Heaven is an arm length’s away as I lay on the cotton sheets.
Jeanie’s touch tingles like I just dipped my arm through the Milky Way. She has a softness about her that is as calming as a sea mist, yet as powerful as lava sliding down the side of a volcano.
Jeanie is the goddess of healing if ever there was one. One touch from her and no fever can flourish, no rash rejoice. Viruses vanquish in her presence, cancer’s been known to recoil, for Jeanie is a light worker, a healer with a heart.
Her touch reminds me of my grandmother caressing my arm after a nightmare. “Gookle, my arm, Grandma,” I’d call out till she came running from her bedroom across the hall. I don’t recall who coined the term “Gookle,” but it stuck. She’d lay beside me, gookling away my lingering fear until I dozed off. When I had a headache, she’d strum her fingers across my forehead and gookle until the pain subsided.
From my earliest years, the laying on of hands has meant healing. Seems I was sick a lot, and whether it was an oily thumb pressed to my head in the evangelical church I grew up in, or a jarring backrub from dad when I had the flu, I always felt better when a friendly face would do more than send a smile my way or offer me a bowl of soup. I always preferred to be touched.
As an adult, I realize that there’s more than just skin rubbing skin when people touch — there’s an exchange of energy. When a person touches another to make them feel better, there’s an unseen life force that reaches beyond the physical and into the etheric body of the afflicted, improving their health as well as their attitude.
Jesus demonstrated his healing touch a number of times. From the lady who touched his robe and stopped bleeding to the leper whose sores instantly disappeared, Jesus rewarded those who believed. Mark 6:5 says Jesus, “Could do no miracle there except that He laid His hands on a few sick people and healed them.”
I’ve witnessed a lame man toss his crutches and walk. I’ve seen a lady in respiratory distress cured as my mother stroked her throat.
Touch is powerful. At the most basic level, it offers sympathy and celebration. At the most intimate level, it’s a catalyst for love or an antidote for pain, but at its most miraculous, touch, when accompanied by faith, is an invitation for the divine light of God to infuse our soul’s and heal our bodies.
So, as Jeanie’s fingertips glaze over my shoulders, a ripple of delight making me giggle, I thank her for healing everything from my head to my heart.
Experiencing the effects of healing hands over the years has made me a believer in the power of touch, and I’m more encouraged than ever to contribute to a healthier world whenever I can — to channel love through my fingers even if it’s through the strokes on my keyboard.
Michele Zirkle Marcum is a native of Meigs County and an author. Her column appears each Tuesday.
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