He was coming. I didn't know what I would do, but he was coming.

He was preceeded by everything from whispers to words of speculation to shouts of excitement. No one was really sure what this particular man's visits brought, but there was a lot of talk. Some said he was the Messiah, some said he was a fraud.

But I thought I knew the truth. I knew, deep down inside, I really believed that he could fix me.

I had been ostracized, shunned, reviled for the last twelve years. I couldn't stop bleeding. I had spent everything I had on doctors, but still no one had a cure for me. So I was unclean, kept on the outskirts of society, never allowed a normal life. Do you know what that's like? Maybe you do. I know that there are others out there like me.

But this man could change all that.

Apparently many other people thought the same thing. Before I knew it a crowd had gathered; more like a mob, actually. They shouted and clustered, moving as one down the road. I winced, feeling a pang of pity for anyone uncoordinated enough to fall in that mess.

That man in the middle... could that be him? He was so... normal-looking. He was attractive enough, nothing spectacular. But everyone else was crowded around him, so I supposed he had to be the one.

Then I got closer and realized my mistake. There was no way that this man could be considered ordinary. There was a fire, a light in his face, and mercy and compassion seemed to flow off of him in waves, and his eyes seemed far more wise than they should have. At least now I knew what the fuss was about- this was, had to be, the Son of God.

But how would I get to him? Everyone else had guessed at what I had, and there was no way the crowd would let me past.

I set my jaw and firmed my will; I was desperate. Ever been there? If he wouldn't help me, I would die as an unclean outcast, and i couldn't bear the thought of that. If this man was the Son of God, just a fraction of his power would be enough. I had to get to him.

I tried calling out, but he didn't seem to hear me; how would he, with all those people shouting in his ear? Walking into the mob was doing me no good. Finally I decided to play mean.I ducked and wove and pushed and elbowed. I crawled under people, over people; I winced as someone's elbow caught my eye, but kept going. I had to get to him!

I was almost there- so close, but I couldn't push through any father. In desperation, I threw myself forward, my hand barely grazing his robe. I felt tears fall as fell back from him. Had it been enough?

A moment later, though, I got a surprise. At first I couldn't tell what the difference was, but then I realized... I wasn't bleeding. I felt no flow at all.

The crowd around me suddenly stopped moving forward. Jesus, the Messiah, looked around. "Who touched me?" His voice was just loud enough to be heard.

I froze as one of the men with him whispered something to him. There were people everywhere, pushing and jostling. Surely he couldn't know that I had done it intentionally.

Jesus' eyes scanned the crowd. "No, someone touched me on purpose. Power was taken."

He knew. I couldn't hide from that.

Fumbling, I stepped forward and fell to the ground in front of him. I was shaking, and tears started to fall from my eyes again. He could smite me with a word, take the healing back with a thought. "Master," I stammered. He looked at me, and before I knew what was happening, I was pouring out my life story, telling him of my troubles and how I'd fought my way through to him for the hope that he would heal me. I could hear jeers and nasty words from the crowd around me, but I ignored them, focusing on him. I had pushed through this madness, and I wasn't going to let it distract me now.

Then the unexpected happened. He didn't hit me, condemn me for stealing his power, shun me for being unclean. I didn't drop dead where I knelt. He smiled. He smiled at me, then said, "Daughter, your faith has healed you." Then he helped me up and sent me on my way.

What kind of God does that?