It hasn’t really rained since before winter, and it is now mid-May. The drought has lasted over a year. The fire north of us has been burning for weeks. It has grown to over 1000 square miles of raging inferno, and those fighting it in every waking moment call it “The Beast”.
The sweetly acidic smell of smoke hangs in the air as a visible haze. Dry grass crackles underfoot and everyone is on edge, militantly policing cigarette butts and ATV traffic.
But now I watch as small droplets of salvation beaded on the hairs of my arms. There is a gentle pitter-patter on top of my head, and the soil in my garden is beginning to darken.
Finally, rain.
My children and I run outside in our pyjamas to splash in the runoff. The ground is so parched it can barely contain its salvation.
Precious water, finally.
But not for the fire.
The fire continues to rage, so hot and so big that it creates its own weather. Any drops that bravely fall are instantly evaporated.
The drought continues.
How could God be so unfair? Surely the God who created oceans, clouds, and glaciers can make it rain on this insanely large forest fire.
God is unfair sometimes, isn’t he?
Why is it that someone can heal from a tragedy in a year, while others are left intensely mourning for a decade?
I know someone who must have wondered about God’s unfairness quite a lot.
There was a woman who bled for 12 years.
12 years.
When we’re talking about the consequences of this, my friends, we are not talking about an exorbitant amount of Feminine Hygiene Products and needing to take two showers a day. No, the consequences for this type of uncleanness were FAR deeper in Jewish society.
“If a woman has a flow of blood for many days that is unrelated to her menstrual period, or if the blood continues beyond the normal period, she is ceremonially unclean. As during her menstrual period, the woman will be unclean as long as the discharge continues. Any bed she lies on and any object she sits on during that time will be unclean, just as during her normal menstrual period. If any of you touch these things, you will be ceremonially unclean. You must wash your clothes and bathe yourself in water, and you will remain unclean until evening.”
Leviticus 15:25-27
These were the rules the Jews lived by during the time of Jesus, meaning this poor woman was isolated for 12 years. She wasn’t allowed to touch anyone or anything because she was ritually unclean. To me, this sounds a lot like the way lepers were treated, except that I doubt her condition was catching.
4380 days.
At the same time she began to bleed, a little girl was born. A sweet child doted on by her influential parents. She grew and did all the things a normal Jewish daughter would do. Then, around the time of life when it was her turn to start her monthly bleeding, she became ill. So ill, in fact, that her desperate father turned to the man for which his fellow Jewish leaders had a cautious dislike: Jesus.
You know the rest of the story: the woman touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and was healed. Then Jesus went along to find Jairus’ daughter already dead, and proceeded to bring her back to life.
105, 120 hours.
After 105, 120 hours of bleeding, this woman managed to be in the exact right place at the exact right time because 105, 120 hours ago a little girl was born and Jesus was on his way to her house. This woman touched Jesus, making him ceremonially unclean, allowing him to go into a house with a dead person (a big no-no for its “uncleanliness” ramifications) and do another amazing, life-changing miracle.
6, 307, 200 agonizingly alone minutes.
That’s how long that poor woman lived with her isolating illness, life wrenched from her little by little as small drops of blood fell out of her.
But God knew what was in store. Because of the unnamed woman, Jesus could walk into the house of the dead and heal Jairus’ daughter. Because of her pain, two lives were restored that day. Two daughters without names, lives intertwined in the spiritual realm for a dozen years.
12 years is a long time to wait for healing from anything. But God can renew, refresh, and heal in ways that are beyond our human understanding, and he does it all in his time.
My grief won’t look like your grief.
My mourning won’t look like your mourning.
My healing won’t look like your healing.
But he will turn your mourning into joyful dancing. He will take away your clothes of mourning and cloth you with joy. (Psalm 30) He will bring rain to your drought and life to your death. Because he loves you.
This is such a beautiful perspective. May it bring hope to those who are suffering.
An excellent perspective.
So helpful to think of that dear woman’s trial in terms of days and minutes, because that’s how we live our own sorrows and “fires.” Thanks for words that help us to trust in the midst of drought.
What a beautiful, encouraging post. Thank you so much for this. Am sharing with friends.