If I Could Only Touch the Hem

 "Lord, you are the Potter, and I am the clay." I am learning that surrender is not the loss of myself, it is the place where I finally become the person He imagined before my first breath.

There are moments in life when desperation becomes holy.

Not the kind that grasps for temporary relief, but the kind that strips away every illusion that anything, but Jesus can save us.

The woman who reached for the hem of Jesus' garment had lived with suffering for twelve long years. Twelve years of pain. Isolation. Disappointment. Dead ends.

Mark tells us,

"She had heard about Jesus, came up behind Him in the crowd and touched His cloak, because she thought, 'If I just touch His clothes, I will be healed.'" (Mark 5:27–28)

She wasn't looking for attention. She wasn't seeking recognition. She simply believed that being close to Jesus would be enough.

Lately, I have been asking myself a difficult question.

Have I ever been that desperate?

Not desperate for life to get easier, but desperate enough to push through fear, shame, pride, and disappointment because I believed He alone could heal what was broken.

If I am honest, there were years when I reached for everything except Him. I looked for security in people, peace through control, identity in achievement, and comfort in things that could never satisfy.

There are seasons of my life that feel stolen. Some were shaped by wounds I did not choose. Others by my own wandering. All of them remind me how desperately I need grace.

Then God speaks these astonishing words:

"I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten." (Joel 2:25)

For years I thought restoration meant getting my old life back.

Now I know better.

God never calls His people backward. He always calls them forward.

The Israelites were led toward the Promised Land. Peter could never return to being just a fisherman. Mary Magdalene could never become the woman she once was.

Neither can I.

I don't want my old life back. I want the life God designed for me before I ever took my first breath.

"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them." (Ephesians 2:10)

I want to know Him so deeply that His voice becomes more familiar than my fear.

The woman came looking for healing, but Jesus gave her even more. He stopped. He saw her. He called her "Daughter." Before He restored her health, He restored her identity.

That is what I long for.

Not simply to recover what was lost, but to become the woman God always intended me to be.

I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I know this: I never want to walk another step without Him. If the closest place I ever stand is within reach of the hem of His garment, then I have finally found home.

So I'll leave you with the question that continues to search my own heart:

What are you reaching for?

And have you become desperate enough to reach for the only One who can truly make you whole?