Sunday, February 17
love is kind
a love worth giving-max lucado.later in the day a woman came by. middle aged. hair streaked with gray and pulled back. dress was simple. reminded me of a middle-school librarian. face was wrinkled and earnest. said she'd been sick for a dozen years. HIV positive.
"that's a long time," i said.
long enough, she agreed, to run out of doctors, money, even hope. but worst of all, she had run out of friends, "they were afraid of me," she said. "worried about catching the disease, my church hadn't turned me out, but they hadn't helped me out either. i hadn't been home in years. been living in a shelter. but then Jesus came to town. he was on his way to treat the mayor's daughter, who was dying. the crowd was thick, and people were pushing, but i was desperate."
she spoke of following Jesus at a distance. then she drew near and stepped back for fear of being recognized. she told of inching behind a broad-shouldered man and staying in his wake until, as she said, "there were only two people between him and me. i pressed my arm through the mob and reached for the hem of his jacket. not to grab, just to touch it. and when i did, my body changed. instantly. my face rushed with warmth. i could breathe deeply. my back seemed to straighten. i stopped, letting the people push past. he stopped too. "who touched me?" he asked. i slid behind the big man again and said nothing. as he and the crowd waited, my heart pounded. from the healing? from fear? from both? i didn't know. then he asked again, "who touched me?" he didn't sound angry-just curious. so i spoke up. my voice shook; so did my hands. the big man stepped away. Jesus stepped forward, and i told the whole story."
"the whole story?" i asked
"the whole story," she replied.
i tried to imagine the moment. everyone waiting as Jesus listened. the crowd waiting. the city leaders waiting. a girl was dying, people pressing, disciples were questioning, but Jesus . . . Jesus was listening. listening to the whole story. he didn't have to. the healing would have been enough. enough for her. enough for the crowd. but not enough for him. Jesus wanted to do more than heal her body. He wanted to hear her story-all of it. the whole story. what a kind thing to do. the miracle restored her health. the kindness restored her dignity.
and what he did next, the woman never forgot. "as if he hadn't done enough already" - her eyes began to water - "he called me 'daughter.' 'daughter, be of good cheer, your faith has made you well. go in peace.' I've been told he never used that word with anyone else, just me."
after she left, i checked. she was right.
the kindess of Jesus. we are quick to think of his power, his passion and his devotion. but those near him knew and know God comes cloaked in kindness.
love is kind.
listen.
help me to trust.