The Gift of Being Known
The photo was on the front page of the newspaper: a line of buggies heading down the highway. So soon after the schoolhouse disaster, the Amish attend the funeral of the man who killed their daughters. Praying for their enemy and comforting his family.
Even jaded readers grow silent. The spectacle of faith brings wonder. Someone really believes and lives accordingly.
The afflicted woman dwelt in the shadows of the temple. No one had noticed her for years. Her longing was hidden from the throngs who came to worship. She was a fixture.
A day of wonder came for her. The man Jesus entered the temple and saw her. He called to her and extended his hand. She had not been touched in years. Out of the shadows she crept, visible again. She was seen, called, touched, and healed. Her body straightened and gratitude burst forth like the cry of the forgiven.
One day it becomes apparent: I am the stooped woman, burdened and drained. I have been enduring but not living. You find me plodding along and You know me. Your presence finds me. Unbelievable. Being known is the gift. Torment gives way to gentleness. Touched by goodness, I find the strength to pass the gift on.
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