Day 52
Leviticus 14-15 | Romans 14:13-15:13
Leviticus 14 lays out the process for a person healed of leprosy to be restored—not just physically, but socially and spiritually. Because lepers weren’t just sick. They were outcasts.
To be a leper in ancient Israel meant total separation. No contact with family. No place in the community. No ability to worship in the temple. It was a living death—one in which the pain of the disease was matched only by the pain of isolation.
I don’t have leprosy. But I do know what it’s like to feel cut off from the world.
And the hardest part? No one really understands it.
The Loneliest Tuesday
I think back to the first Tuesday after I got home from the hospital.
Talacey went to work that morning. She dropped Sophia off at school on her way. And then, suddenly, I was alone.
And it was terrifying.
No work emails to check—my company had locked me out while I was on medical leave.
No breakfast to make—because I only had one functioning hand.
No coffee to drink—because caffeine constricts blood vessels, and I needed circulation to keep my reattached fingers alive.
No walking around the block—because I was still too unstable.
No TV to mindlessly watch—because we don’t have cable by choice, and I quickly grew tired of listening to the news.
So I sat.
In a silent house.
With nothing to do.
Nowhere to go.
No one to talk to.
And for the first time since the accident, the reality of it all closed in.
I had spent the last week surrounded by doctors and nurses. The hospital was noisy. The days were busy. So were the nights—only in a hospital do they wake a guy up to take a sleeping pill.
Then, over the weekend, family and friends came to visit.
But during the week? The silence was deafening. The loneliness, absolute.
Everyone else was at work. At school. Living life. Moving on with normal.
Everyone but me.
And that was the hardest part—because no one really understood what this new reality felt like.
The walls felt closer. The day felt longer. The isolation was suffocating.
By the time the girls got home that evening, I was desperate to see people. To move. To do something. So they took me to Costco, and we just walked around for an hour.
Not because we needed anything.
But because I was going out of my mind.
And the tightness in my chest was at an all-time high.
What Do We Do With the Isolated?
Leviticus 14 doesn’t just tell us how a leper was healed. It tells us how a leper was welcomed back.
Sacrifices were made. Rituals were performed. The priest himself went outside the camp to meet the leper where he was.
And once the process was complete, the man was restored—not just to health, but to the community.
He was seen again. Touched again. Brought back in.
And that’s exactly what Romans 15 calls us to do.
“Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.” (Romans 15:7)
People are isolated for all kinds of reasons. Sin. Suffering. Shame. Sickness. Depression.
And if we aren’t careful, we keep them there.
Not intentionally—just by not noticing.
But Christ noticed us.
He stepped outside the camp to meet us in our isolation.
He bore our shame so we could be brought back in.
He took the judgment we deserved so we could be fully welcomed.
And now, we get to do the same for others.
Who Needs You?
Who do you know that’s living in a kind of isolation right now?
A widow who eats dinner alone every night.
A single mom who never has a night off.
A neighbor who just moved to town and doesn’t know anyone.
A friend who has drifted from church and doesn’t know how to come back.
A prisoner who simply needs a letter from a brother or sister on the outside.
Who is sitting in silence, waiting for someone—for you—to notice?
Who needs a text? A visit? An invitation?
The weight of isolation is heavy.
But the love of Christ makes our burden light.
Lord, thank You for meeting me in my loneliness. Give me eyes to see those who feel unseen. Make me quick to notice, quick to reach out, and quick to welcome, just as You have welcomed me. Amen.