As she reached for the door leading outside, the sunlight forced its way through the cracks of the old wooden mess that served as a barrier between the comfort of home, and the rejection of society. Turning the wooden latch that held it in place she eased open the door and allowed the light from outside to bombard the inside of her impoverished house, as it had been begging to do for hours. A few what seemed somber birds chirped and the familiar sound of market trade and sale rustled the all but still air. A look of despair and helplessness shadowed the face of the widow as she stepped outside. Closing the door behind her, she went in search of a few sticks that would be reasonable size to build a fire, to cook some breakfast from supplies that were already getting low. It had been the twelfth year since she had been diagnosed by physicians with internal bleeding, known as an issue of blood. Instead of a one time a month trip to the temple to offer sacrifice, it had been a battle of pain, and rejection for twelve years. She couldn’t go anywhere in the small town without being immediately recognized as unclean, and avoided by all. Daily it was a struggle to get food, stay in a house, and do life without so much the caring voice of a friend, or a smile from an acquaintance.  She had spent all of her money in hopes of a solve or cure for her ailment, but to none avail. Doctors couldn’t cure her, money was useless, faith fleeting, and she had nothing left. Having selected a few descent sized pieces of wood and some dry needles from a nearby tree, she brought them inside and started rearranging them on the previous nights coals. Soon a fire blazed and the heat seasoned pottery flask was back on the flames to boil water for the days various needs. She reached for the wooden spoon she kept in her cloak, and was ready to stir the water and remove it from the flames that dared to lick the top of the pot, when she realized that it wasn’t there. This time she made the conscious effort to glance down all but to notice that sure enough, it wasn’t there. She left the pot on the flames and hurried outside to retrieve her utensil, as it more than likely fell out when she was picking up sticks. A ways down from the house, she found it next to the tree, and made her way back. 20 feet from the door, she was almost knocked down by two kids who were at their high speed, tailing it through the corridors of the east side of town. It was Nabita and Soshany. These were the girls of Bendai one of the city officers  who sat by the gate. The girls offered there apologies and made ready to leave when when suddenly Nabita turned around and exclaimed,”Haven’t you heard? Jesus is coming, the prophet is coming.” And without any more, the girls left.

“Jesus?” “I have heard of this Jesus. It has to be none other than the man who claims himself to be God,” she was bursting inside. “If I have any chance, it is now.” Quickly she took the spoon hurried inside, despite the pain, and grabbed the boiling pot off the fire, its water now half gone, and put everything away. By the time she finished there was already a commotion. However, instead of joyous praise, there was the sound of wailing. Many people were sad and walked with their countenance fallen, as if a tragedy had occurred. She desperately wanted to know why the same Jesus in the middle of them all was present and not followed with enthusiastic people, and the sounds of singing and rejoicing. Perhaps, someone had died. Yet, why would a hailed leader be in the midst of the sorrow and chaos? She had the urge to ask someone if they knew, but realized she would be shunned because of her ailment. She was unclean, and knew well the act of mourning. She noticed and older man leaning on a stick towards the back, and granting a small bow before him, she asked what the sorrow and despair was for. The old man, who knew Gylatel, a beggar by the pool of Bethesda, said it was said that Jarius, a wealthy prominent man’s daughter was in grave danger of dying. Jarius, a kind gentle and noble man was revered and honored by many, even of the chief priest. For his daughter to be dying, on the very verge of death, was a grave tragedy, and it was his last hope to have Jesus heal her. To do this He would have to pass through Capernum, definitely not an easy journey.  The crowd had far moved from them and she knew she didn’t have much of a chance, all she knew was if this man could heal that girl, then she could just as easily be healed. She thanked the man, bowed and turn to run. An instant pain shot through her almost buckling her over, but she ignored it. Her condition of blood loss was so severe that she lost strength easily, and was already exhausted. She started to feel faint as she moved through the crowd. Men started to get angry as they were nudged aside by a woman, not very well attired, and obviously in a hurry. She could now see Jesus, dressed like everybody else, he was still easy to pick out. She was less than 20 feet away, and not sure if she would make it. She pushed and drove herself, the pain intensifying to the point that it was almost unbearable. As she came within five feet, a rip of shock finally put her down on her knees and losing strength quickly she reached out to grab Jesus cloak as to stop him, so she could beg for favor. As she gave emphasis to her reach her hand was knocked away by somebody’s foot, crawling on the ground she edged close, driving her already bruised knees further into the dirt and rock. The pain alone was nauseating. In a final attempt for mercy, she reached out for the garment one last time, and grasped the tassel almost missing it. In a split second she felt released and driven into the ground, as if a wall of water had crashed out from the inside of her. Still momentarily dazed by the rush, she mumbled a few things and lay in the road, unable to move. All the pain, it was gone. Not a bit of it remained. As she came to she heard the confused sound of commotion. Above the crowd she heard a voice say, “Who touched me, somebody touched me?” It must have been the master, the prophet. “Master, there are crowds surrounding you, so how can you ask who touched you, it was probably somebody losing there footing…” said the man to His immediate right. “Really Peter?” Said another, a tax collector she recognized by the name of Levi. “Really? No it was probably you, because you can’t stay out of the way.” “Matthew, I wasn’t even close to Him! Jesus you know I didn’t do it, I would never get in your way it had to have been James, he’s always….” blubbered Peter. “Matthew?” she thought. His name is Levi. “No, said the man.” “Someone touched my clothes.” The Master continued to look to see who had  touched Him. “He knows it’s me..” she thought. ” I am surely to be killed for this act of irreverence. At the thought and plan of her death, she got off the ground, ran and knelt at his feet, and told the Master the whole truth. Jesus, full of compation turned and said “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” With this Jesus took up walk and continued on His way to Jarius house.