Though I often say we currently live in a Big Town that believes it’s a Small Town, this weekend has proven I might classify it “small” thanks to local businesses. I love the networks that come from small shops and the way that I can participate in the community simply by shopping there. A brief review of the past 24 hours:

1. Strawberries from Fulton Farms. AMAZING. We’ve went twice so I can get enough to make some jam, per the husband’s request. The berries are bursting with flavor so we need to jam tonight. Then we also were able to get some flowers for out front and the last of the garden plants. 

2. Lunch at La Piazza with a friend. 

3. Stopping in Samozrejme to help sort diapers for the ReStash (so sad I missed the event – there were great deals on BumGenius!)

4. A mattress purchased from Francis, across the street from us. They were having a huge sale and beat Sam’s Club prices (I pre-shopped to have an idea). 

5. I’d hoped to stop into Stone’s Throw Market, the local coop we just joined, to pick up some spelt flour for the sourdough that’s prepping on my countertop (thanks to a local crunchy girls network). I’ll have to wait until Tuesday, I suppose… I’m so anxious for the online shopping that they’re going to offer – then it’s bagged and ready for you at pickup! GENIUS. 

As I was pulling away from Fulton’s, there were a few men out in “organic field #1” across from the market. You could tell they were contemplating their crop and doing some picking (I think it was the asparagus I also purchased on Friday, ready for our grill tonight). I thought, how nice that my slightly more expensive berries are allowing these guys to pay their bills and do what they do. Of course, I could’ve bought Meijer berries that were 4 for $5, but I ask, how are they able to sell so cheap? Well, they hail from South America, so I have a feeling that the nice men and women (and more likely, children) who did that picking weren’t paid the same wages of the men I saw in the field on Friday. Take into account the flashy packaging and the gas required to transport, plus company profits off the top, and we’re talking a pretty low working wage. 

Is it more expensive to buy local? At times. Shops can’t keep up with those who buy in bulk. But when you buy local, you’re not just walking out with a product; you’ve gained access to people who know more than you about what you need. And you’ve participated in growing a community that will be supporting and encouraging youth, students and even families in a variety of ways. 

But local businesses come through for your organization’s 5k sponsorship, the t-ball team’s jerseys, and the festival we look forward to each year. They buy the 4-H hogs to fund future college funds. They donate to the spaghetti dinner fundraiser for families to raise money for adoption or for medical bills when a little girl gets a cancer diagnosis. 

Small business owners practice what they preach. They know the value of community, of investing in people. 

So when I read this morning about the Bleeding Woman, my heart goes out to her. First for enduring the challenge of bleeding for 12 years. But her situation sent her in different directions than what we would encounter today. Thanks to The Red Tent, it’s more publicly known that a woman bleeding was a woman banished. 

The train of thought during these less “advanced” years centered around blood being a symbol of a person’s life. So along with women each month, men and women with seeping sores or other skin diseases that exposed flesh were asked to step outside the community until they could get things back under control. I heard it taught that this is why Jewish people (and I’m sure other ancient cultures) were firm on not eating the blood from a source of meat. If a person were to take in that blood, you’d take in the life of that being. (This train of thought adds a significant perspective on Jesus’ instructions around communion). So people were generally asked to keep their blood to themselves. 

So this woman has lived 12 years outside of community, outside of the normal patterns of life. She’s seen doctors and been treated badly. She’s tried to do her part to live well and be healed. She wants her body healed. 

But then, there’s also her soul. Logistically, as long as she’s bleeding, she’s not conceiving. And in that particular time and place, that was the primary role of a woman. Countless other stories tell of women unable to produce babies for their husbands, unable to fulfill their life purpose. No matter your stance on feminism and mothering and women’s choices, this was simply the way of life for the culture (right or wrong in your eyes, please don’t invalidate the feelings and experiences of the women of this era). 

The bleeding woman wasn’t just missing out on bridge club and church. She wasn’t just facing a physical malady, slightly more inconvenient prior to the creation of Kotex. 

She was bleeding out the purpose for her life. Everything she’d been told she could and would do with her future pools in a puddle in her sheets each morning. 

So when Jesus comes to town, touching a hemline seems like a small price to try to find healing. She steps out and finds what she was seeking. It worked. 

And somehow, Jesus knew it. “Who touched me?” he asks amid a large, jostling crowd. The disciples think him ridiculous, when clearly he’s being touched and pushed and prodded. But he knew that someone was grasping at more than his attention. 

The Bleeding Woman was past asking for permission. She was through begging for assistance. She was taking her own steps of faith. When she touched Jesus, she was healed not because Jesus commanded it so, but because she believed it to be. She knew Jesus to be a generous healer – this gift was not the result of her works, but His power – but something can be said for her coming to him ready to be healed. 

I wonder where my life purpose is bleeding out. I wonder how my longings and dreams and visions trickle down my leg as I turn to other things or people to find healing. I wonder what life would look like if I exercised the faith of the Bleeding Woman and reached for the robe of the one who could give me back my purpose and my energies. The one who could put me right with my community. I wonder how I could be changed if I stepped into the crowd with the purpose of knowing Jesus’ power would reach me. 

1. Conquer a true, traditional sourdough bread. I hear that pitas, pizza crusts and even pancakes can arise from a good starter, not to mention that we need to have some foresight into BLT season. 

2. Go on vacation. I’m semi-watching The Beach, which while not that super of a movie, it does take place along a sandy beach. 

3. Paint my master bathroom. It’s been stripped and even taped for a month now. 

4. Eat a snack. Said task would be easier once #1 is accomplished. (MMmmm, warm with some butter and jam?…)

5. Speaking of jam, I have high aspirations when strawberry season rolls around. 

6. Finish up the NT Wright book. But it’s a bit heavy for an evening read, so I’m wading. 

7. Menu plan. We’ve been eating the same thing over and over and over. I need some variety. Especially in the meatless options. 

8. Write something more than meaningless blog posts about the shoulda/coulda/wouldas. 

Now that I have a countdown rolling to a true “When I can…” I’m going to have to start putting these tasks to lists so I don’t wander around aimlessly before giving up completely and just heading to the lake.