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Showing posts from September, 2015

Mark 5:21-45

{a first-person narrative from the perspective of the woman with the discharge of blood}

They call me "the woman". They know my name. I held their babies. I rejoiced at their weddings. My wedding, even. My babies. They know my name.

They know me.

But now? They demean me by simply calling me "the woman." Disconnecting themselves from any former tie to me. Distancing themselves from my fate.

As if it were my fault. As though I am no longer worth it.

Twelve years. An eternity.

And the blood still doesn't stop. I am forever unclean. Hopelessly marred. There is no hiding this. You can even smell me coming. I have no money for perfumes or oils, so the stench of my hemorrhaging clings to me. To say they avoid me like the plague is no overstatement.

Twelve years.

My babies have grown. I hear tell of grandbabies that will never be allowed to know me. I wonder, will they tell them I have died, to spare them the shame of knowing?

I repulse them.

Forced to live in a hovel …