Summary: One of my earliest, most vivid memories is from a church gathering when I was very young. I was toddling through the sea of legs in the fellowship hall, looking for my father, who was the pastor. But, because I was very small, I was looking at people's shoes. I immediately ruled out the women in heels and pantyhose. But then I was left with a sea of men's trousers and almost identically nondescript pantlegs. Finally, I found the set of legs I had been looking for and grabbed onto my father, holding on for dear life, overwhelmed by the crowds pressing around us. Until I looked up, only to see a stranger smiling down at me. I had grabbed the wrong legs! I was terrified. And right when I was about to begin to cry, my father came forward. He had seen me in the crowd. And he knelt down and picked me up. My tears melted away as my father found me and held me close. The woman in our Scripture for this today also knew what it felt like to view the world from the knees down. Whether it began as a physical ailment or not, the woman's condition soon took on a spiritual component as she was bent further in on herself from year to year by what Scripture calls a spirit of infirmity. Over time, the woman became accustomed to her shuttered view of the ground. People began speaking to each other across her back. And she could feel herself begin to fade into the background. No one looked her in the eye anymore or stooped down to speak to her face to face.
