healing, in His way and in His time, would come.

And then I would see her. I would see her faith. Her desperation. Her strength and her resilience and her determination. I would see her telling herself, as she recalled the stories of others who had been rescued from their plight, “If I can just touch Him… If I can just reach the hem of His garment… Just let me get close enough to touch Him…”

I saw her wrapping herself in her shawl, her mind racing with tremendous faith and fear, as she hurried down the street, desperate to not miss Him. I saw her standing on her tiptoes, watching the crowd for their reaction that He was near. I saw her riding the waves of dozens around her as He came into focus, and they began shoving their way toward Him. I saw her trip and fall, shielding herself from being trampled and kicked as others stumbled over her in return. I saw her face set like flint as she forced herself to crawl, completely devoid now of worry about what others might think, or what might happen if He didn’t come through. And then suddenly, I saw a spark of pure tenacity in her eyes as she spotted her opportunity and lunged, her prayers now answered in the healing upon her fingertips.

When we back up to Mark 5:29, Scripture tells us, “Instantly her flow of blood ceased, and she sensed in her body that she was healed of her affliction.” What it must have felt like, after more than a decade, to instantly be well! To instantly be free! To instantly realize that the life she could only remember in her dreams was once again her reality.

But as soon as her miracle was upon her, so was the enemy with a new tactic: Fear. Mark 5:30 says that in that same instant, Jesus knew power had gone out from Him, and He asked, “Who touched me?” In response, she fell at His feet, and in fear and trembling confessed what she’d done.

For a split second, I saw hopelessness return to her eyes. What if He wasn’t the man she’d thought He was? Heard He was? What if He hadn’t wanted her to be healed? What if she’d just stolen something that didn’t belong to her?

Instead, Christ saw her… Really saw her… And in seeing her, called out the true identity she had long forgotten: Daughter.

To us, she is most often referred to as “the bleeding woman”. To her society, she was “unclean”, and of barely more worth than livestock. But to her Savior, she was and will forever be “a daughter of God; acceptable to God, rejoicing in His peculiar care and protection” (Thayer’s Greek Lexicon: Strong’s G2364).

The healing Jesus offers is far more than just physical. It’s all-encompassing. In her case, she was healed of any pride or unbelief that might have prevented her from doing whatever it took to find Him. She was healed from the physical assault of her disease, and the shame and isolation that had been her closest companions for over a decade. And in the immediate aftermath of her miracle, she was healed of her identity crisis, and any lingering fear that Jesus may not be exactly who He said He was.

For twelve years, Abba had prepared for her to be healed. Now, it was time for her to live healed, and to make His name known for generations to come.

May we all, as His daughters, follow suit.