gracealongtheway

Today I was reading Mark 6, and I stopped when I came to the end of the chapter.

Jesus and His disciples had crossed over and landed at Gennesaret. The people recognized Him, and suddenly they began running throughout the entire region, carrying the sick on mats to wherever they heard He might be.

That part struck me.

They carried their sick wherever they thought Jesus was going to be.

They didn’t have a confirmed appointment. They didn’t know for certain that when they arrived, Jesus would still be there. They simply heard He was near, and that was enough.

So they ran.

They carried their friends. Their mothers. Their fathers. Their children.

They brought the people they loved because they believed Jesus could heal them.

They begged Him.

They were desperate.

They believed that if they could only touch the edge of His garment, it would be enough.

And after this past year, I understand desperation differently than I used to.

When You Have Nothing Left

Desperation has a way of stripping away pride.

When you are truly desperate, you stop worrying about what you look like. You stop worrying about who is watching. You stop pretending you have everything under control.

Because you don’t.

I know what it feels like to be desperate.

This year, I almost died.

There were moments when doctors didn’t have answers. There wasn’t a magical pill that suddenly fixed everything. Even now, there isn’t a medication that cures my condition or a simple solution that guarantees another episode will never happen.

Yes, I have a diagnosis now.

But a diagnosis isn’t the same thing as a cure.

I take medication as a precaution, even though I’ve been told it isn’t specifically designed for my condition. I have been given instructions: reduce stress, recognize triggers, rest, pay attention to what my body is telling me.

And I am grateful for doctors. I am grateful for the people who cared for me and for every resource available to help me.

But when I look at how far I have come and the time that has passed without another major episode, I cannot tell my story without telling you what I believe:

God has carried me.

I’m not saying that to shove my faith down anyone’s throat. I’m not trying to force you to believe what I believe.

I’m simply telling you my story.

And my story includes Jesus.

I Didn’t Want to Die

I remember the desperation.

I didn’t want to die.

I didn’t want to leave my husband without his wife.

I didn’t want my children to grow up without their mother.

There was still so much I wanted to do. So much life I wanted to live. I felt like I was just beginning to understand where God was leading me in ministry.

Suddenly, so many things that once seemed important weren’t important anymore.

That’s what desperation does.

It rearranges things.

We live in a culture where many of us are surrounded by comforts. We have televisions, phones, computers, restaurants, coffee shops, entertainment, and conveniences everywhere we turn. I am certainly not condemning any of those things. I’m typing these words on a laptop, after all. I enjoy plenty of comforts myself.

But sometimes our wants become so intertwined with our needs that we forget the difference.

And when life is comfortable, desperation can feel foreign.

We can even begin treating the presence of God that way.

Optional.

If I have time.

If it’s convenient.

If nothing else is happening.

If I’m not too tired.

Maybe Sunday.

But the people in Mark 6 weren’t casually deciding whether Jesus fit into their schedules.

They ran.

They picked up mats carrying people they loved and went searching for Him.

They were desperate for His presence.

When Breath Becomes Precious

Maybe we don’t have to lose everything to become desperate for God.

Maybe we simply need to remember how little we actually control.

I think about breathing differently now.

Breath is precious.

It is vital.

And yet most of us wake up every morning expecting the next breath to come.

I did too.

Until there were moments when it didn’t.

Something changes when something you once took for granted becomes something you’re profoundly grateful to have.

You wake up and realize:

I am breathing.

I am here.

I have another day.

And suddenly, desperation begins turning into gratitude.

Gratitude becomes a deeper love.

A deeper connection.

A deeper awareness.

Not because suffering is good. Not because I would choose to experience everything I experienced again.

I wouldn’t.

But desperation exposed things in me that comfort could hide.

It reminded me how quickly pride can fill our hearts. How easily privileges become expectations. How quickly blessings become things we believe we are entitled to.

And it reminded me that none of us gets a pass from hardship.

We aren’t too good for tragedy.

We aren’t too faithful for suffering.

We aren’t too successful, wealthy, educated, religious, or important for life to change without warning.

Sometimes things happen.

And when everything else has been stripped away, the things we once used to define ourselves suddenly don’t matter very much.

Your bank account doesn’t matter when you’re desperate.

Your title doesn’t matter.

Your possessions don’t matter.

Your social status doesn’t matter.

Your pride doesn’t matter.

You just want help.

You just want hope.

You just want one more breath.

And for me, I wanted Jesus.

Just the Hem of His Garment

That’s why I understand those people in Mark 6 differently now.

I understand why they ran.

I understand why they begged.

I understand why simply hearing that Jesus might be nearby was enough to make them pick up their loved ones and go searching for Him.

When you’re desperate, you don’t need perfect circumstances.

You don’t need all the answers.

You just need Him.

Just the hem of His garment.

Just one touch.

Just one moment in His presence.

And that’s what I find myself longing for now.

Not once a week.

Not just on Sunday morning.

Every day.

Sometimes every hour.

Jesus, just one more moment.

One more moment where I recognize You are here.

One more moment where the noise becomes quiet enough for me to hear You.

One more moment where I remember what You’ve already brought me through.

One more moment where I stop trying to control everything and simply trust You.

Some days those moments feel deeper than others. Some days I become distracted by life just like everyone else.

But I long for them.

I want them.

Because desperation taught me something comfort never could:

I don’t just want the things Jesus can give me. I want His presence.

The people in Mark 6 came desperate for healing. They reached for the edge of His garment because they believed one touch could change everything.

I understand that longing now.

And perhaps that is one of the strange gifts desperation leaves behind.

After the crisis passes, after the fear quiets, after you realize you have been given another day, you don’t want to go back to taking His presence—or your life—for granted.

I don’t want a faith that only looks for Jesus when I’m dying.

I want the faith that keeps running toward Him while I’m living.

I want to wake up grateful for breath.

Grateful for another day.

Grateful that He is near.

And still desperate enough to say:

Jesus, I just want one more moment with You.