Twelve Years of Joy and Twelve Years of Sorrow

Twelve Years of Joy and Twelve Years of Sorrow

Luke 8:42, 43 - For he had one only daughter, about twelve years of age…And a woman having an issue of blood twelve years…

    In this section of Scripture, it appears that we have an interesting comparison of a season of time in two lives; that of Jairus’ daughter and the woman with the issue of blood.

     The young girl is the only child of Jairus and his wife, and we can just imagine how much joy she brought to them. We don’t know, but it is possible that they had tried for more than one child, however, their daughter was all they were given and so she became the only precious little one; the bright light bringing great meaning to their lives. Anyone who has had the privilege of having children born into their family knows that life is never the same again. Life takes on a new focus and all of it is centered on the care, nurture and protection of that sweet little one. Even hard-hearted men are quickly softened by the arrival of a baby and especially so when that baby is a girl.

    Twelve years of having a beautiful little girl in the house. Twelve years of joy and laughter. Twelve years of snuggles and giggles and playing house. Twelve years of innocent curiosity about the world. The first words, the first steps, the first day of school; all such joy-filled moments fixed in the memory and cherished by parents.

    Twelve wonderful years were spent watching this beautiful girl grow into a young woman. Jairus may have thought of the day when a young man would come knocking on the door looking for his daughter. Our little treasure. How will we ever let her go? Raising children is a bittersweet experience because, at some point, you realize that they will not remain in this place of young innocence for long.

    Every life is like a river; it is constantly moving and the current never stops. The water is never the same each moment; truly we never step into the same river twice. The water has gone by us unable to be contained in our hands. The lives of our children are like the river; they also flow by us and we cannot hold on to them; we cannot keep them at a certain age. Oh, how we would love to keep our little ones in the place of innocence where the world can never hurt them, but alas, it cannot be so. To live is to love and to love is to give away and give away we must, or we will hinder our children and limit their future. The truth is these little ones are not ours; they are the children of God; they belong to Him; we are simply stewards.

    Jairus and his wife had enjoyed those years and they seemed to have gone by so quickly, but for a certain lady who lived in the same region, the last twelve years were not enjoyed and did not go by quickly; they were a long, drawn-out and dark nightmare.

    Twelve years she had this condition and no matter how she sought relief, it never improved, it only got worse. Twelve years of struggling to keep her hopes up that, one day, life could go back to normal. Twelve years of physicians, poking and prodding and asking questions. Twelve years of various treatments, some of which, in those days, may have bordered on torture. Twelve years of suffering the loss of friendships and simple pleasures.

    Up until the time when her affliction came, she was most probably a wife and a mother and had enjoyed the blessing of family life. We know that she was a woman who had a measure of wealth and, no doubt enjoyed the social status that comes with having means. The community events and fundraisers, the family gatherings and celebrations had all become a faint memory.

    The loss of blood ran parallel to the loss of everything else in her life; her blood ebbed slowly away; her dreams ebbed slowly away; her strength receded little by little; her faith receded little by little. As she grew weaker, it seemed her misgivings grew stronger. Why has this happened to me? Have I done something wrong? Has God forsaken me?

    The strict and harsh religious people loved to look down their noses and point fingers at the suffering ones; indeed, their religious relatives still live today. She endured twelve years of accusation and judgement; misunderstanding and mishandling; criticism and condemnation. Twelve long years.

    What season of life are we in? Is it a season of joy or a season of sorrow? For undeniably, life brings both, and Jesus is present in both. As a friend, He laughs with us in our joys and records them so we can remember, and as a comforter, He cries with us in our sorrows and removes the pain from our memory. He is the Great Companion and Consoler who never abandons or forsakes us. Twelve years of joy, twelve years of sorrow.