After she was born, I bled a lot. The doctors were concerned - they said that there's always some bleeding, but that I was just going on too long. They did what they could, but it was all in vain. For the next twelve years, I bled.

Now that may sound incredible to you, but it's true. You can't imagine bleeding, day in and day out, for twelve years. When it had been a few days, the doctors were concerned, even though I kept my health. When it had been a few weeks, they were trying everything they could think of and more; I kept bleeding, but stayed alive. After a few months, just about everyone had given up, and I guess I had, too. For a year or two, I kept hoping that it would stop, but around the third or fourth year I was pretty much resigned to it. The next eight or so years were long days and sad nights.

After twelve years of bleeding, in fact, about a month after my daughter's birthday, I heard that the man from Nazareth was coming. "He's a healer," they all said, "He'll put the work of the Lord on you and stop your bleeding." Now, you have to realise that I'd heard things like this for years, endless advice on what to try and who to see. But this seemed different - I hadn't heard much about this man, but it seemed worth trying, it seemed worth putting some extra effort into trying to see him. So I went.

The crowds were impossible - most of the time, you couldn't even tell where he was. You'd see a group here or there in the midst of it all, or hear someone cry out, but half the time it was a false alarm. Then, just as I was about to give up, I saw a group headed my way and realised that he was going to walk right past me! I knew in that crowd that he wouldn't be able to stop and talk to me, that I could never tell him of my twelve long years of being drained in the short time that he would be near me, so I just tried to get near him. That alone was hard enough, but when he passed I reached out as far as I could and just barely touched the hem of his garment.

When you walk in the hill country, you can find an occasional waterfall. You can hear it from a distance, and if you're downwind you can smell and taste the spray it kicks up as it falls.

When you get near, you can hold out your hand. If the water is falling gently, it will flow right past you until you are right under it; if it is flowing rapidly, you may get sprinkled by the mist. You are close, and you know that you need to get just that last bit closer.

When you finally touch the water, it flows over you - it changes the direction it was falling in so that part of it covers your hand and flows down your sleeve. If it is falling rapidly, it may cover your whole arm. If it is a torrent, you may find yourself fully soaked. When you withdraw your hand, when you step away, the water moves on without you, but you are still wet. The water and you have other places to go, but you take some of it with you. Does the water take some of you with it?

It was not until he was right next to me that I realised I had stopped bleeding. It was a feeling I'd grown so used to after twelve years that it took a minute for me to realise what had happened. I looked up at him and said "You healed me, you stopped the blood." He said no, it was my faith that had stopped the blood. Then he said "Go in peace," and he moved on.

It's not that I had no peace during the years of bleeding - if you'd asked me, I would have said that I lived a fairly peaceful life. But when he said that, I realised how peaceful I felt, and as time went by, I realised that peace had come back into my life after twelve long years.

He has moved on, having changed my life forever. I wonder if a man like him even remembers that time? Did I change him at all, or is he flowing on undisturbed?

August 1, 1993

whb@haus.org
luke.html, Last modified 04 Sep 1999