It’s a bad thing to be desperate. You come off as weak and dependent, like you couldn’t find another option. You are probably hopeless, and in your eyes, only the one you’re desperate for can help you. If he somehow doesn’t, you’re done for. It’s a bad thing to be desperate.

Say, peradventure, that you’ve had a blood disease for twelve years. You’ve spent millions and many haranguing moments at the hands of doctors and relatives who call you cursed. You’ve been locked up in your house, and are condemned to solitary walks, because no one wants to get near you. What if then, on one warm afternoon, you hear shouts in the streets, and a rumor that a great man of healing is in the vicinity. Do you see now, the need for the desperation?

You lock your doors and gather your skirts, and run after the crowd. Of course, you know that it’s unlikely you’ll even get to the great man. But you have this wild notion in your mind, that maybe if you could just touch the hem of his clothing, you’ll be healed. It’s stupid yes, but desperation often is. You know that if they were to notice you and realize what disease you have, you’ll be stoned to death. But then again, you might just get there before they catch you, right? So you press on, dart through the spaces in the swelling crowd. You can see the great man’s hair now, so you know you’re close. You press a bit further, and then with all the energy you have left, you reach out and touch the trails of his skirt.

It’s blinding, the realization that the bleeding has stopped. But before you can soak it in, the crowd stops and turns in your direction. Oh no, someone recognized you, but how? Then you see the great man walk toward you and ask whether you touched him. There’s compassion in his eyes as you tearfully tremble and nod.

“Daughter”, Luke reports the great man as saying, “your faith has made you well, go in peace”. He might just as well have said, your desperation has made you well – He knew.

Or perhaps you’re a man thirty plus years of age. You live a sorry life, blind, the town’s street beggar. You once had dreams of great achievement, hopes for everyday and a future to come – that was before the blindness set in. Frantic runs to the doctors did not help, and you slunk back to accept your ‘curse’, a world of darkness, a demeaning life as a mendicant. Sitting on the street one day, you hear shouts of a crowd and ask what is happening.

They tell you, and in a moment of desperation, you think, what if this is really who he says he is? So you start shouting, Son of David, have mercy on me! The people in the crowd try to hush you, after all, you’re interrupting the great man. But your desperation has taken you past caring for their propriety, and you shout louder. And louder. It gets silent, and you can’t feel the crowd anymore, and you’re about to go back to your begging spot when you hear the voice of the great healer. What do you want? he’s asking. You plead that all you want is to see.

“All right”, the great man says. “You can see, your faith has healed you!” When your eyes open and you see him for the first time, you are met with eyes that saw your desperate soul.

There’s something about desperation. It causes God to stop.

About The Author: George Oloo picks snippets from his own world and uses them to bring home life lessons.

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