The Hem

In weakened state, I cannot walk, be dignified, or keep up with everyone, but
I crawl to Him.
The crowds may press in, step on my fingers, look over and through me, but
I will get close to Him.
Desperation has brought me here, I am weary, draining away, spilling.
If I can just touch the hem, His robe.
At the bottom of life, the ground close, even the swirling dust is above me.
Everything else says give up.
Frailty gathers all the strength it can borrow, I reach out my trembling hand,
He will heal me.
He knows, felt power move. Don’t be afraid. Be courageous and speak.
He bids me to come to Him.
Falling at His feet, I’ve never been worthy of such tender mercy.
He picks me up.
He calls me strengthened daughter. Faith is reaching out to touch mystery.
Suffering is over. Go in peace.
He has made me well.



2 responses to “The Hem

  1. He is there and far better than healing is in store


  2. Lovely and poignant


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