"HURRY!"

His wife's urgent plea echoed in his head, mingling with the cacophony around him. Jairus merged into the crowd that had gathered in anticipation of seeing Jesus. His purpose blinded him to any other needs around him, but he did not chastise himself. He had so little time.

 Reaching between two sweaty men who blocked his view, he pulled against their shoulders and propelled himself forward. He lurched through and nearly careened into a small, pale woman. Though weak, she seemed as intensely driven as he was. Jairus pressed on, snaking back and forth through the desperate humanity swarming on the street. The sun beat down relentlessly, its movement in the sky a constant reminder of the passing minutes.

He listened for the voice of the teacher he had heard some weeks before. Not much to look at, he had thought at the time. A leader in the local synagogue himself, Jairus was not easily impressed. Yet Jesus' words had seared into his mind and heart. And more recently, he had learned of Jesus' healings.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

 Anxious perspiration poured down his brow as he pushed through the throng. His dying daughter's face filled his mind. He could hardly remember her when she was well—smiling brilliantly, full of life. It seemed like hours since he had raced out of his home and begun this improbable search, and his limbs ached with the effort. He had to reach this healer; it was his only hope.

Then Jairus saw Jesus.

With a final burst of raw emotion, he plowed through the last of the crowd, unceremoniously pushing them aside.

He dropped to his knees and bowed before Him. Many people recognized Jairus and moved out of his way. He was unaware of anyone except Jesus.

"Teacher, I beg of you . . . My precious daughter, my only child, is sick unto death. Please come to my home and heal her. If you do not come, I fear . . ." He could not finish—ragged breaths of haste crashed into the wall of pent-up sobs he had bravely suppressed until this moment.

Jesus touched his shoulder and lightly squeezed it. "Show me the way," He offered. His calm permeated the air. Strengthened enough to rise, Jairus led Jesus toward his home. Hope began to replace desperation as Jairus allowed himself to picture his daughter well.

Suddenly, he heard Jesus call out, "Who touched Me?"

The crowd halted.

Who touched Him? Was He insane? There were hundreds of people clamoring around Him. Everyone had tried to touch Him, though not all had succeeded. Why was Jesus asking such a ridiculous question when Jairus' little girl lay so close to death? Didn't He realize that there was no time to lose?

Jairus turned abruptly to confront this new obstacle. Longing to be rid of all distractions, he nearly pulled Jesus' arm to force Him forward, but something stopped him. The aura of authority that surrounded the Teacher was palpable. Suddenly, Jairus knew he had no exclusive right to this man. Grieved, he watched helplessly as the delay unfolded.

The disciple called Peter spoke Jairus' thoughts aloud: "Master, the people are crowding and pressing in on You" (v. 45).

Incredibly, Jesus protested. "Someone did touch Me, for I was aware that power had gone out of me" (v. 46).

Then Jairus saw her—she fell at Jesus' feet just as he had done. The small, determined woman he had nearly knocked over turned out to be the source of this trouble.

Despite his anxiety, Jairus found himself mesmerized by the scene. The woman told Jesus how she had hemorrhaged for twelve years and no one else had been able to help her. Yet a mere touch of the edge of Jesus' garment, she insisted, would make her well.

"Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace," the Teacher said. (v. 48)

Relief bathed Jairus, and the insistent need to bring Jesus to his child resurged. But his optimism was thwarted by news from home.

"Your daughter has died; Do not trouble the Teacher anymore" (v. 49).

Jairus felt his knees collapsing. Anger replaced the determination that had sustained him. He wanted to hold the sick woman responsible, but he knew he had only himself to blame. He should have come sooner.

"Do not be afraid any longer; only believe, and she will be made well," Jairus heard. (v. 50) He slowly raised his glance to meet Jesus' eyes and felt the Teacher's hand once again on his shoulder. He turned to look at the healed woman, and then renewed his dash home, as Jesus and His disciples followed.

Nearing the house, they heard the wailing of mourners. At Jairus' door, Jesus spoke again. "Leave; for the girl has not died, but is asleep" (Matthew 9:24).

The mourners laughed at him.

His daughter was dead, yet Jesus said she was not. These mourners were his family and friends he had known for years. Yet he trusted this Teacher more.

He held his wife's hand and looked down upon the dead body of his daughter. She lay still on her bed, her mouth unnaturally flat, her skin the color of milk. She was gone. The cold grip of death strangled his own heart, but Jesus had said not to be afraid. Just believe, Jairus encouraged himself. While his wife softly wept by his side, he looked at Jesus once again.

Leaning forward, Jesus knelt by the bed. He gently took the hand of the girl and said, "Child, arise!" (v. 54) Incredibly, her eyelids fluttered open. Her bright brown eyes peered up at Jesus, and then at the others in the room. She quickly arose from her bed.

Jairus felt his wife leave his side as she ran to embrace their daughter. The reality of his daughter's resurrection washed over him. Finally, as if awakening from a dream, he moved towards them, enfolding his wife and child in his arms. From behind, he heard Jesus say, "Give her something to eat."

Jairus recognized Jesus' authority and compassion. We can do the same. Not all of our needs will be as urgent as Jairus'. Yet, we are encouraged to come before the Lord in faith and make our requests known. (1 Peter 5:6-7; Philippians 4:6-7)

Our timetable may look different than His. When interruptions come, and others' needs seem more important, we must persevere in patience. He is listening, and He has not forgotten us.

—Kathleen Bogacz, M.D.