Week #4: Hello

Oh hey. There you are. Again. Same spot, same stance. Predictable, as always.

There are days when I think I know you, like from a dream, a memory, a past life if such a thing existed. Then there are days that I’m positive, absolutely positive, that I know nothing — not even one single thing — about you.

Well, I do know that you habitually run your hands through your perpetually messy hair. And I do know that you carry a hand sanitizer with you everywhere. And, oh, did you know sometimes, when you nod off while the train is running, your mouth hangs open ever so slightly — but, gosh, what if I told you that I — embarrassingly enough — find that somewhat… cute?

You get off exactly one station before me. That should make us almost neighbors but then again it takes 20 minutes to get from your station to mine.

Sometimes I want to get off that stop and follow you. Maybe even say hi. But then that would be somewhat weird and stalker-ish, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps I should just love you from a distance. Perhaps I should just wait at the station at a different time and maybe — just maybe — I won’t have to see you there. Or perhaps —

“Oh. Hey there. Hello.”


Scenario: Every day at the station, you see someone you’re attracted to, How would you go about getting yourself noticed?


Week #2: Broken

It was broken, but she was determined to fix the heart that hung limply out of her bloodstained chest. She winced as she tried to keep it in place. There was a drugstore nearby. Perhaps she could find some bandaids or bandages there.

The pain slowed her pace down a bit as she gingerly made her way towards the small shop. Some old fashioned chimes tinkled and an elderly woman with a smile as warm as hot chocolate welcomed her in.

“Hello there, darling. What can I do to help you?”

She tried to enclose the grotesque, dripping thing with her two small hands while trying to appear nonchalant. “I don’t suppose you have any bandages here, auntie?”

“Why, we have all sorts of bandages… Pink ones with flowers, rainbow-colored ones, sparkly gold and silver ones — but, oh, we have those plain white ones, too.”

“A white one will do.” She didn’t see the point of decorating her ruined heart with all that fluff.

“Funny. Most other people who come here lean towards the more frivolous stuff. They say it covers up some of the ugliness… but then again… tell you what. I have some scarlet here in my store. Do you think you’d want to take a look at that one instead?”

“Nevermind, auntie. I just want the plain ones.” Her heart, which had grown numb, started hurting again. “And I’d like to have them now, please, if it won’t be so much trouble.”

Into the store room the elderly woman went. She had two boxes in her hand when she emerged. “I know you said you didn’t want the red one. But maybe you still want to take a look.”

She heaved a pained sigh. Maybe she should give the box a chance. The auntie seemed so set on having her buy it. “Alright. But how much is it?”

“It’s free, deary.”


“Yes, free.”

She opened the box, exposing her heart — already falling apart — as she did so. She unrolled the scarlet bandage and held it out into the light. “It’s… beautiful. But it seems… pre-loved.” She tried to be politically correct with her term. In her mind she simply thought, “What on earth? It’s already been used!”

“Ah, yes.” The lady smiled. “But not recently. Someone did use it, but around 2000 years ago, deary.”

She thought of all the disease that she might get infected with if she tried mending her heart with this abused bandaged. A shudder crept through her already weakening body. “The white one? How much is it?”

“10 dollars. I suppose you want that one, then?”

“I do.”

But still something drew here to the scarlet one which she had unconsciously began to wrap around her shaking fingers. In an odd way, the bandage made her feel warm. Secure. Healed. Whole, even. What if she used it to mend her heart?


“Yes, deary?”

“Nevermind. I’ll take this one.”


Just a Touch

I need healing. There’s no doubt about that. It’s been 12 years — 12 years of bleeding. I am constantly in pain. I am constantly weak. I constantly feel as if every ounce of life is being steadily drained out of my spirit, out of my soul, out of my body.

And I am constantly unclean.

Perhaps — no. I am sure of it. One touch of his robe and I will be made well.

* * *

She looks as if she’s just sleeping. How like her to lie in bed without a noise. How like her to look as if she is barely breathing. How like her to fool people into thinking that she is dead. She has always been such a joker.

“Sir Jairus, I am sorry, but it doesn’t seem as if she will make it. In a few hours — nay, perhaps a few minutes — sooner or later, your daughter is likely to cross over –“

Cross over? Die? No.

“They say the man named Jesus is in town. They say he is a prophet. Watch over the little one. I shall find him and ask him to make her well.”

* * *

There he is. Why are there so many people surrounding him? They are not making this easy. He is so near – yet so, so far. I will make it through the crowd. I will touch his robe. I will —

* * *

“Rabbi! My little girl is at the point of dying! Come at once! Lay your hands on her and she will be healed.” I have fallen to my feet but I do not care. My daughter is in need of healing. If he would come quickly enough, she will be —

* * *

Healed. I am healed. There is no denying it. The blood has stopped flowing. For years the physicians have been trying to keep the blood from discharging. For a thousand or so dinars they have used medicine to try to get me clean. But now — I can not believe it. All it took was a moment. All it took was a single touch. All it took was —

“Who touched me? Somebody touched me.”

“I am sorry, Rabbi. It was I who touched you. It was I.” My trembling voice betrays my escalating fear.

“Go in peace, daughter. It is your faith that made you well.”

* * *

“Sir Jairus, please get up. I am afraid we have some very bad news. Your daughter — she’s — she’s — do not trouble the teacher any more. Your daughter is dead.”

My little girl? Dead? That can not be! If only Jesus had only gotten to my house sooner! Why, if it wasn’t for this crowd! If it wasn’t for that woman! If — it’s too late. It is too late.

“Jairus.” I hear him speak my name. “Don’t be afraid. Believe. She will be well.”


She’s dead.

* * *

Go in peace. Go in peace, he said! My faith – he said my faith has made me well! Oh what joy! Oh what freedom! Oh what peace I have inside of me! I am made well!

* * *

“Why are you crying? Do not cry. She’s only sleeping. See, watch her rise.”

The good teacher is inside my home. Yes, he is finally inside my home but he is too late. My little girl has already crossed over. My little girl is already dead.

“Rise up, my dearest.”

Great heavens! Her fingers are moving! Her feet are trembling! Her eyes — is it true? Is it true that her eyes are bright and opened wide?

“Abba… I am hungry…”

“Yes, dearest! Yes! At once! At once, my dearest!”

I can not believe it. My daughter is finally well.


Based on Matt 9: 18-26, Mark 5:21-43, and Luke 8:41-56