Tag: Healing

Posted on

Praise Him in the Storm, Part 2

After the last post, I would like to share with you a bit about one of God’s Saints who defined the strength of faith and the ability to praise Him in a storm. We should all be gifted enough in our lives to know someone like this. I was fortunate enough to be loved and blessed by this daughter of our King. Cynthia (my wife) grew up with and got into the mischief of her youth with Donna. I came to know her later in life but was instantly given a place in her heart and the hearts of her family. She was still full of mischief and the sparkle in her eyes was a beautiful advertisement for what was brewing in her head. Sadly, we lost this precious light after a crushing storm. These words are in memoriam to Donna after the storm.

Donna’s storm

Donna was diagnosed in September of 2016 as having Glioblastoma, a very aggressive, devastating form of brain cancer. This is the same cancer as John McCain was diagnosed with. I must say here that I am not a doctor nor am I a trained clinician, I have a layman’s understanding and must speak as a layman. When Donna was first diagnosed, she was given only three months to live if she went untreated. If she agreed to the rigorous treatment plan she might have a year. Donna prayed with her family and friends for guidance and for healing. In the end, she decided to follow the doctor’s advice and try to remove the tumor.  Surgery was a success and the surgeon proclaimed that scans showed that they “had gotten it all.”

The insidious thing about this particular cancer is that it grows appendages that dig deep into the brain. On the ends of those appendages the cancer plants seeds in the brain’s tissue. As I understand things, it is nearly impossible to remove all of this deadly intruder. As you might surmise, “we got it all” soon turned into the cancer is back and it has grown. Donna’s faith never wavered. She kept believing in God’s healing Grace. She told everyone that all was well, that she was in God’s hands.

Donna and her husband, Fred, traveled to MD Anderson Cancer Institute in Houston, TX, for treatments that left her drained and sickened. Away from her family and loved ones, living in a travel trailer loaned by a friend for weeks at a time; Donna and Fred did the best that they could to live a “normal” life and they never stopped praising God for His goodness. They never stopped witnessing about the healing power of God, of the love of the Father.

There were many treatments. Many trips to MD Anderson. Houston soon became their second home. The tumor’s growth might slow for a bit but it continued to grow. Donna continued to tell everyone that God would heal her of her cancer. She continued to inspire all whom she came into contact with because of her trust in the Lord. We continued to pray but Donna was getting weaker and the effects of her cancer were taking their toll. During all her ordeal there had been momentary breaks in the clouds, the rain had slackened up for a bit but the storm still raged. For everyone except Donna.

Always His

Her family was constantly gathered at her side. Though she was now spending most of her time confined to bed, weak and hardly able to speak above a whisper, her faith in God was so many times larger than the tumor that refused to relent. “I’m in God’s hands”, she would tell us in her labored breath. We began to hold vigil as Donna slept. Having to be content with holding her hand, whispering I love you in her ear, kissing her brow while there appeared no let up in the storm.

Donna’s Storm is Over

At 5:45 AM on August 30, 2017, the storm was over. Donna left this world behind. Her suffering was over. She had been right all along, she was in God’s hands, in His loving arms. As she took her last breath on this earth, she took the next breath in Paradise. She is looking down on her family and loved ones from Heaven, doing exactly what she always did. She is praising God, walking with Jesus, and casting her love out to all those whom she counted hers.

Cyn and Donna

Donna had proven more right than we had known. God might not have healed her cancer in this world but He had certainly healed her in the next world. Her illness, as horrible as it was, had been for the good. She blessed her children and grandchildren with her ever solid faith. Donna was a shining example of what we should all aspire to be. Donna lived her life in this world for the Glory of God. She shared her faith with so many people. My friend had been a Warrior for Christ and through her faith, she became the Hero of many. She certainly found a triumphant reception in Heaven. Donna has found the rainbow after the storm.

 

Posted on

Healing Revealed… No Theatrics Required

As I left the true story of my soul-crushing experience with the fake healer/showman/thief who robbed God’s people of both their money and a true miracle; I was burdened with playing a part in persuading some that miracles and healing do not happen. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Miracles and miraculous healing happen as surely as we all draw breath. In fact, if one is in doubt of this very statement I invite you to watch the birth of a child. I believe that a live birth of a tiny human being is one of the most overlooked miracles in this world. Friends, this ain’t no cosmic sneeze. Miracles exist all around us. No special effects are required, no smoke and mirrors… No theatrics necessary.

As I previously left off, I was in a funk. Unable to reconcile my part in a horrible sham. The feeling of guilt was hard to shake and I had begun to question whether all faith healers and evangelists were involved in the same type of hoax. In my heart of hearts, I knew that this last could not be true, but there were so many of these televangelists out there working this same angle or something similar. One touted working miracles if you made a contribution wherein he sent you a piece of one of his ties somehow through which miracles would happen. One beseeched you to lay your hands on the television and your divine healing would take place. My mind kept asking, “ what if?”

Where had healing gone

Scriptures are clear, but we have traveled so far down the darkened path from the healing that Jesus and His Disciples performed in the Bible. The Church, somewhere around 300 years after Jesus, began to take healing out of the hands of the faithful and hoarded it, only to be done by the priesthood.  Healing in the name of Christ Jesus and done by the Holy Spirit nearly stopped being practiced because of jealousy. The clergy wanted all the cool stuff for themselves! How dare the rabble, whom they felt beneath their lofty position, lay claim to such a gift from God? For decades, centuries even, healing slipped out of sight. People began to feel that it no longer existed. That the Holy Spirit had, somehow, lost the will or power to heal.

Never really gone

Healing has enjoyed a bit of resurgence in recent years, thanks in part to the faith of some true believers in Jesus Christ. There had been no statute of limitations in the New Testament. Jesus did not write an expiration date to the “Great Commission.”  He never said, “Hey, you guys go out and spread the Good News, heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out demons, but give it a rest after a couple hundred years.” Thanks to the likes of Billy Graham, Francis and Judith MacNutt, and many others, healing is enjoying a revival.

Personal revelation

My wife and I were invited to attend a healing conference put on by St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, the Church we attended in Collierville, TN.  This was somewhere around 2010. I was to run sound for the weekend and my wife was to receive healing prayer because she suffered from Fibromyalgia for many years. Fibro, for those who are not familiar, is a chronic pain disorder that is still somewhat of a mystery and it absolutely cripples many of its sufferers.  Cynthia was one of those who suffered the pain and several related disorders including Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  She had taken nearly every drug known to modern medicine to end her pain, including up to five doses of morphine daily. Nothing was entirely effective and many were not effective for long. We welcomed any attempt to stop her suffering.

There were around 60 people who attended the conference. The headline speaker was an Episcopal Priest from the United Kingdom. He was humbly and comfortably dressed. He looked a little like the Renaissance paintings of St. Nicholas. A jolly sort with a comfortable, disarming voice. His honesty and sincerity were beyond a doubt. He talked about healing and how he had seen it take hold of many who had faith enough to believe it could happen. He was careful to state that he didn’t feel that people were infirm because of a lack of faith or that they were somehow at fault for their maladies. Sinfulness might not be the reason for their illness.

He made quite the impression. Not because he was some kind of showman, quite the contrary. He believed that Jesus Christ had given His followers a gift. Those followers, with the help of the Holy Spirit, could come to Him in prayer and because of His mercy and love for us, He would grant more than we might hope to ask. The Grace of God was palpable in the room. Our speaker believed and we were convinced that he was right. It is a wonderful place to stand, in the midst of a blossoming, spring-like eruption of Faith.

Come Holy Spirit

The time to test our new-found confidence came and Cyn stepped forward to take a seat before Father Jeff Marx, Jean Woods, and Mike Gibson. These three were our friends. Like us in many ways. I will be forever grateful for their faith in workings of the Holy Spirit. I stood behind my wife with my hands on her shoulders. Our prayer warriors began to pray. They were soft, sincere, comforting and they prayed to God as though he was sitting in our midst. As you know, Christ promised to be in our midst when two or more of us were gathered in His name. The three prayed, they shed tears and they asked Jesus to heal my wife, to remove her pain. There were no harsh spotlights, no microphones. There was only heartbreaking realism as these three faith-filled disciples of Christ poured out their energy in prayer to the Savior, the Healer. They begged Jesus to turn my wife into the person that He already saw her as, his perfect child.

What began to happen next was the part that got my attention and proved to me before the praying stopped that the Holy Spirit had been present in that small, still place.  The room was full of small groups who were praying their own prayers. We were not alone but the others may as well have been miles away. All I could hear was the sound of these wonderful prayers and my wife’s quiet tears. To my amazement, I began to feel a power, like an electrical current, traveling up my arms from the spot where my hands lay gently on Cyn’s shoulders. I could not have moved my hands if I had wanted to move them. I knew at that moment that my wife was being healed and that I was being included in the miracle of God’s Presence. I was being marked just as Thomas had been marked as a true believer when he put his fingers in the wounds on the resurrected Christ’s side. From that moment, that precise moment, I would never doubt again.

The praying stopped. Everyone in our little group was exhausted. Most had tears visible on their angelic faces. Cynthia sat for a moment, unable to stand on unsteady legs. We all knew that something amazing had happened. We had witnessed a miracle. Had been a conduit for the Power of our living Savior. He loved us not just enough to show up, He loved us enough to keep His promise and granted far more than was asked. Cynthia slowly stood, a look of pleasant awe on her face. She was spent. I helped her upstairs to a room in the venue where she could rest. She rejoined us a couple hours later after a restorative nap. She knew that she was different. We all did. She would never be as she had once been.  She had been touched by the healing power of prayer. Christ had laid his hands on her just as surely as I had.

It is now several years later. Cynthia has never, since that blessed day, had to take another morphine pill. She quit them cold, with no withdrawal. She still gets tired but she is no longer in pain. She is, as I have been, blessed beyond measure by the personal touch from our Creator. We will never again have any doubts about the healing power of prayer. Our God is just waiting to hear from us. He is always faithful. He is ever Merciful. No special effects, no smoke, and mirrors needed.

Seek and Ye shall find

Unfortunately, we turned to God as somewhat of a last resort. Sadly, it had not been our first approach to healing. Sadder indeed, is that we were not the only ones who turn to the Healer late in our need. He is only a bowed head, a trusting heart, and fervent prayer away. The coolest part is that He wants to show us how much He loves us. All we have to do is to give Him the chance.

 

Posted on

Confession is good for the soul

This is the true story of a series of events that took place back in the mid-80’s in Little Rock, AR. I am sharing the details with you as a sort of confession. After all, I’ve been told that “confession is good for the soul.” I believe that my very soul was battered and bruised as I was associated with some heinous activities, done in the name of the Lord. The names I shall use are real. Because these are true facts, witnessed by more than a few people at the time of occurrence, I have no need to fear a suit for slander nor defamation of character. I am neither judge nor jury but I must believe that God will surely call the guilty to account for these crimes upon His children that were perpetrated in His Name.

As I stated, the story begins in the mid-1980’s. I was working in the Production Department at an independent UHF TV station in Little Rock when two others and I were approached to do some freelance work outside the station for a three-night televangelist’s program to take place in our Convention Center. The pay was good, very good, and the event did not interfere with our day jobs so Dan, John and I agreed to take on the project. I was to run sound while John and Dan were to run cameras. We arrived at the venue at the appointed time and met with the director. We should have turned on our heels and run with his first question.

After introductions and the slightest of niceties, the Director’s first question shot straight to the mark. He asked us, “Are any of you particularly religious?” As you might imagine, we three were a bit taken aback. Our best-shocked response was to tell him that two of us were Catholic and one was Baptist but we would be okay with whatever took place. I had no idea how sadly wrong I had been.

We began to get our instructions for the event and our eyes were further widened. John and Dan were told by the Director that, “sex sells.” He only wanted to see pretty ladies and handsome men on camera, dressed in nice clothes, showing bright smiles. He didn’t want to see shots of the common men or women. No video of country-looking people in overalls and jeans. I should remind you again that this was Little Rock, AR. The middle of a very agriculturally oriented state with people who were quite happy to be living a bucolic life. I like country folks. I like small towns. I was offended. The vast majority of the attendees would have been too. Again, we should have bolted.

The house filled to capacity. We were SRO (Standing Room Only) and a feeling of expectant reverence filled the hall. One could look about the crowd and tell that there were a lot of people that just wanted to be in the Presence, to witness something Holy, to see first-hand a miracle. Many of these people had brought every hard-earned dime they could put together to contribute to the work of God.

When the lights came up to reveal the star of the show the crowd received him with awe. W.V. Grant stood before this house in all his resplendent glory. I was no stranger to Mr. Grant. Our station aired his shows. I had already formed an opinion on his preaching. It should suffice to say that I believe he was not the man that the late Billy Graham was. I had always thought him to be more close to a snake-oil salesman. Not the kind of guy with whom I would entrust my salvation. I would come to find out that he was that and more (or less).

He knew how to work a crowd. I will give him that. He strode the stage like a cat. Before long he had his prey in the trap. The sheep were ready for fleecing. John and Dan were instructed to shut down their cameras and step away from the camera positions as Grant’s minions passed the KFC-sized buckets for collection. Grant wanted no videotape evidence of the plate (bucket) passing. I was beginning to feel really uncomfortable.

The collection ended and W.V. Grant set about the real work of closing the trap. The “healing” portion of the program was about to be staged. Low and behold, the Director gave instructions to the cameramen describing the “miracle” that was about to happen. He described in detail how the subject to be healed would react. Exactly how he/she would swoon. How and where he/she would throw their cane or crutches into the crowd.

I must stop here and say that I believe with all my heart that God works miracles and heals through prayer. I have witnessed it first hand (that is a story for another day). I do not believe that he tells a director in a production truck ahead of time exactly how it will transpire.

People came forward to be healed and with each one, the Director knew just how it would play out. The crowd was mesmerized. I was sick at my stomach. The trap had been skillfully set and closed on the unsuspecting prey.

Another collection was made. The same instructions were given to the cameramen. In fact, there were five, yes five, collections taken each night. I just knew that the Pulaski County Sherrif’s Department would be waiting for us when we left. These poor sheep, God’s flock, were being fleeced by a fraud. This swindler robbed these people as surely as if he held them at gunpoint. And I was not only a witness, I had been a coward and done nothing to stop it. To make matters worse, I came back for two more nights and the scenario was identical, right down to the people who were healed.

These needy souls, in search of a touch from God, came by the hundreds, by the thousands, to be nearer to their God who works miracles. Their faith drove them to the venue as surely as their cars brought them. They paid for tickets, for the privilege of being near His Holy Presence and they were violated, robbed by the very man from whom they expected great things.

I know that sin is sin and I have been told that there are no degrees of sinfulness. I have a bit of trouble with that. I have always seen someone who has raped a child, vandalized a church, or committed some other terrible crime against God to have committed a more weighty sin than say a shoplifter. I’m still working on that.

I make no excuses for my part in this sham. I can only say that I was not then the man I am now. This series of events actually helped to form the future Bill. I spent a lot of time in prayer in the days following. I spent much time telling God of my shame and begging to be forgiven. The telling of this story serves a couple of purposes. My conscience is finally clear, and maybe in the telling, someone else might not fall prey to this thief in preacher’s clothing.

( As a Post Script to this writing, in case you are curious, Grant’s shady character did catch up to him this side of Heaven. He was convicted of tax evasion and sent to prison after taking funds from his church in Dallas, TX to make a downpayment on his million dollars plus home there and never bothering to report the $100,000 as income. Upon his release from prison, he has returned to his “ministry.”)

Posted on

To everything there is a season…

Nearly every breathing soul on earth is familiar with this message. Whether from the song written in the 1950’s by Pete Seeger and made famous by the Byrds (Turn! Turn! Turn!), circa 1965. Or with the Bible passage from which it was taken.

1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.                                                                       (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 KJV)

I have been observing a season for healing and introspection. I had a knee replaced during the week of Thanksgiving. Recovery and rehabilitation has been an adventure that has taken a great chunk of my energies and most of my strength during the last 12 weeks. The good news, as always, is that God is good, all the time and I have come to find that my recovery is more than I bargained for.

That is the story. That is the message in the Bible passage. This is my story of the season that I found myself knee-deep (pardon the pun) in after my surgery.

Let me say first, that my surgery went off without a hitch. I had a great surgeon and the best nurses that I might have imagined. My physical therapist had me up and walking the halls of the hospital the day of surgery. Through the miracle of modern pharmacology, the pain was manageable and I couldn’t wait to be released for home. I got to go home on schedule and the storm clouds of impending difficulty began to form.

The doctor generously prescribed some strong (really strong) pain medicine which I took like clockwork and in a smaller-than-prescribed dose. Before the week was gone, the storm had fully developed and I found myself cut off from my version of reality and comfort. The narcotics had in effect turned me into a radish. I was, seriously, unable to form a coherent sentence. I was lost and alone in an uncomfortable daze. As I have previously confessed; I am no stranger to drugs and their effects on the user but this was something different. This was no blissful fog. I was not stoned as in the seventies. I was utterly and completely zombied.

Dose upon dose of this mind-numbing stuff and I found myself in a sort of void, a sensory vacuum. The worst part was that I began to feel isolated, especially so from God. I know, this sounds pretty melodramatic, but it was my reality, as skewed as it was.

I tried to say my prayers and not only could I not form my thoughts but I could not feel the presence of God at all. I was terrified! I am a pretty big guy and haven’t been really afraid of much in my life but this shook me to my core. I broke down as the storm washed over me. I felt that my soul was being battered by the terrible wind and drowned in the torrential downpour. I cried out the only way I knew how and I realized that the downpour was coming from within me.  Tortured by fear and shame I shook and wept over having somehow lost God. My wife at my side, she reassured me that this was all the work of the evil one and that deep inside I knew that my God would never forsake me. I knew that when we are not strong enough to cling to God, that is when he tightens his grip on us. He is faithful to never let us slip from his loving grasp.

This marked the beginning of my season to heal and to start some pretty serious soul searching. With God’s help and with Cynthia’s soothing words in my ears I began to see a break in the turbulence of the storm.  I concentrated harder and was able to reach out beyond the darkness, finding (at last) my God. He was right where he always is, waiting with open arms. I prayed hard, pouring out my fear and need. I realize that this all sounds overmuch and I suppose you would be correct in your thinking so. However, as the singer/songwriter Zach Williams reminds us, “fear is a liar”, and this had been the Mother of all Fears.

By the time my prayers had ended, I had promised the Father that I would put away the Oxy bottle and if He would help me with the pain I would dedicate my hard work in physical therapy and rehabilitation to His Glory. I also promised to increase my efforts to be an example of His Love to any who would come close enough to notice.

My season progressed. I took Tylenol before therapy sessions to dull the pain of extreme exercise, used ice packs a lot and made a rapid progression from a walker to a cane to walking unassisted. I am no longer parking in handicapped spots. I am now twelve weeks post-surgery and I have returned to serving on the altar at communion, scripture reading and leading Prayers for the People in my church. I never feel closer to the Father than at these times. I am richly blessed. I am in the gym three days a week, down about 30 pounds and have even moved the driver’s seat back to its original position, as my knee now bends better than before surgery. My only complaint is that when I sit for too long my knee stiffens and aches. But that is a “me” problem. The moral of that story is that I need to be more active than sedentary.

The season that began with storms and need and fear has turned into a beautiful season of hope and rebirth and pride in my God. He loves me, He loves us and is always waiting to hear from us. He is never more than a bent knee or bowed head away. He is faithful beyond any earthly measure.