I thought I might write about my experience of healing, of being healed that is, not my praying for others to be healed, that could be for another time.
I have a lifelong history of God healing me when I’ve been suffering from one condition or another. I have taken a while to get around to writing about it, because some of it makes me feel rather vulnerable. I’m sure you’ll understand why when you’ve read my story.
God first healed me when I was a baby, I had a skin condition which was very painful which he sorted out in a moment, my mum had taken me forward for prayer at the end of a meeting and when she got me home from church it was all gone, my skin was restored to normal. I heard the dramatic story (more detail than I’m going to give here!) from my mum as I grew up, it gave me a sense of God being interested and involved, not simply someone distant I was supposed to believe in.
My most important healing was later. At 11 years old I had a cycling accident which resulted in a serious skull fracture.
A strange part of the incident is how my mum heard of it. I was about two or three roads away from home and while laying in the road drifting in and out of consciousness I called out for her, the weird thing is, she heard me.
She ran, knowing something was desperately wrong, only to find me with blood coming from my ear, nose, and mouth, clearly in a bad way. She was terrified, but handled the gathering crowd and looked after me. I think only the parent of an injured child will understand the fierce emotions she must have had to deal with as she waited for the ambulance and then watched and waited until we arrived in the hospital.
I remember little of this time thankfully, though I do recall waking in the corridor as I was rushed from one place to another. My only other memory from that first week is stirring into vague awareness and seeing my dad leaning over the side of the bed.
I was unconscious for the best part of a week and in hospital for three weeks.
When I was discharged I discovered to my distress and embarrassment that I had been left with epilepsy, I know there is nothing to be ashamed of in any condition like this, but for some reason this is what I felt. I was eleven, my family was already split apart, and now I had a condition which made me feel even more different from my friends, I felt wretched. It meant I withdrew from life, I tended to stay home where I felt safe, loved, and known.
Fast forward to when I was 22 years old, my husband and I had been married five years and our eldest son was one year old. We belonged to a small Baptist church, we hadn’t heard much, if any, teaching in church about healing, but as is often the case, we learnt from books and cassette tapes (remember those?) that there was more to this Christian life than we were hearing about on a Sunday.
We went along to an outreach and worship event which was happening locally and loved what we heard and saw. As the week went on there were often times for prayer and healing during the meetings.
One evening as they spoke of coming for prayer if it was needed, I felt God ask me if I wanted him to heal me of the epilepsy. I was surprised, I’d have asked him to heal me of a cold, who wouldn’t, there’s not much faith risk…after all, I would have been fairly sure I’d improve in time anyway, but the thought of praying for healing of such a condition had never occurred to me. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, not for me, and probably not for anyone else either. It wasn’t a personal thing, I just didn’t think he did that sort of thing anymore. It wasn’t anything I’d heard of except in books and then only in other countries, and so my faith for that was undeveloped.
Okay, back to the moment I hear him ask me if I want him to heal me, it seemed almost like a challenge, a sort of ‘Well, do you?’ I said yes, and wondered what would happen next…if anything.
Nothing happened there and then, I didn’t even respond to the invitation to receive prayer, I just had this brief conversation with God, the meeting finished, my husband and I chatted with people and then went home.
I know, you’d think it would be a bit more dramatic wouldn’t you!
Stories I had heard of people being healed (as I say, in other countries, and probably at other times), told that they had often thrown away their medication, but I thought this was foolish and wasn’t going to risk it, so I said to God, that if he was able to heal me he was also able to tell me when to stop taking my tablets, (I really didn’t fancy having an epileptic seizure while I was out shopping, so I wasn’t going to rush into anything without good reason).
As I said this, I heard him say ’21 days’, so I marked off the length of time on the calendar and carried on taking the meds until then. I stopped taking them on the 21st day and nothing dramatic happened, not then, nor since. I never had a seizure again. And that is a rather…ahem….long time ago.
My doctor rang some months later and asked why I hadn’t requested anymore prescriptions, I told him why, his comment made me laugh, he said, ‘Well, I haven’t the authority of the person you mention, but I’d have liked to have known what was going on.’ It was apparent he was in an office full of people and so he wasn’t going to mention God!
I have other stories of being healed, but this post is already long, so I’ll keep those for another day, maybe.
I suppose what I would like is for you to know that he does heal, he does speak, even today, even here, and even to me and you.
It doesn’t have to be dramatic, it can be quite quiet, almost a nonevent to the onlooker, but that ‘nonevent’ can be life changing.
Don’t let the lack of experiencing this sort of thing so far stop you asking him for things you would love him to for you, or for those you long to see impacted by God.
He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.