Threads of Impossibility

I hate folding laundry. Especially socks. I guess it’s more like pairing than folding. Inevitably, every time I do laundry, one sock always seems to lose its mate. Today, I reach into the laundry basket and retrieve—as expected—one tiny white sock, its matching partner nowhere to be found.

Hours later, as I climb scattered into my car to chase errands on my to-do list, I find the missing sock . . . underneath my seat.

A million different scenarios race through my mind as to how the lonesome sock wound up here, but I have neither the time nor mental stamina to narrow it down. I stash it next to me in the front seat and let the mundane inconveniences of daily life fling my eyes wide open.

I remember a time not too long ago when the thought of teeny tiny socks stuck underneath my seat seemed not only unlikely, but impossible. This sock represents so much more than my dreaded laundry day experience; it represents God’s promise to me kept; it represents miraculous healing I can’t quite explain; it represents the building up of my fragile faith, one baby step at a time.

This sock represents delicately thin threads of impossibility.

There are other threads of impossibility in my life: my parents’ marriage that should have never survived, but is now thriving… a childhood friendship that endured fourteen long years of silence before God redeemed it in the most gorgeous way… destructive habits I considered too deeply engrained within me that are today no longer a tethered part of me… You have your own, I’m sure.

Today, I realize something about each and every one of these that I’ve never considered before:

Someone had to reach out in faith.

Last month I gathered with a tiny group of women to pray. A girl I don’t know shared scripture from her own worn bible. She talked about creation and how everything we see—from the stars at night to the Grand Canyon to the beauty in a sunrise—are just the fringe of all God is.

She went on to talk about a woman who risked everything to reach out and touch the fringe of Jesus’ robe. Because she believed there was more. More for her life, more of His plan to discover, more of His power, more of His love.

When she touched those threads of impossibility, her entire life was altered.

The woman’s story is found in Chapter 5 of Mark’s gospel. She had been bleeding for twelve years, and after spending all she had trying to get better, wound up much worse than when she started out.

A brave thought skirted through her mind the day Jesus came to her town: “If only I touch his clothes, I will be healed.” (Mark 5:28 NET)

If only… If only I reach for the fringe of Him, for threads of the impossible.

She believed she would be healed, and she was . . . but Jesus gave her so much more. He not only healed her, but He saw her, listened to her, and spoke to her. This is the only time in scripture where Jesus uses the term “Daughter.”

Each time God heals me physically, emotionally, relationally, or spiritually, He never leaves it at that. He reminds me that He sees me, hears me, knows me.

There is a difference between brushing up against Jesus and reaching out to touch Him in faith.

The disciples questioned Jesus when He asked the crowd who touched Him. “You see the crowd pressing against you,” they said. (see Mark 5:31) But Jesus searched for the woman whose faith compelled her to touch the hem of his robe, mere threads of impossibility.

Fully God. Fully man. How is that even possible?

Maybe you’ve been there, too, wanting more than anything to reach out to Jesus. I cherish the threads of impossibility in my life, because each one reminds me that He reached out in love first.

All my reaching for Him is really just receiving Him.

Reaching requires courage, because it comes at a cost. The woman in this story recognized this as she fell at Jesus’ feet and told Him everything. Scripture says, “She told him the whole truth.” (see Mark 5:33) Jesus wants all of us. Every part. And He wants to give us more than we ask. He wants to give us the gift of an encounter with Him.

Go ahead and risk it all for the sake of knowing Him. He’s inviting you to give everything—the whole of it—over to Him and trust that He can accomplish the impossible in you.

Don’t settle for casual contact with Jesus here and there. You’ll never be content just gazing from a far. Reach out and touch Him.

Just the hem of His love changes everything.

Reach for what feels relationally impossible.

Reach for real answers to the same prayer you’ve prayed over and over and over.

Reach for the adventure just around the corner you’d never have the guts to dream up on your own.

Reach for the call to serve that will force you out of your comfort zone.

Reach for God’s power, unleashed in your small, daily moments.

Reach for your part in the family of God.

Reach for Jesus, the One who sees all of you, the One who knows you. Daughter, reach out. Let His touch transform you. An encounter with Jesus leaves every one of us radically changed.

Jesus loves you,

Kelly

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4 Responses to Threads of Impossibility

  1. Ruth Smith January 5, 2017 at 8:23 am #

    This is really good . It’s always good to remember what God has done for us especially when we keep facing impossible ones.

  2. Eva January 5, 2017 at 8:24 am #

    Wow Kelly! What a good word of encouragement and surrender for all of us to hear. I can’t help but think of the thread of gratitude that is also woven in this tapestry! Keep writing my friend – it’s your gift!

    • Kelly Sobieski January 5, 2017 at 10:23 am #

      Yes… I love that… the thread of gratitude. You are such an encouragement to me, Eva. Thanks for reading.

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