The Touch

Her round belly beautifully protruded from her shirt.
It was obvious that her delivery date was quite soon.
She had that mother’s glow.
She had a sweet peacefulness about her.

I reached out and touched her belly.
It was as if, despite the layers of clothes and her skin, I was somehow touching her baby.
It was perfectly acceptable to do so.
In fact, it is the kind of touch that happens quite frequently to pregnant women.

The belly that you would not dream of touching if it was flat, is permissible to touch now.
The personal space that you would not dare intrude upon is able to be breached now.
There is an acceptance of that gentle touch that happens during pregnancy.
The baby is lovingly caressed through the mother’s belly.

I noticed another kind of touch that is quite tender.
I noticed it when I saw a woman holding her toddler in her arms.
The little girl reached up and gently fingered her mother’s long hair.
She stroked it and put a strand against her nose as if to inhale her mother’s scent.

No one else could do such a thing.
Her mother’s long hair is off limits to others but it is not off limits to her child.
The little girl gave her mother a tiny butterfly kiss on her cheek.
Then, she nuzzled her mother’s neck as only a child could do.

If we pay attention, there are intimate forms of touch that happen right before us each day.
There is the couple holding hands.
There is the big brother or sister smothering their new baby with kisses.
There is the back rub that a mother will give the sleepy child next to her.

There is the affectionate tousling of the hair for a job well done.
There is the pat on the back when pride just seems to overflow.
There is the gentle hand on his wife’s back as a husband walks with her into a room.
There is the touch on each side of the face when we look deeply into another person’s eyes.

Intimate is defined as, closely acquainted, familiar, close.
Another definition is, private and personal.
Used as a noun, intimate is defined as, a very close friend.
Do we ever consider intimacy with God?

A large crowd followed and pressed around him.  And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years. She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, “If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.” Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering. At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who touched my clothes?” “You see the people crowding against you,” his disciples answered, “and yet you can ask, ‘Who touched me?’ ” But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth.  He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” (Mark 5:24-34)

People were pressing in all around Jesus.
People inevitably touched Him as they went by.
It was one touch in particular that Jesus discerned from all the rest.
The touch was so light, it was barely felt.

It was just a brief touch to the bottom of Jesus’ cloak.
The touch should not have been discernible at all.
Even though it was barely felt, Jesus still knew that touch.
It was the touch of faith.

It was a small touch, an almost not there at all kind of touch.
However, there was enough faith to make the bleeding woman reach out to Jesus.
Doctors could not help her.
Twelve years of bleeding rendered her unclean and cut her off from everyday life.

Her feather touch of faith was enough.
Who touched My clothes?
The disciples thought that Jesus’ question was absurd.
You see the people crowding against you, and yet you can ask, ‘Who touched me?’

The disciples asked an appropriate question.
Jesus knew the difference.
This was a touch of faith.
In the woman’s touch, Jesus discerned her heart as only He could.

It was the intimate touch of faith.
Much like touching a mother’s hair, or caressing a baby through a belly, this touch was the same.
It was raw; it was honest.
It was different.

There was an honesty and transparency in that touch.
This woman knew that only Jesus could help her.
She reached out.
The bleeding woman touched the only Person who could make her clean.

Her touch was the most intimate of all.
She was frightened.
She knew that many would rally against her for even being among them in her condition.
She did not care.

If she could just touch the edge of His cloak.
If she could just touch even the hem.
A feather light, intimate touch of faith.
Jesus knew the difference.

With all those people pressing around Him, He knew.
If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.
And she was healed.
Immediately, with a faith touch that was barely discernible.

Except to Jesus.