The Master’s Hem

My dad and I have been having lunch every Thursday for several months now. It’s just been a nice way to stay connected with him since my mom died. I usually make it and since the Pandemic. we either eat it on the deck or we’ll grab salads and meet at a local park for a picnic. He has shared hundreds of stories with me during these Thursdays. Some, I’d heard before, some I’ve heard a few times. But then I’m sure he’s heard mine more than once as well. Funny, because someone asked me “What do you talk about every week?” I’m thinking the older we get, the easier it is, because we sometimes can hear the same story over and over again, as if we are hearing it for the first time. 🙂

The thing is, a lot of my dad’s stories are from his childhood. Some are from when he was a Pastor. He has a few stories about miracles that happened right in front of him and those are ones that inspired this poem. One Thursday he was talking about the woman who touched Jesus’ hem and was healed. I told him his story made me want to write a poem. I’d heard that Bible story before but for some reason I didn’t remember all of the details and so I looked it up. And this flood of emotion came over me as I realized that I really hadn’t opened a Bible for some time and totally didn’t know the story the way I should have.

There are times in our lives when we have to own some of our failures. And for me, this was one big one, realizing that I really wanted to have a better spiritual relationship and in reading a few verses in opening God’s word, I felt a door open and I’m not sure I will ever go back to being content without wanting more. Maybe even write a poem for each verse I’m inspired to write about.

But for now, here is the poem about the woman who touched The Master’s Hem.

The Master’s Hem

Oh Lord why don’t I know your words?

Why haven’t I taken the time?

Oh Lord why do I not know you now?

Why are you so hard to find?

Oh Lord I want to find the hope

that makes me new again

I want to find the kind of faith

like the woman who touched your hem.

I know I’ve failed you in my walk

and all the times I should have grown

all the times I forgot to ask

and tried to handle things on my own

I’m ashamed of my hardened heart

and when I didn’t let you in

but oh dear Lord, please hear me now

as I reach for my Master’s hem.

by

Diane Reed