When all that is left Is Faith

Mark 5:28 - “Because she thought, ‘If I just touch His clothes, I will be healed.’”

 

The story in this passage is familiar to many of us, yet it never loses its power. The Bible does not tell us her name. Instead, she is remembered as “the woman with the issue of blood.” What a painful and humiliating way to be identified, reduced not to who she was, but to what she suffered.

 

For twelve long years, she lived with a condition that drained her physically, emotionally, and spiritually. She sought help wherever she could find it. Every coin she owned was spent. Every remedy was tried. Every promise of healing raised her hope—only to crush it again. Over time, her strength faded, her resources disappeared, and her world grew smaller.

 

Because of her condition, she was considered ceremonially unclean. She could not freely touch others. She could not enter the temple. She lived on the margins of society—seen as a problem rather than a person. Slowly, hope slipped away. Until she reached the place where nothing else remained. No money. No strength. No answers. Only faith.

 

When she heard that Jesus was passing by, something stirred within her—not loud confidence, not certainty, but quiet trust. She did not ask for attention. She did not demand a miracle. She believed that if she could just touch His garment, it would be enough. And in that small, desperate act of faith, power flowed. Her healing began not when she had everything figured out, but when faith was all she had left.

 

Her reaching was not safe. Pushing through the crowd meant risking rejection, exposure, and punishment. According to the law, she should not have been there. Yet faith sometimes moves us beyond what is permitted into what is promised. She chose the risk of hope over the safety of silence—and heaven honoured that choice.

Jesus stopped. Not because He had lost control of His power, but because faith had touched Him. In a crowd full of people pressing in, only one heart truly reached out. Many brushed against Him, but one believed—and belief always gets heaven’s attention.

 

Faith was not her first option. It was her last remaining strength. And it was enough.

 

She did not speak publicly. She did not demand recognition. She simply reached out. Her faith was not loud—but it was real. And Jesus responded.

 

More than healing her body, Jesus restored her dignity. He called her “Daughter.” Not a problem. Not a condition. Not a burden. A daughter. Twelve years of suffering ended in a moment, but the greater miracle was her identity being restored.

 

Lessons for Us

 

Faith believes God can heal -  Even when every human option has failed, faith still dares to believe that God is able.

 

Faith trusts God with the outcome. This woman did not try to control how her healing would happen or demand a specific result. She released her expectations and entrusted herself fully to Jesus. Her faith rested not in a method, a moment, or a formula, but in the person of Christ. True faith is not about managing outcomes; it is about surrendering them. When we place ourselves in God’s hands, we acknowledge that He knows what is best, when it is best, and how it should unfold. Trusting God with the outcome means believing that His response—whatever it may be—will be rooted in love, wisdom, and grace.

 

Faith believes God is present - Even in crowds. Even in weakness. Even when unseen, He is near.

 

Faith does not need to be strong, only sincere - God honours faith that is honest, even when it is weary and quiet.

 

Faith, even as small as a mustard seed, get’s heaven’s attention. Faith does not need to be large to be powerful. Jesus once said that faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains, and this woman’s story proves it. Her faith was not dramatic or bold; it was quiet, fragile, and almost hidden. Yet it was enough to get heaven’s attention. In the middle of a pressing crowd, Jesus stopped and asked, “Who touched Me?” Many had brushed against Him, but only one touch carried faith. That question was not about information—Jesus knew who had reached for Him. It was an invitation. An acknowledgment that even the smallest, most trembling faith matters to God. Heaven responds not to the size of our faith, but to its sincerity. When faith reaches out, even weakly, God notices.

 

Closing Reflection

 

Sometimes God allows us to reach the end of our resources so that we can discover the depth of our faith. When everything else is stripped away, faith becomes our lifeline—and God honours it. When all that is left is faith, faith is enough.

 

Another thought in this story draws my attention. People identified her by her condition—they called her a woman with an issue of blood. Her suffering became her label. In the eyes of society, she was defined by what was wrong with her, by her weakness, and by her past. But Jesus saw her differently. When He spoke to her, He did not call her by her condition; He called her “Daughter.”

In this world, we are often identified by many names—our failures, our struggles, our past mistakes, or our current pain. We are labeled by what we lack or what we have been through. But God does not name us by our wounds; He names us by our relationship to Him. Where the world sees a problem, Jesus sees a person. Where people see shame, Jesus speaks belonging. His words restore not only her dignity, but her identity. And that same Jesus still calls us by who we are in Him, not by what we are going through.

Reflection

 

1. Where in my life do I feel exhausted, unseen, or out of options?
2. Have unanswered prayers or long waiting seasons weakened or reshaped my faith?
3. What does “reaching out to Jesus” look like for me right now?
4. Am I trusting God only for outcomes, or am I trusting Him with my heart?

 

Prayer

 

Lord Jesus,

 

When my strength is gone and my answers run out, remind me that faith is enough. I bring You my weariness, my disappointment, and my quiet hope. Teach me to reach for You even when my faith feels small and fragile. Thank You that You see me in the crowd, that You stop, and that You call me Your own. Help me trust You—not just for healing, but for restoration, peace, and presence. I place my life in Your hands.

Amen.