Touch the Hem

We were having one of those moments. I had refereed numerous squabbles throughout the morning. The toy room was littered with toys and my nagging was not motivating the girls to pick them up. My son was in trouble yet again for teasing his sister. All morning, I had managed patience, with the Holy Spirit's help. (I have no patience of my own, mind you). I was making lunch and counting down the moments until rest time, when I could have a few uniterrupted moments to be with the Father, which I so desperately needed. The arguments continued and I felt myself getting more and more angry, bitter, and resentful. I let off steam by yelling at the children. And crying. Lots of tears. Hot tears of anger and self-pity dripped from my cheeks and onto the kitchen floor below.

I remembered back to my time with Jesus just this morning. I thought back to my heart-felt pleas for help with patience and kindness toward my children today. And then, in my anger over the moment's chaos, I started telling Him, yet again, that He hadn't helped me, that He never helped me, that my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling yet again. I begged for more of Him. I knew that I needed Him so overflowing into my poverty-ridden spirit. Even in my hopeless state, I knew that only He could take away the desperate feelings that I was experiencing. The barrenness of my soul has become so apparent in this spiritual desert that I've been inhabiting of late.

I remembered a verse that I'd quoted to my son just this morning, "Nothing is impossible with God". While I was telling God that I couldn't do one more thing, that I could not be patient one more time, He was reminding me that I could. Through Him. I stilled myself in a chair while the children ate. I pressed through the noise, and the hurt feelings and the anger. And the tears kept flowing. No longer tears of anger, bitterness, or resentment. Now, they had turned to tears of repentance. I confessed my sins (yet again) to my forgiving Heavenly Father. He didn't chastise me. He filled me with His sweet Spirit, yet again. Even though I didn't deserve it. I saw my middle daughter looking at me then, wondering what her mama was crying about. And she hugged me and told me how much she loved me. Sweet grace. Sweet grace sent from my Father to be received through my very own child.

As I sat down this afternoon for more time in His presence (seems I can never get enough. If left to my own devices, I implode!), I went to the story of the woman healed from 12 years of bleeding from Luke 8 (40-48). I read it and wept. I am that woman. Sometimes I feel as if I'm bleeding on the inside. Hemmoraging from my own sin. And it seems I'm in a never-ending battle with my flesh. But soon, the Father was reminding me of those moments in the chair at lunchtime. The moments when I had touched the hem of his garment. When I had made the time to be still, desperate for His touch and his healing, His power went out to me, and I was healed --maybe not forever, but certainly for that moment. Joy and peace and hope returned to my soul and I could be the mommy they needed me to be once again.

Are you like the woman who is bleeding? Draw near. Press through. His power is available and He does indeed still heal.