Hope Shifts

Whenever I am sick in bed I crave my wife's touch. Even if I am shivering, I will raise my shirt up from the back and ask Erin to place her hand on my skin. As she touches my skin, I feel just a touch more whole, a bit more "touchable."

When children are infants they tell dads to remove their shirts and touch their bare skin against the baby's new skin. In doing so, dads are somehow able to replicate some of the natural bonding that occurs between mother and child, especially nursing mothers. The touch alone brings the 2 together.

When I walked into the bedroom of the home for the dying, I immediately noticed the young man immediately to my left. He was one of 2 that was awake at the time and forgive this expression, but besides his gentle rocking, he looked "normal." As Alex, the director was telling us about each person, he told us that this man to my left was suffering from Epilepsy. Later on, one of our group members wanted to touch him but he told her, "you can't touch me or I will spasm." And he looked scared.

He had a bag of adult diapers above his bed, some white hospital on his frail legs and he was desperate for a touch. Desperate for healing...to feel touchable...for bonding and togetherness with another who possesses the same human skin.

But can you image what it is like to be desperate for the one thing that will throw your body into a state of convulsion? A touch that could, with all seriousness, be the final life's memory?

I prayed that Jesus would have given me the gift of healing in that moment because I WANTED TO TOUCH him. I wanted him to know that he was human. I wanted him to feel like he was clean enough to be touched. I wanted him to remember his childhood when his mother may have held his bare skin against hers. I wanted him to be healed.

I know why Jesus' miracles often involved him touching them. It wasn't that He needed to. It was to fulfill their desperation and to let them know they were loved.