With all the rain we've had lately, my joints --knees, back, ribs-- have been a mess. So when I got up this morning, it took me quite a while to decide to go to church because given that my knees tend to lock up after 10 minutes of non-motion, the idea of sitting in a chair for 90 minutes was entirely unappealing. Eventually, however, I hauled myself upstairs, got dressed, and off we went.
When we got there, I stopped to talk to my friend Tina and happened to mention my creaky joints. We chatted briefly about the idea of healing and she said a quick prayer for me, and then I packed away the interaction in my mind and joined everyone else inside.
What I didn't know was that the entire service would be about healing. The guest speaker --who has a healing ministry-- talked about God's kindness and how it's in His very nature to heal. I heard what he had to say and teared up multiple times because healing is an extremely difficult topic for me for very obvious reasons: if God wants to heal, then why didn't He heal Logan? I poured my heart and soul and every bit of emotion I could muster into begging for my son's life for 18 grueling months, but that earthly healing I so desperately wanted didn't come. Six plus years later and I still don't know exactly how to cope with that brand of heartache, nor do I know what to do with the crushing feelings of disappointment when they arise. And I know that I have to accept it as my reality because no one on this side of Heaven will ever be able to make it make sense.
I guess it's fair to say that I've probably prayed pretty timid prayers since he died; it's not uncommon for me to mutter 'okay, God, just do whatever You want to do and make me okay with it.' The expectations I once held --the notion that God not only could but would do great things-- are muted, softened, weathered like a piece of ocean rock. I don't think I gave up, per se, but I definitely stopped hoping for anything extraordinary.
Anyhow, toward the end of the service, he asked anyone in the room who needed healing --any kind: physical, emotional, relational-- to stand up. Given that I'm a mess in multiple areas, it didn't take me long to rise to my feet, and I opted to focus on my most immediate and obvious need: the physical discomfort. I won't lie: I didn't feel any difference in my knees. But at one point, in the silence, I felt like God said "It's time." Time for healing for me.
I don't really know what that will look like, to be honest, because I'm covered with so many sore spots and raw areas that I don't even know if I can open myself up enough to be reached by that healing touch. But for the first time in a very long while, I'll try. And trying is often the best first step we can take.
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