Here, I find me.. pieces of me, stitched together in the Hem of Your garment.

Old calendar on tiny easel at home.

Look Lord, here around Your edge, pieces of prayers, darts sewn with silent fingers.

Here I am Hannah, a woman ridiculed, hated by her sister, despised for unproductivity. A Hannah ruthlessly in a life not as good as expected. Here my God

how did You find my ash heap (Hannah’s song), how did You recognize this enough to come by?

How do I feel the contentment of reaching in this moment-

You stopping to hold my holding of You. You not laughing, not You:

here there is zero derision/ judgment. Here, we receive that Touch that alone can reach a wound. Only You, of the Cross where no pride rules, only You could Hem the Streets of my Hannah,

I begin to shed all need of social acceptance. As I breathe, I understand this isn’t as bad a place as we thought it was. Humiliation can wear a crown of thorns. It can disgrace vanity: its stronghold. Rejection bears wounds you cannot receive in courts of honour. Being hated too: ah this one can teach us one or two lessons in freedom. Freedom from that race for supremacy.

There is a State of man, woman, child: a State that is freed from the clutches of skin-deep power. You lose the craving to be loved; you can still love, perhaps more! There is no bitter. There is forgiveness, there is a certain letting-go of all other hems.

You walk valleys and climb mountains barefoot till the mountain becomes you. You cannot be a plateau anymore. Or you sink sink in waters so deep, the river takes you: here, you cannot be anything else anymore. You understand the power of that very tide that towed you off limiting shores.

Or you walked a desert so long now, its acres speak in a voice you couldn’t have heard any place else. You’re grateful for that, for the way it could run without showers or oasis for as long as it took. If you’ve run to the Hem of His garment you meet these wastelands in the Hem. You hear the voice of the Humiliated, the cast down. There is no other place that holds it all, like here. Here there is zero pride of performance, of amassed wisdom, here, you are freed from the whip of laughing scorn, it cannot tug its hook in you anymore, how I don’t know. Ask The Hem.

I woke up this morning with all that. Like I’d met Ruth and Hannah here in the Tattered edge of This. I asked a few things, He will answer in ways we will understand later. He always gives us what we ask for, or something better. (Anonymous quote)

Cover me with Your garment Lord; spread Your shield o’er an earth keeling. There are things we do not know to see. There are Secrets in these Edges , as invisible as a virus, as potent, virulent. Here I kneel my inner being, grateful for the privilege of feeling a certain ‘lowliness’. How beautiful it is, to come apart and rest in the secret place of This Freedom.


Do check below Poster: is a Live Concert, Vihan D. featuring Originals. You’ll need to be there, 6 pm to 8 pm tonight, April 23rd- Indian time, to know what else goes on. Please do.


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6 thoughts on “Hem

  1. I loved the post about Hem, somehow that is what if feels like at the moment, just clutching on where I need to because life hurts sometimes. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Letitia thankyou for being here. Disturbing place to be at, for mostly we only pray when in trouble…yes it hurts, life. You are not alone, nor I. And it is heart lifting to know prayers are heard. Not one word of yours is gone unheard. We are not alone, no matter what. Will be praying for you. I mean that


  2. a beautiful hem to cling to. Over the last 2 week We have been hanging on to the hope of Jehovah Rapha for several loved ones. (a daughter, a baby a sister) Prayers carry a power that no drug can bear.
    Be blessed as you cling…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh dear sis, surrounding you and the three dear lil ones with prayer! May the family see turnaround in healing and good days. Prayer surely carries a power no drug can bear, you’re so right. May your faith be rewarded. We get news of more and more sick people, these are troubling times, but we hold on. Thankyou for writing and for your strong heart. He’s with you😇


  3. The hem is where power resides. It is dragged through the dirt, possibly tattered but just ask the woman who suffered from constant bleeding. She knew. All she needed was to touch the hem and she would be healed.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This comment of yours I read and re-read. It’s a post all it’s own. Takes me to a whole other chapter of that story that never fails to exclude me. Thankyou for being here and leaving that note. Will treasure it. Thankyou


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