Part 1

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Rachel…Rachel…Rachel…

     This was the main thought of Jairus, one of the synagogue rulers, as he pushed through the crowd, searching for the Nazarene – the one called Jesus.  Suddenly, he caught sight of the man. 

      He hurried over to him and fell at his feet, clasping his ankles.  “My little daughter is dying.  Please come and put Your hands on her so that she will be healed and live,” he pleaded, tears gathering in his eyes. 

       The man – Jesus – came with him.  As they walked, Jesus suddenly stopped.  “Who touched My clothes?” he asked. 

        His disciples all looked bewildered.  “You see the people crowding against you, and yet you can ask ‘Who touched Me’?”

      Jairus saw Jesus turn to a woman who knelt at his feet, weeping some confession.  The man gently touched her shoulder and raised her up.  “Daughter, your faith has healed you.  Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” 

       Jairus watched, nearly enchanted by the man’s loving gaze.  It wasn’t lust for the woman, though.  His look seemed to hold both immense sorrow and love beyond measure.  Oceans and oceans of pure, kind love extending to everyone who would just ask for it. 

     Someone’s voice interrupted Jairus’s train of thought.  It was a man, in a group that had just come from his home.  “Your daughter is dead.  Why bother the Teacher anymore?”  he said, his voice hard.  The other men nodded sadly in agreement. 

      The world spun before his eyes.  Jairus buried his head in his hands and almost collapsed.  But Jesus spoke up.  “Don’t be afraid; just believe,” He told him. 

       Jairus sighed, but firmed his jaw.  Anything to help Rachel. 

       The Nazarene went on to his house, taking with him three of his disciples.  Jairus followed, praying desperately.  Please, LORD, heal my daughter. 

Rachel, Daughter of JairusWhere stories live. Discover now