Jairus

She was ill,
my little girl;
my only daughter,
and I couldn’t help her.
We had tried everything,
and
I mean everything,
but she just got worse.
We were
desperate,
helpless,
hopeless.
I couldn’t stay in the house
any longer
watching her suffer;
unable to say
or do
anything to help.
I knew she was dying
but
I couldn’t stay.
I had to get out;
to be alone.
So
I went to the lake;
the place I had been to
so often recently,
to be alone.
But this time
I was not alone.
It was far from the silent place I knew.
There were crowds of people.
There was noise and commotion.
And,
in the middle of it all,
was Jesus.
I knew all about
Jesus.
A dangerous man;
a rebel;
someone to be watched;
trouble,
they said.
But
had he not turned water into wine?
Had he not performed miracles?
Had he not healed people?
And suddenly,
in a blinding flash,
I knew what I must do.
I didn’t care who saw me.
I didn’t care what they thought.
I had to go to him
and ask for help.

Before I knew it
I was next to him.
I looked at him.
He looked at me
and
all the things I had planned to say
went out of my head.
I fell down at his feet
and poured out my heart to him,
oblivious of the crowd;
what they would think;
what they would say.

When he said he would come with me
my heart leapt for joy.
I knew he would help.
She was going to be all right.
I wanted to run back.
I wanted him to hurry.
I wanted to see her well again
now,
this minute.
But
he wouldn’t be hurried.
he wouldn’t be rushed.
We moved so slowly,
so slowly.

And then
I saw them,
coming from my house;
saw their faces.
My heart stopped.
Hope died.

Through the mist
that surrounded me
I heard his voice,
‘Do not be afraid,’
he said.
I looked up.
I saw him
looking at me;
looking
with such compassion;
such love,
that
a spark,
just a spark,
of hope
re-ignited in me.
I wasn’t sure what he could do.
I wasn’t sure what he would do,
but
I knew that,
as long as he was there,
I would get through this.



© Kathleen Wilks