The Edge of His Cloak

But this man like no man no devil No magician could perform like He performed Applauded loved hated doubted crowded A woman unknown undesirable friendless bleeding Walking in circles with the sting and the strain She was in a trap between life and death heaven and hell and yet she heard This man called the Son of Man a doctor of sorts A doctor with no appointment necessary Who heals asking for nothing but faith But she was a woman in a man’s world Nothing left to offer her pockets were emptied By so many healers feeding their coffers Nothing left she could only offer faith Her agony grew she knew if only she could Arriving walking with a crushing crowd Nothing left to give she wanted to live She jostled crept shoved pushed in weakness In the chaos in the turbulence with so many crowding Him She lunged touching the edge of His cloak And what money couldn’t do He did in a heartbeat Jostled and pushed the Son of Man could feel her faith Even in the chaos Frank Black Blacharczyk Luke 8:42-48