The Bleeding Woman: A Biblical Short Story

Chaviva hummed softly as she set about cleaning the supper dishes. Her husband and sons had worked late in the fields, not unusual for harvest time. Her daughter-in-law tried to settle her son down for the night, but little Malkiel would have none of it.

“Story!” the sweet three-year-old cried. “Savta Chava-va, tell I a story!”

Unable to resist her grandson, she put her rag down and turned toward her daughter-in-law.

“Hodaya, dear, finish the cleaning. I will stay with Malkiel until he sleeps.”

Hodaye gratefully obliged, and Chaviva slowly lowered herself onto her grandson’s mat, and pulled his chubby body toward her.

“Little one, do you want to hear a story?”

Malkiel giggled with delight and tried to squirm away.

“No, child. You must lie down if you want a story.”

“Story! Story, Savta!”

Chaviva felt a familiar lump rise in the back of her throat. Oh, the grace and mercy of her Lord Jesus! She saw his face as clearly today as she had on the day by the sea. Over forty years ago she had wanted to die, but instead, God restored her health and gave back ten-fold all that her illness had stolen. Now she had a husband, children, and grandchildren. She taught women about Jesus as they washed by the lake, and now she would teach her grandson, too.

“Yes, Malkiel. I will tell you a story. Once upon a time, a lonely woman lived in a lonely house. The sickness had stolen everything from her—her family, her friends, and her synagogue. No one could touch her or come near her.”

“What did she do, Savta?”

“Oh, child, let me tell you about the one who helped her. Christ Jesus—the Son of God—defeated the grave and lives to this day. He healed her and made her whole. He filled her heart with love and her mouth with a song. And Jesus knows you, too, little one. Yes, he loves you very much, and has great plans for your life…”

After a while, Chaviva saw that the boy had fallen asleep. The memory of her Savior had so captivated her that she hadn’t noticed.

Smiling, she lifted her aging body from the mat. She crossed the room to her husband and, too old to comfortably sit at his feet, made room for herself on his lap.

Menashe stopped fixing his broken tool and wrapped his arms around his wife.

Chaviva tilted her face to his and smiled. Menashe means, “causing to forget,” and her husband had lived up to his name. The fear and isolation of her younger days seemed faint and far away, as though it had happened to someone else.

“Menashe, I praise our Lord Jesus for you.”

“And I for you, my love.”

~~~~~

Rebecca Carrell is an author, speaker, and co-host of the 90.9 KCBI morning show in Dallas/Fort Worth, TX. She currently studies at Dallas Theological Seminary and is the founder of the Heartstrong Faith women’s Bible conference. She and her husband, Mike, have two children. She has written other articles on this site—check them out!