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The Slow Road to Healing

I remember the first (and only) time a church body laid hands on me and prayed for my healing.

People were speaking in tongues and some others were singing hallelujahs. I remember the pastor’s hand in particular. It was heavy and clammy and when he lifted it off my back I had a sweat spot on my shirt. I hoped that in all of that energy was the delivering of a mighty miracle but, to be honest, I was skeptical.

Not having grown up in a Pentecostal church where the laying on of hands is a common occurrence, I didn’t know what to expect following my first encounter of this kind. Part of me was anticipating a crack of thunder or at least a powerful sensation in my stomach – some sort of “message received” communication from God. But none of those things happened. I felt nothing but that preacher’s sweaty palm on my back.

Despite no shock and awe, stand up and walk variety miracle, I didn’t leave the church entirely disappointed. “I bet tomorrow I’ll wake up and feel different,” I thought to myself. In my mind, all of those prayers and hallelujahs were like an antibiotic. I took them, now they just needed 24 hours to take full effect.

But, after 24 hours, still nothing had happened. And the same was true 48 and 72 hours later.

Nothing changed and nothing did change for years. In fact, just the opposite happened. Over the next seven years, I became sicker, weaker and frailer. From the outside looking in, it certainly appeared that the passionate church and sweaty palmed pastor had failed to usher in my healing. Or perhaps it was me and my lack of faith keeping my body from receiving restoration and fullness of health?

Following that experience and the lack of visible results produced by it, I stopped praying that God would perform an instantaneous miracle in my body. It’s not that I stopped believing God could perform such a wonder. It’s just that I stopped believing He would do it for me. I stopped believing that it was His will for me to be made well in a single moment and, in time, began embracing the belief that there was a purpose for my pain and suffering.

And, praise God, I was right.

For reasons far greater than my own, it was not God’s will to heal me with the snap of a finger or single touch. That wasn’t His plan for my life, my body or my testimony. Since before I was born, God wrote my story with a plot that included years of mysterious symptoms, misdiagnosis and all-out war against an invisible disease. He prepared for me a slow road to healing which, as I came to discover, is no less miraculous than an instantaneous healing.

Don’t get me wrong, instantaneous healing is wonderful and certainly a beautiful testimony to the unrivaled power and majesty of God, but it isn’t the only way God glorifies Himself through sickness. Sometimes God allows people to endure through illness and fight through disease for the specific purpose of demonstrating His unwavering faithfulness and sustaining grace. Often times, God allows pain and suffering because, in and through it, we who experience it are refined and sanctified by it. If we will allow God to have His way in our broken bodies, He will use every ache and hurt like a winnowing fork, removing the wheat from the chaff of our hearts.

Looking back now, I can honestly say that I am thankful God didn’t answer the prayers of those passionate believers who laid hands on me in church.

I am thankful God didn’t give me what I thought I wanted, which was a “pick up your mat and walk” miracle because, had He answered that prayer, I would have missed out on the spiritual regeneration He had in store for me. Had God let me skip out on my extended healing journey, I wouldn’t have had my faith strengthened in the fire of trials and tests. Had I not traveled along the lengthy path of chronic illness, I wouldn’t have the honor of sharing a story that includes being sustained at 65 pounds, upheld with failing organs and carried on a skeletal frame.

I am who I am today because God took me down the slow road to healing. That was His will for me and I will boast in it because it is indeed a wonderful story that glorifies and honors the Almighty God.

If you’re sick, suffering or struggling because God hasn’t healed you yet, I pray this story encourages you. I also hope it reminds you that your story is no less miraculous than someone who experiences a shock and awe miracle moment. Your story, no matter how slowly it might be unfolding, was written specifically for you by God, for your good and His glory. Trust Him with every detail. Remain patient when the timing doesn’t go your way. And keep looking for the mini-miracles along the way, because I promise that if you look into your heart, you’ll see them unfolding all the time.

 

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

~ Isaiah 41:10

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A Letter to Americans…

“In this world you will have trouble…”

Remember back in March when our greatest concern was running out of toilet paper? We searched high and low, rejoicing when we found a four pack of not so soft Angel Soft (I trust I’m not the only one). When Walmart finally started receiving regular shipments of Quilted Northern Ultra, we thought the worst was over.

Oh, how naive we were.

By April, the magnitude of our nation’s crisis was in full view – and I’m not talking about the coronavirus crisis. I’m talking about America’s constitutional crisis. The true COVID19 numbers never supported the 24/7 hysteria, doomsday panic sold by the media since the mortality rate for the virus is in the same ballpark as the seasonal flu. As April came to a close, this fact was coming into full view and yet that’s when our governors and state leaders doubled down on lock downs, business restrictions and mandates. We all watched as a virus called fear was further manipulated to achieve one end: usurp freedom from we the people and enlarge control of government and corporate entities.

As if that wasn’t trying enough, May came along and with it the case of George Floyd. While rule following, law-abiding citizens were still living under the restrictive thumb of tyrants, those same tyrants joined millions of protesters in the streets. They marched. They chanted. And at night they burned, rioted and looted our nation’s cities.

On the ground of cities such as Minneapolis, Portland and Chicago, the scene was like that of a war zone and, yet, something strange was happening during the violent outbreaks. Media silence. As those of us with the mind to search out the truth tuned into live feeds showing mass destruction and chaos, mainstream sources barely covered or falsely covered the uprisings. Instead, they called the rioters “justified” and classified the protesters as “peaceful” – even when cop cars were ablaze in the news anchor’s camera shot.

In between these major crises, there were murder hornets, talk of UFOs and a strange disappearance of hand soap from the store shelves. At one point, cancel culture went berserk, forcing Aunt Jeremiah and Uncle Ben off pancake mixes and boxes of rice nationwide. Then, in the heat of the summer, strictly enforced mask mandates mounted, despite dramatically falling COVID19 death rates.

And that was all before we said goodbye to August.

By the time September rolled around, devastating “wildfires” were raging all over the west coast. Some sources told us that the cause was global warming but the images of arsonists carrying gas tanks and chain saws revealed the truth. These fires were and continue to be yet another deliberate attempt to destabilize and destroy the land of the free and home of the brave.

Meanwhile, all around the country, families with kids have been steeped in confusion over bizarre school policies. Plexiglass shields, students seated six feet apart in the lunchroom and hybrid learning, we have been told, are all part of the “new normal.” But there never was and never will be anything normal about the dehumanizing rules imposed on man to keep him in an unending state of submission.

There is nothing normal about living in fear of germs, hiding behind plastic shields or being assaulted for dawning an unmasked smile in the grocery store.

There is nothing normal about burning down cities, demonizing and defunding police, and stocking the flames of racial division.

There is nothing normal about normalizing pedophilia and exploiting children’s sexuality (see California’s recent law and Cuties for more about this disturbing development).

If it wasn’t already clear to you, I hope it is now: we are at war.

Without a formal declaration or call to enlist, you and I and every person in America has been thrust into a battle for the heart of our nation and future of our republic. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are in the cross hairs. The fundamental truths that “all men are created equal” and “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights” are hanging in the balance.

The question is, which side are you fighting for? Are you standing for freedom or are you succumbing to the slavery of fear? Are you defending liberty or kneeling to the tyrants who seek to own and control your destiny?

There is no “GET OUT OF WAR FREE” card or exemption from this fight. There is nowhere to run and no place to hide. Like or not, we are all on one side of the battlefield or the other. There is no in-between or place of neutrality. We must all choose to stand with either the good or the evil; the freedom lovers or the freedom usurpers; the God-fearing or the godless.

Dear Reader, the time to awaken is here. The time to choose a side is upon us. The time to stand is now.

 

“But take heart! I have overcome the world.” – Jesus {John 16:33}