The Outstretched Hand: Where Art Thou Garment?


[From a deep place.. a conversation with myself. And God, too.]

Letting go to the endless possibilities of natural consequence due to the actions of another, is probably the most painful thing I have ever had to even attempt doing in my entire life.

Watching someone slowly die at the hands of their addiction is the worst. Especially when you know that deep down inside they truly want help, yet the grip is way too tight for themselves to even comprehend. Or maybe they do comprehend, it’s just those voices are louder than their voice.

Oh God, help me to comprehend. Is that even possible? Or is it my voice, too, that is too loud?

They say rock bottom must come first. But when rock bottom could very well mean death, how does one simply carry on with life always wondering, what today? If rock bottom hasn’t occurred after all that has transpired, when does hope leave the building? Or has it and I am just living off the fumes of codependency?

If a woman can, after 12 years of hemorrhaging, fight her way through the crowd in belief that if she could just touch the hem of His garment, she will be okay, then what about for the one who does this on behalf of another?

I wonder if the man who had been lowered down through a hole in the roof had asked for help or even wanted help. Was his healing based merely on the faith of those who first ripped the hole in the roof and then lowered him into the presence of the One who heals?

If we are called to heal or flat out cast out demons, then where has my faith gone?

Wasn’t that me right there in the crowd too, as thousands dined upon the supernatural multiplication of a few fish and loaves of bread? Is this not me in the boat scared completely to death from the raging storm, all the while He who heals calmly rests His head?

But then, I am reminded… I cannot do it for them. I am reminded that I did not cause nor can I control or even cure. So, what gives?

How does one reallocate their care for another by letting go and surrendering it to a game of what if, without feeling the pains of helplessness? How does one translate in their own heart that surrendering such, does not mean you love not, but perhaps instead, you love most?

How now shall I journey upon this trail which has played host to a thousand voices before me, who too, wrote the very script my voice now speaks?

I pray this night to the One who heals. If you are willing, because I know you can, please heal my dear someone. And in this, if it is my belief that is in the way, then I beg you, please heal that too. My unbelief, that is. No, just go ahead and do that anyway.

Who am I fooling?

My outstretched hand is all I have left. Oh garment, where art thou?

Please. Just place my hand upon it and heal my special someone. And if you will, heal me too. For I can no longer look into their eyes without my heart breaking further into a thousand pieces of the already thousand pieces which had previously been broke by this addiction.

Amazing grace, I(they) need you now.

Come Lord Jesus. Please come.


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