Some thousands of years ago, a desperate woman reached out and touched Jesus' cloak. Twelve years of suffering from hemorrhages, twelve years of losing more and more blood, twelve years of being a social outcast, twelve years of spending all she had and living in poverty, twelve years of being "unclean". Unlike the paralyzed man, unlike Jairus' daughter, no one spoke up for her. She was alone.
She didn't say a word, just touched Jesus' cloak and hoped to be healed.
And she was.
A year ago at this time, I was making the preparations to leave the Sisters. After wearing a habit for almost four years, with help of friends, I had started the dizzying task of buying clothes. I was making heartbreaking phone calls to close friends. I started searching for a place to live.
While I had some idea of what may happen when I left, I had no idea the amount of healing that would need to happen once I took off the coiffe and stepped outside those doors.
I lost some friends. There were misunderstandings about why I left, although it was agreed upon that it was my decision. Some, religious or not, believed it must have been something I did wrong.
I was angry over what happened and what didn't happen in community. I longed for the good times I had there. I was hurt over the bad times.
I felt like the bleeding woman. Desperate. Just hoping to be healed.
But, over the months, I realized I am being healed.
I started standing up. I wasn't as angry, hurt, or wistful. Life had gone on. Life was better.
I felt like my friendships were deeper because they knew and accepted me for who I was and who I am now. There may still be misunderstandings about why I left from people who knew me before, but I started to care less about what they think. When hurtful comments continued, I rolled my eyes and thought about what deep-seated psychological issues they may have instead of letting them blast me into oblivion. I felt like I was finally becoming my own person and that I was finally home.
I started standing up, but I wasn't completely on my feet.
I still worked at the non-profit next to the Sisters' house (and even where four of the Sisters worked).
Because of that, co-workers, clients, or kids took a long time to stop calling me "Sister Amanda" if they ever did. The kids especially had a hard time making that transition.
I still tried to hide myself from donors, Board members, and volunteers that knew me as a Sister because I felt awkward or even embarrassed.
Memories, good or bad, still plagued me because I faced their setting every day.
All of that changes tomorrow. Friday was my last day at that non-profit. Tomorrow, I begin my new job. A new job where no one knows me as "Sister Amanda", a new job where I won't encounter the Sisters every day, a new job where I forge my own path and my own identity.
It's the next step in the healing process, the next step in standing up tall. I just wish it wasn't so terrifying. I know it seems ridiculous to say, considering I gave up everything, my entire way of life, just a year ago. Yet, my fear is real.
I can learn two things from the story of the bleeding woman (Matthew 9:20-22 and Mark 24-35).
First, it's okay to be terrified. But keep going.
In Mark's version, the bleeding woman touched Jesus' cloak, was instantly healed, but Jesus didn't know who touched him. After all, his back was turned. So, he asked. Certainly, this was a scary moment. After all, technically, this woman made him "unclean" simply while touching him while she was bleeding. Outside of being in the crowd while he walked by, as far as we know, she didn't know that much about Jesus. She couldn't have known his reaction or even the crowd's reaction. She could have easily whistled away when Jesus asked "who touched me?" Instead, she spoke up. She was terrified, but she spoke and told him the whole truth.
Don't listen to fear because, if the bleeding woman had, she would have missed Jesus words meant just for her.
Second, I have to believe that God says those same comforting words to me: "Take heart, daughter" (Matt 9:22) and "be at peace and be freed from your suffering" (Mark 5: 34)
And so I try.
In all aspects of my life, I'll try to follow the example of this woman, who knew suffering and fear just like me, and had faith anyway. And I'll try to follow the example of this Jesus, who knew to go to the least of these without fear and say the words they needed to hear.
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