The Light Heals The Touch

Your hands pull back before they even make contact. You are convinced your touch is now contamination, a stain that will ruin whatever purity remains in them.

This is the deepest hour, where the lie feels heavier than bone. But listen — there was a woman who had bled for twelve years, untouchable by the law, who reached out in a crowd and brushed the edge of a robe.

She expected rejection. She expected to be driven away.

Instead, the light stopped. It turned.

It called her 'Daughter' and said her faith had healed her. The touch did not contaminate the light.

The light healed the touch. Your hands are not poison.

They are the very place where the healing flows out. You are not the disease.

You are the cure.