Skip to main content

A New Desperation

Desperation-why don’t we have more of it?  Lately, I’ve been reading some of the stories of the things Jesus did for people.  The one that sticks out to me the most right now is the story of the woman, who touched the hem of His garment.  In a book that I’m reading that has the story in it, the author spoke about the fact that in that day, she was considered completely unclean, basically an outcast.  She had spent much of her life with a condition that by law in that day made her ceremonially unclean.  What must she have thought when she heard that Jesus was coming?  She had tried everything possible to find healing, and with growing desperation, she probably thought He was her last and only hope.  As she pushed through the crowd, I wonder if Jesus kept thinking through each moment, knowing that she was getting closer.  Was love full through His mind as He waited, knowing?  When she touched His clothes, I can’t imagine what she felt or what washed over her.  All I know is that it was the most restoring thing in her life.  We are all like that woman.  Wrecked, and bleeding.  Wanting so much more, feeling a pull toward something.  There are days when it feels like faith is so small; we wonder if God is big enough.  Yet, I look at her faith, real and aching faith, and I see how she pushed toward Him.  A journey of bruises and dirty looks, maybe even people yelling at her, but she pushed toward someone greater.  Could it have been that if she didn’t have that great faith, that she might not have been able to touch Him?  If she had wavered and cared what others thought, would her faith have made her whole? If I'm like her, where is my desperation?  I need a new desperation.  A desperation that comes from need.  A need that comes from who I am as a Child.  A Child who comes from the epitome of grace.  Grace that came from One, One called Jesus.


Popular posts from this blog

One Year Down--An Eternity to Go

I can't believe it has been a whole year already. If someone would have told me two years ago that I would be married for a year now, I would have told them they were crazy. I had my plans; I was quite over sitting around and waiting. Deciding to utilize four years to the best of my ability, I was in the process of making plans to move. But. A wedding in Colorado changed those plans. I was in the bridal party; and during the reception, I noticed this groomsman across the table. (pretty sure he winked me at one point, even though he says he did not). I was impressed by his intelligence and ability to have good conversation, but I adamantly told myself that this was not in my plans. As people were leaving the reception, I had managed to get into another conversation with him. Until that night, I had never believed that you could have a moment with someone that connected you to someone the way we did that night. I left frustrated because he was not on my agenda, but I wondered if I …

Mommy Guilt/Shame and the Need for Grace

I nannied for roughly 10 years, but all of that barely prepares you for the first two months of your own child's life. It barely scratches the surface of what all you can face.

Motherhood felt like it truly started in the second half of the second trimester, when suddenly I started getting incredibly itchy. I eventually spoke with my doctor about it, only to find out that what was causing the itchiness put a slight risk on my baby being a stillborn. The proposed plan was induction no earlier than 37 weeks, yet not waiting too much longer than that. Thirty-seven and a half weeks came, and the little munchkin arrived. *Cue hormone overload.* And then. In my hormone induced stupor, I heard them say that he had a small heart murmur, and we would need to get it checked out. My ears heard "small" but my heart heard, "he's not going to make it to the end of his first month." In my mind, he was similar to the plants I struggle to keep alive. So began a batch of emo…