The Restorer 3

Written by Jennifer Azubuike

Martha scanned the room again from her seating position on the ground, as if seeing it for the first time. Dr Drei always made her sit there during her treatment session for reasons best known to him. Her eyes rested on the middle-aged man carefully scribbling something down at his desk. She was becoming impatient with him, maybe a little resentful too, but she could not complain.

“You owe me 30 dineries” Dr Drei finally paused his scribbling and looked at her.

Martha’s jaw dropped open. “I paid you 100 decca, and you promised that would be the cost of everything, including room and board.”

“Yes, but I consulted another physician and had to pay him 30 dineries for consultation. That wasn’t planned, so it has to be refunded.”

“I don’t have any more money to give you. Besides, you promised me a cure, and that hasn’t happened.” 

“What do you think I have been doing? Dancing? Wasn’t the consultation part of finding you a cure? Woman! Pay me or I will stop your treatment.”

Martha hissed and got up from where she had been sitting. She carefully touched her backside to make sure it wasn’t wet, then she inspected the mat she had been sitting on, and there was no stain, to her relief. “I have had enough of your shenanigans.”

“My shenanigans?” Dr Drei said with an inflection in his voice. “You call my medical practice a shenanigan?” He asked again and laughed. “Alright, at least I am not the one going around bleeding and stinking.” He hissed maliciously. He knew his words would sting, and they did, as Martha was left speechless and on the verge of tears when those words left his mouth. He was unapologetic; instead, he waved her off to depart from his office, which also served as his home. 

Martha walked out and shut the door behind her. She stood in front of the house, her eyes shimmering with tears as she wondered what she’d do. She had traveled over 100 miles from her hometown to this place with the last of her money because Dr. Drei was highly recommended. Even though she had spent most of her fortune, at least she had some money when she first arrived four months ago. 

“I will heal you in no time!” She remembered him saying. “You have reached your final stop for a cure!” He swore.  “They are all liars,” Martha hissed. “And he is the chief of them.” She wiped her cheek. It was then that she noticed a young child staring and holding his nose, disgusted. 

“Ma’am, did you fart?” The young boy asked Martha, still holding his nostrils. Before Martha could reply to him, a woman walked up to the boy and pulled him away. Martha immediately became self-conscious again. She had been so angry that she forgot she had stepped outside in broad daylight – something she never does. She walked back to Dr. Drei’s door and knocked. 

“What do you want?” His brash response came from behind a slightly opened door.

“Can I stay until nighttime? I promise I will leave as soon as the sun sets.” She begged.

“Do you have my money?”

“I don’t have any more money.”

“Then you cannot come in.” Dr. Drei said with finality and slammed the door in her face. A few moments later, someone reopened the door and threw a small bag out to Martha, spilling some of the clothes it contained. 

Martha bent over to pick up the clothes. As she did, she could feel blood flow out of her onto the towel she used for padding. She quietly prayed the towel would hold on until she found a private place to change. As she straightened up from picking up the clothes, her gaze met those of three women in the shade of a food store across the street, staring. They quickly looked away and went about their business. Martha tucked the clothes into her bag, slipped the bag under her armpit, and started her journey slowly down the street. At this point, she was accustomed to people staring, moving away, or making disdainful gestures – most of the time, she ignored them, but something about the gaze of these women haunted her. She used to hold the gaze of young women for her beauty and affluence, as well as the admiration of young men. Now, she is pitiful and, worst still, despised; they must think she was a woman being punished by God for some awful deed. For adultery, waywardness, or something worse. Martha shook her head if they only knew that a few years ago, she was just like them: beautiful, chaste, wealthy, and by all measures desirable. 

As a young girl, her father owned a women’s clothing store. She helped organize and clean the store whenever new stock arrived. Over time, she picked up on the trade even though her father didn’t allow her to make sales. He was convinced that his business was masculine and that women should not be involved with it. Things changed during her cousin’s wedding when she helped her choose bridal colors and assisted her in matching them. Her family saw her aptitude for colors and consulted her on the next event. Gradually, word spread to friends, extended family, and neighbors. Martha’s father saw a business opportunity and seized it, leading to the expansion of his existing business. Martha was consulted on bridal arrangements and colors, and her father supplied the requested materials. Word-of-mouth recommendations expanded her reach, and eventually, Martha was traveling across cities to help set up weddings. Her father eventually handed over the clothing business to Martha, which she transformed into an empire of wedding decor.   

*                            *                         *

Martha arrived at a less busy but poorer side of town, turned around the corner, and decided to rest under the shade of a tree just beside an old house. Lying under the tree was a wooden bench that appeared to be intended for rest. The environment was quiet, and the shade reminded her of the peacefulness of her childhood, a time of bliss before wealth, fame, or illness. A time when she was surrounded by the genuine love of her family and friends, before her life brought her into the network of wealthy, corrupt, and selfish folks.  

“Do you need something?” A voice behind Martha startled her from her reverie. The voice belonged to an elderly woman who was hunched from age and supported herself with a cane. She smiled at Martha, revealing a decaying and mostly missing set of teeth on her lower jaw. “I noticed you have been sitting here for some time and wanted to make sure you are okay.” She said, her missing dentition made her words unclear, but Martha somehow managed to understand every word. 

“I…I am fine,” Martha stuttered and rose to her feet. “I did not mean to sit here without permission.”

“Oh no. Feel free to sit as long as you want. You look like a weary traveler, and I can get you a drink if you want.” Martha nodded, and the woman shuffled away on a mission. She returned with a cup of water, half spilled from all the shuffling. 

“Thank you.” Martha collected the cup and downed the contents in a blink. 

“You seem thirsty. Do you want another cup?” The old woman asked, smiling. Martha shook her head. She was feeling too self-conscious to take any more privileges.

“I have to be on my way,” Martha said and bowed in gratitude. She had only taken a few steps when the old woman’s voice stopped her. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Martha turned around and nodded, but just then her eyes caught sight of the blood stain on the bench she had been sitting on. Her heart sank. She stood there, head bowed in shame. “I am so sorry.”

“It is no shame to be on your period,” the old woman said. “Do you need fresh pads? I don’t have any. I am too old to have those.” She chuckled. “But I can give you some clothes to improvise.” 

“Um…I…no…I mean, yes.” Martha stuttered and murmured something incoherent.

“Huh?”

“It’s not a period,” she finally found her voice. “If you are going to give me clothes, I will need a large one.” Martha noticed the confused look and added, “I bleed every day. It has been that way for twelve years.”

The woman was speechless. She shuffled away into her house without another word. For someone who was often avoided due to her unpleasant smell and unkempt appearance, she found comfort in being spoken to and cared for. Yet, as soon as the old woman left, she felt relieved to be left alone again – loneliness brought another form of comfort because it was void of judgement. She removed a piece of cloth from her bag and tried to wipe the bench as clean as she could. The stain was still evident. She folded the fabric and started to walk away when she heard the familiar voice beckon to her again. “Where are you going?” Martha turned around to find the old woman shuffling out of her house, a large piece of cloth hanging from her left shoulder, supported by a hand. “I brought you the largest piece of cloth I could find,” she said, and stretched the cloth towards Martha. Just then a young man ran down the street yelling at the top of his voice. He stopped momentarily when he arrived in front of the party. 

“Jesus is coming! Jesus is coming!”

“Who?” The old woman yelled back at him. Her hearing was poor, but still better than her olfactory sense.

“Jesus, the one who healed the sick and raised the dead.”

“Where’s he?” Martha asked the young man.

“He is coming, on His way to Jairus’ house.” He finished and dashed off.

“I have got to see him,” Martha said more to herself than to her company.

“Alright, change your clothes first, then you can go see him.” The woman said, her hand still outstretched with the cloth.

“If I see him. I will not need your clothes.” Martha’s eyes were lit with hope as she thought of the possibility.

A hurtful frown changed the old woman’s countenance. She threw the cloth back over her shoulder and prepared to return to her house. “Suit yourself.”

“Wait!” Martha pleaded. “You don’t understand. I don’t mean to refuse your offer; I am only desperate for a cure. I have been bleeding for so long that I have spent all my resources trying to find a cure. If I can get a cure today, I will regain my life.”

“How do you know this man can help you?”

“I have heard and seen the evidence that he can. He is the anointed one.”

“What if he charges you money? How do you intend to pay?” The woman asked Martha. The question hit her like a thunderbolt. Her countenance fell. Just then, a noisy throng of people started coming down the street. She could see him—Jesus of Nazareth. Simply dressed in a robe and sandals, yet He could not be mistaken. It was he who raised Lazarus from death after he had been dead for four days. Martha heard of the miracle and even went to see Lazarus. At the time, she still had some money to travel, but Jesus was long gone by the time she arrived. She recalled the testimony from Mary that Jesus did not even touch her dead brother. He only called, and the dead man answered. The recollection got Martha more excited. 

“If I could only touch the hem of his robe, I know I would be healed. He won’t even know that I touched it.”

Martha waited until the multitude was close enough, then she joined them. Some people ran ahead of him, others pressed hard behind him, and a few men around him tried to keep the crowd from crushing him. At first, Martha followed quietly, but when she realized that there was no easy way to get through the crowd, she started pushing her way through. It helped that people were disgusted by the smell from her because they cleared away from her as soon as she came close enough. She had gotten close to Jesus when the press became almost impenetrable. She stopped pushing and just followed, strategizing another way to cut through. Her chance came when the crowd suddenly halted because Jesus stopped. She did not wait to find out why he stopped; instead, she hunkered down to her knees and crawled her way between people’s legs like a child until she got hold of Jesus’ robe. Just then, the crowd resumed moving, and people pushed her around until she was out of the way onto the roadside. She sat there on the ground and examined herself. For twelve years, she had become familiar with the sensation of blood exiting her body, but in that moment, the sensation was not there. She was still verifying when she looked up because the crowd was not moving, but instead got louder, then quieter. 

“Jairus’ house is still a mile away. Why are we stopping?” Someone asked in the crowd.

“The master is asking who touched him?” A male voice replied.

“Are we not allowed to touch him?” A woman asked in response. 

Martha knew what had happened to her. She knew what the question meant, and she was terrified that he knew. He indeed is a prophet! At first, she was afraid to admit to touching the robe, but seeing that the query continued, she got up and moved through the crowd until she arrived in front of Jesus. 

“Who touched me? I sense that power has left me.” He asked again.

One of the men around him spoke up, irritated. “Master, there are many people following us and pushing. What do you mean by who touch…”

Martha knelt in front of him and interrupted the man. “I did, and I am sorry.” She told him her story.

He knew she was telling the truth. At that moment, he could see her years of suffering, loss, and shame. He could see how much the enemy had stolen from her. Yet, it pleased him that she had the audacious faith to draw power from him for her healing. 

He stepped forward and helped her to her feet. “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

The End

Aurthor’s note: Only Jesus can restore hope in hopelessness, repurpose brokenness, and heal deep-seated wounds. Until next time, stay lifted. 

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