“If I only touch…”

I’m interested. In holiness. But not the kind I reach for and never quite get. Not the kind that keeps making demands and adding burdens. Not the stuffy, here’s what you need to do kind. Pull up your bootstraps kind. Whip yourself into shape kind. Witness more kind. Do this, don’t do that kind.

I want the kind that comes from touching the hem of a righteousness not my own. I want the kind where I call out in my darkness here and here and here and He hears and hears and hears me and gives me sight and more sight and more sight. I want the kind where He sees me in the crowd unable to move and says, “Do you wish to be made well?” and even after I say, “I have no one…” He reaches out and makes me whole there. The kind that after I prove what a wretch I am, He says, “neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more.” The kind that says, “while you were yet.” The kind that doesn’t come from me. Not one inch.

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