I find blogging to be fun
and sometimes addictive
no, not really.
Except for me it is.
Just to be able to sit at a computer and use my hands to write is a miracle.
Here’s the story:
In 1995, I woke up with a dull, niggling pain in my shoulder pain. No big deal and I didn’t think much of it except to notice it. Over the period of weeks to follow, however, I began to pay attention.
Prior to the niggling pain, I enjoyed writing, crafting, cooking and reading and as the pain went from niggling to intense fire burning down my entire spine and my left arm, I lost the ability to do all of those things. Repetitive motion with my arms was incredibly painful. At the time, I worked at the American Red Cross doing database management and had to give up that job as well.
So began the rounds of trips to doctors and chiropractors. During the next 8 years of chronic pain, I had five different diagnoses and absolutely no relief. I spent two years seeing a chiropractor 3X a week and did all the exercises recommended by a physical therapist but absolutely no relief. I went to healing services held by people like Benny Hinn, Richard Roberts and Tim Storey but absolutely no relief. I did what the Word of faith teachers taught – I confessed scriptures, I listened to healing tapes, I read the books written by famous ministers of healing and still no relief. Faith filled people layed hands on me and prayed for me, I was anointed with oil and still the pain persisted and continued to steal bits and pieces of my life. I questioned God and questioned my faith and questioned whether God still healed today and I questioned if He even heard my prayers.
One night, in late fall, our son John, who was 5, came running in from the garden he and his dad had built. He was all excited and talking about the garden he would have next spring. He talked about the flowers he would have and I asked him what kind and he told me roses. Then I asked him what color and he said red. This was an almost nightly routine. The kind of flowers and the color of them would change. This particular evening after getting the latest advice from my doctor, which was to take more pain meds and find out about Social Security disability insurance, and after putting John to bed, I broke down. I knew that if John having red roses depended on any help from me, that there would not be red roses. Not next spring or any other spring. I also knew that so many other things I had hoped to do with and for my son would not happen. What kind of mother could I be living on pain medications and always having to tell him no, I can’t do that with you today.
I decided to try one more thing. A friend had been asking if she could take me to the Healing Rooms and I had not been too willing. After all, I had been to many healing services and still had pain. But I went that next morning -what did I have to lose?
The Healing Rooms is a ministry of John G. Lake and run by volunteers. When I arrived, I was asked to fill out a questionaire explaining what I wanted prayer for. Then the prayerers took the questionaire with them and went to another room to pray for me while I waited in the lobby. After a short bit, they came and got me and began laying hands on me and praying over me.
After a few minutes, one woman said stop. Then she said, “I don’t know if this will mean anything to you or not, but when we were praying for you, I saw red roses. And not just one red rose but a whole wall of red roses. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Yes,” I said. “It means I am healed!”
And I was! I walked out pain free, threw out my pain meds and never made that call to Social Security. It has been 8 years and I have never been bothered with that pain again.
For me, blogging is miraculous.
Jesus healed me.
Why did it take 8 years?
I don’t know.
But this I know
I used to not be able to use a computer
or write with a pen
or hold a phone
or a book or my son
without excruciating pain and now I can.
And if you came to my house,
you would see red roses growing in my front yard.
Roses my son John and I planted.
Thank you Jesus.
- pain is lonely (annskaehill.wordpress.com)