Hi. I was unwell sometime back. I bled much for 12 years. I did visit lots of doctors, spent all I had on medication but my situation kept getting worse. Then I heard of a certain teacher and healer and I decided to try my luck. What else did I have to lose anyway? So I pushed my way against a crowd of people if only to touch the hem of His garment. I eventually did.
Hooray! I got healed! I felt it in my bones, in my body, in my heart, I was completely healed. Then He turned just when I had hoped to make my hasty retreat to where I’d come from. He wanted to know who had touched Him. Uh-oh, I was in trouble but I went forth, fell at His feet and told Him everything. He freed me from my suffering and told me to go in peace. I did and my life was never the same again! Phew at least no more doctors. He didn’t even charge me. I bet you know my story, but do you know my name?
How are you? A great man was in our neighbourhood. Some people took me to Him. I had been deaf and could hardly speak. They begged Him to sort me. So He took me aside, away from the crowd and put His fingers into my ears. He spat and touched my tongue (you must be feeling very ‘iiiiiiwwwwy’ by now), then said to me Ephphatha which means ‘be opened’. My ears opened up and I began to speak. I don’t mind if He keeps putting His fingers and or spitting all over my life for the rest of it. In fact, I heard He had an encounter with a blind man. He led the blind man out of the village, spat on his eyes, put His hands on him till he could see again. I bet you know my story, but do you know my name?
I know I have just come from the market to buy some groceries for supper but you are just in time for story time! I love to tell this story to everyone and anyone. Let me tell you (insert clapping actions by a lady who is about to give you the juiciest story ever), my son was dead. Eeeeeh, kuff dead (insert hand over throat action). As in gone. He is my only son and I have no husband. I was a sad woman. Tears were not enough to relieve my heart from the loss of two important men in my life. As we walked out the town gate to burry my son, we met with a guy who was followed by a crowd of people.
He told me not to cry then went touched the coffin and told my boy to ‘get up’. My boy sat up and began to talk you could say he was a dead man talking! So the hearse crew stopped singing dirges and began singing praise songs to the man who raised my boy! That man came into town and there was life. Am off to prepare the meal for my boy and I. Do have a lovely time. Quick question though, do you know my name?
I can’t believe am sitting here so sane. I know I don’t, but it feels like I have designer clothes on! Just look at me! I feel so swaged up. I’m being told how I previously was. Apparently, I did not wear clothes and I lived in the tombs. I was too strong for chains, no one could control me. I had a legion of demons inside me that led me to the lonely places. I was dead on the inside, no wonder I felt at home in tombs. Then I met a man who rescued me from pain, who freed my heart, who covered my nakedness. A man who appreciated my company. This paragraph is not enough to express what Jesus did to me and the impact it has had on my life since. Kindly excuse me, I think my eyes are sweating…
Of course we know these people from the Bible. We read about them all the time. Ever notice that we know them as per the condition they were in before Jesus got into their lives? Even the authors of the gospels didn’t bother knowing their names! But isn’t that our nature as human beings? To brand others who seem a little different from us? There are chokoraas, sluts, the woman who wears one pair of shoe everywhere, that weird dude, the guy who is always high on something (whatever drug that is), the kimbelembele chick (we all love to hate) and the list goes on and on and on and on and on and… Check around you and see all the people you have been part of branding. What makes us superior to them?
Then maybe you are the brandee (yeah, I know there is no such name but kindly flow with me). So many people tell you how different you are and how bad that is. Really? Please ask yourself how boring would life be if we all did the same thing or if we all are the same. There would be no art. I hate to imagine an artless boring world. (I tend to think everything is art).
In the case of the people who have told us their stories above, they had brands that needed to be undone. It seemed that they were at the end of the road or had hit rock bottom. Nothing more could be done to rescue them from their predicaments. No human wisdom, no Jack Bauer, Chuck Norris, Rambo, Dr. House, or tattoos of a blueprint that would award them the much desired prison break. Then Jesus showed up and the problems gave up! Interesting how there seemed to be a crowd in every situation but Jesus isolated the person and dealt with them at their level – a one on one basis.
Then equally interesting is how He would ask them questions, I mean, He is Jesus. He knows everything! Yet He needed to hear it from the horse’s mouth as it were. Jesus knows what our hearts carry, yet He wants us to tell it to Him. It’s therapeutic (I would know). Sometimes all that is needed is our confession, or overcoming by our testimony, or simply pouring our hurts and traumas out to the one person who has our best interest at His heart. You doubt there is someone like that?
Tell me, why would someone know the number of hair on your head? Why would the same someone, have your name on the palm of His hand? Why would He bother knowing you even before you were knit in your mother’s womb? Simple. He loves you, He wants the best for you. Maybe we don’t have haemorrhages and we aren’t demon possessed, but we can at some point relate to these people. I pray that we will be courageous enough to let Jesus help us with our struggles, believing enough to let Him isolate us, obedient enough to tell Him wassup with us, patient enough to let Him spit on us if He has to and trusting enough to know the situation has been contained never to breakout ever again.
Some of my friends think am a little bit crazy. This post is not meant to make them think otherwise. I love me just as I am. FYI, if you are one of them, you aren’t so different from me at all. Just a random question, who or what defines normal?