Just One Touch

Twelve long years.
Twelve winters of weeping, twelve summers of sorrow.
A nameless woman, known only by her wound.
She was not called “mother,” “sister,” or “friend”—
only unclean,
only unseen,
only unworthy in the eyes of the world.

But one morning, hope whispered in her soul.

She had heard of a Man who walked with heaven in His eyes
and healing in His shadow.
So she pressed through the crowd,
not with hands strong,
but with a heart stubborn with faith.
She did not shout, did not demand.
She simply reached.

She did not touch His hand,
not His face,
not even His words—
just the hem of His robe.
The edge.
The fringe.
The last thread of heaven trailing in the dust.

And the universe stopped.

Power surged.
Her bleeding ceased.
Her shame dissolved.
And the One who calmed storms felt her touch.

He turned—not to scold,
not to shame—
but to see.

He turned to name her.

“Daughter.”
In that single word,
He gave her what twelve years had stolen—
Belonging. Dignity. Identity.

This story is not only hers—
it is ours.

For how often do we bleed in silence?
Wounds unseen,
pains unnamed,
shadows too deep for language?

And yet, Christ walks still through the crowded corridors of our chaos.
His robe still brushes the margins.
His eyes still search for the one who dares to reach.

The edge of Christ is still enough.

Faith is not a trumpet blast—
sometimes it is a whisper in the dark,
a trembling finger stretching through doubt,
a silent prayer buried beneath broken dreams.

And He still stops.
He stops for the one.
He stops for you.

In a world that labels us by our failures,
Jesus names us by our faith.
He calls us daughter, son, beloved.
Not because we are perfect,
but because we dared to touch Him
when all hope seemed gone.

So reach.
Reach through the crowd of confusion.
Reach through the noise of your fears.
Reach, even if only for the hem.
Because even the edge of Christ
is the center of all healing.

And when you do,
listen.

He will turn,
look into your soul,
and whisper the word
that makes all things new:

“Daughter.”
“Son.”
“Mine.”

Go in peace.
You are seen.
You are healed.
You are loved.