The Journey Carried

Hi everyone,

Today, as the raindrops compete to see which one reaches the terra firma in the fastest time, I am pondering just how fast I have expected my recovery to be. In the last three and a half years, I have prayed, begged, cajoled, and manipulated God to heal me. I have asked Him to resolve this sickness overnight, in an instant, with the sprinkling of fairy dust - when it comes to a solution, I don't play favorites. All I want is for the illness to stop whispering in my ear, constantly reminding me what my limitations still can be.

I often wonder about the real demand behind our request to be "healed now!" I suspect that what we are really asking is to be divorced from the journey. When I first got sick, I didn't want to give up my job or my ability to provide for myself. I wasn't going to let an illness stop me from getting what I wanted, nevermind that my body deteriorated anyway. After taking a few months off of work and finding that my symptoms had decreased in intensity (which was the result of herbal medicines removing the pain, not the bugs actually being killed), I went back to work. I fully expected that the remaining symptoms would magically disappear. I wanted to get back to my old life. I had no desire to live another way or on any other journey than what I already knew.

As I walked through the downpour today and pondered the last three and a half years, I caught myself by surprise. The thought that kept playing over and over in my head was something I had never thought before: Jesus, thank you for including me in on this journey. He didn't have to do that. He could have laid a hand on me or prayed a prayer and then walked away, giving me no chance to recognize just who was behind my restored health. But He did something different, something radical.

Matthew 8:17 tells us just what was fulfilled when Jesus cast out demons and healed the sick: "He Himself took our infirmities and carried away our diseases." Jesus didn't just heal and walk away, but He took away our diseases. He picked them up, dropped them into His pocket, and took them with Him to the cross.

What's more, Mark 5:21-43 tells us the story of Jesus healing a young girl and a woman who had been menstruating for 12 years. When the young girl's father told Jesus about his dying girl, Jesus immediately went off with him to his house. The crowd pressed in on Him, however, making Jesus' journey to the girl's house difficult. But He never lost sight of the girl. While in the middle of the crowd, the bleeding woman came up behind Jesus and touched Him. She was immediately healed. At that moment, Jesus stopped and turned around, asking who had just touched Him. "Everyone has been touching you," the disciples balked. Yet, Jesus recognized when power went out of Him. He literally felt it.

This is unlike the "healers" we see on television. The moment between the bleeding woman and Jesus was not the I-need-something-from-you kind of relationship. It wasn't a "get her on stage then get her off the stage" kind of moment. Rather, this was a moment of reciprocity, a moment that tied these two together forever. In faith, this woman touched Jesus. In power, He healed her. What's more, Jesus acknowledged her existence; He calls her "daughter." His acknowledgement affirms her value, her femininity, her belongingness. She is not "sick." No, she is His daughter. That is how she is known to Him.

From there, having never lost sight of the dying girl, He goes on to the house where she lays. He is selective about whom He invites along to the girl's bedside with Him, only bringing along Peter, James, and John, as well as the girl's parents. At this point, everybody has been telling Jesus that the girl is already dead. Jesus ignores them. Instead, holding the girl's hand in His, He says to the girl, "Little girl, I say to you, get up!" Again, He acknowledges, invites, touches, values, restores, and commissions the girl to live in full health.

The next time I wonder where God is in my suffering, I want to remember that He literally felt power go out of His body to heal that woman. That is a life lived in sacrifice and service, a life that allows Him to weep, a life that allows Him to touch the untouchable. It is a life so painful that He has to steal time away from the crowds; carrying one's diseases wasn't easy. But He lived that life because He loves us, because He wants to know us, because He wants us to know Him.

When we hear stories like these, we often dwell on how fast Jesus restored the sick. But there was nothing quick about it. The menstruating woman suffered for 12 years and the little girl was already "dead." And I don't think their journeys started the moment these two females met Jesus face-to-face. I think their journeys began long before. It began with pain and tension - with the realization that things are not the way they are supposed to be. For the menstruating woman, the pain lasted 12 years, and for the little girl, a few hours. No matter how long or short it is, the journey to Jesus is just as important as the journey with Jesus.

I do not regret getting Lyme. For much of my life, I have been on a trajectory that I now see as destructive. Maybe the world approved of my life before, but my soul and my body were never on board, even when I was "well." Getting Lyme has been one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. For the first time in my life, I have been given the gift of time, of space, of play, of boredom. I have been given the opportunity to get to know myself in deeper, real ways.

And I am coming to understand Jesus differently. He is not a genie in a bottle that I rub for good luck. He is a person - a relational being - who is actively participating in and restoring the journey He has given me. All this time, He has been carrying my disease, my pain, and my longsufferings - and I never knew. I receive Jesus' forgiveness for my faithlessness. And now I see that all He asks for in return is that I engage with Him, to be me, and to live a full life of joy, rich adventures, awe, and hope.

A.