Taking the child by the hand, He said to her, “Talitha kum!” (which translated means, “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”). Immediately the girl got up and began to walk for she was twelve years old.

—Mark 5:41-42a

I am amazed by God’s care for us. In so many ways it makes no sense. He knew how things would turn out before there was a single flower or tree in the Garden of Eden. He knew the mistakes we would make. He knew the weight of the price that would have to be paid in order to atone for our rejection of Him, and He chose to go ahead with creation anyway. 

That right there is already a miracle I can’t say I’m confident I would have performed had I been the Creator of the universe. But He didn’t stop there because He then tailored a planet to all our needs, from the structure of atoms all the way to where it was placed in the solar system. Again it would seem like that’s enough, but His care for us is not limited to the atomic or cosmic levels. Because the most amazing way that He cares for us is by caring for us personally.

We get to see this personal level of care in the gospel of Mark when Jesus took care of two young women. They’re pretty well-known stories—the healing of the woman with the issue of blood and the healing of Jairus’s daughter. 

Jesus is on His way to heal Jairus’s daughter when the woman who had been bleeding for 12 years saw Him in the street and decided to touch the hem of His garment. Immediately Jesus noticed that power had gone out of Him and He stopped in the middle of the crowd and asked who touched Him. When the woman comes forward, His reaction is so kind and shows so much care.

Even though He was on His way to do something very important, He stops to talk to her, saying, “‘Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your affliction.’” We don’t know exactly how long this interaction took place, and the statement seems simple enough, but when God speaks, there is often more to the words than meets the eye.

The word translated as “daughter” is a word that asserts a relationship. When used in a familial sense, the relationship is clear, but it can also be used as a term of endearment meaning “my young lady” when not referring to a blood relative. With either meaning, Jesus is telling this woman who has been an outcast for 12 years, that she is a welcome member of the family.

One of my favorite things I have learned about my Savior is that He sees me. I’m not talking about the sensation of seeing me physically, but the fact that He sees past the physical—He sees me. The reality of who I am as a person, and He doesn’t turn away. It’s a level of intimacy that seems mutually exclusive from the acceptance and love that go along with it, and to make matters even more dumbfounding, He doesn’t just see me. He sees everyone, every single person who has ever lived on this planet, and everyone who hasn’t gotten here yet.

What’s even more amazing is He doesn’t just see us—He also demonstrates that intimacy and love through His care for us. He’s not distant. He doesn’t just watch from afar. He comes to us. And when the woman demonstrated her faith in Him by touching the hem of His robe, He didn’t ignore it so He could keep going with His day. He stopped and added her to the family.

By the time Jesus finally makes it to Jairus’s house, his daughter is dead and mourners have assembled. After sending them away, He goes to where the girl is and speaks to her— “Talitha kum!” (Fun fact: This phrase can also be translated as “Lamb, arise.” Sounds like a bit of foreshadowing.)

Again Jesus uses a term of endearment when he speaks to the girl. Of course, His words are kind, but what I think is more special here is that Jesus isn’t talking to the dead body in front of Him—He’s talking to her. Even in death, Jesus sees her and calls her back with tenderness and care.

What a comfort. There is nothing—not illness, not being a social outcast, not even death—that can separate us from the care of El Roi, the God who sees. That care and kindness is deep and personal and will never end.