God Doesn’t Mind Your Issues

“She has, you know…issues.”

I hate having “issues.” The dreaded connotation underlying the word implies different, problematic, maybe even burdensome. I hate burdensome.

Yet the reality is, we are born with”issues” all but written on our foreheads.

Our connotation of “issues” as something negative, a problem, comes from the old English meaning “to flow out from, or outflowing.”

The Bible tells a story about a woman who discovered Jesus is not the least embarrassed by issues. She experienced a Savior who not only accepted her as she was, but One who offered much more than casual contact: he offered wholeness.

It was a stifling throng of people, the kind of crowd that almost carries you like a river, swift, pressed together almost to suffocation. In that tight human swell, a woman bumped along, weaving in and out, pushing toward the teacher. Her eyes fixed, her movements insistent, she closed the distance with effort and drew near to Jesus.

She had an “issue,” (Luke 8:43; KJV) a continual flow of blood that drained from her body. It had been with her twelve long years, defining her and shaming her. Besides the physical toll, it robbed her of social acceptance. Someone like her, with those particular issues, didn’t fit with religious norms. Her continual hemorrhaging caused her to be cast aside as religiously unclean, unable to participate in Hebrew worship. She tried every remedy possible. She spent all her money looking for solutions.

You see, not only did her issues make her unclean, but they contaminated all she touched.

How easy it is for us to see ourselves in this woman. We feel dirtied by the issues hidden inside, worried we will spill the plague of our souls onto those our lives touch. Jealousy, anger, and anxiety convince us we are unlovely and unloved. Ashamed, impotent to change and unable to fully commune with the Father, we feel unworthy of the One who is perfect. We look for cures, bandages or distractions to lessen the ensuing loneliness and pain.

The truth is, we are all broken. We have issues. However, we haven’t all learned to embrace brokenness like the Psalmist, who writes, “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:17; ESV).

It is in our place of brokenness that God accepts us with open arms. In the original text, the Psalmist is offering before God the gift of a shattered spirit and a crushed heart. Repentance restores. Surrender realigns. The deep end of ourselves is where God waits. Those are sacrifices God desires and accepts.

The woman had heard of Jesus. He healed the sick, raised the dead and opened the eyes of the blind. If she could just see Jesus, she thought, surely he could heal her. She pressed forward. The multitude of people surrounding him made it difficult for her to reach him, but she was close. She stretched out her hand and touched the edge of his clothing.

“…and immediately her hemorrhage stopped.” Luke 8:44 NASB .

Her healing was instantaneous, and she knew it.

I love this because sometimes it is easier for me to believe God for a miraculous healing, a mountain removed, or even a parking spot than it is for me to trust him to change what can’t be seen. I find it difficult to believe he can change hearts, mine or others’. Broken relationships and hurt feelings reappear like yo-yos, making life hard, faith difficult. True miracles change the inner person.

Despite all the jostling and pushing, Jesus knew his power had restored someone.

“Who is the one who touched Me?” he asked (v.45).

Everyone denied it.

“I didn’t, did you?” I can almost hear them as they looked at one another questioningly.

In such a large crowd, many people must have touched Jesus, but only one reached out to him in faith, desiring healing. The woman hadn’t meant to make her case public. She thought she could keep her act secret, because her issue was hidden.

His eyes searched the crowd for her. Would he be angry because she had contaminated him? Perhaps he might undo the healing and it would be taken from her? Might he reject her too? Was she a burden?

Trembling, she fell down before him.

The very issue that had broken her, Jesus used to make her whole. However sinful the issues of our heart might be, Jesus is waiting to save us from them, to take them upon himself. He is not made unclean by our filth; he brings soul healing that only Christ can accomplish.

She “declared in the presence of all the people the reason why she had touched Him, and how she had been immediately healed.  And He said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.’” Luke 8:47-48 NASB.

With her public confession, her stigma died.

I’ve found there is a contrast between casual contact with the Savior and submitted trust. Like bumping into him, I can attend church, read good books, and practice Christian disciplines, but reserve how deep or vulnerable I get with him. Reaching out to touch Jesus bares my soul; it yields to him the dark corners of my life, the pieces I don’t want to acknowledge. It admits my need and puts me at His feet, like the woman in Luke.

By God’s grace I want to view brokenness as the path to healing, a place his touch alone can reach. It is then that my burden becomes a blessing. Yes, there is no doubt I have issues. Nor is there a question that a God of miracles can use the things I most want to rid myself of and make them a testimony of his grace.

Sylvia Schroeder serves as Women’s Care Coordinator at Avant Ministries. Mom to four, grandma to 13, and wife to her one and only love, she enjoys writing about all of them. Find her blog at When the House is Quiet.

Photograph © Taylor Bryant, used with permission