I’ve always thought of spiritual healing as a slightly creepy thing. The kind of thing that’s over-dramatized on late-night T.V and left in the same realm as magic eight balls and palm reading.
This is not to say that I don’t believe in healing. I believe that prayers can heal and I believe that miracles happen. I’ve heard stories of people who’ve been diagnosed with seemingly incurable tumors or cancers, and then went to the doctor to find out their bodies had been completely restored and miraculously cured. And I also know that the Lord heals through medicine and doctors and treatments.
But I never thought the Lord could heal through my hands.
~*~
The first Friday in Nepal, we were introduced to Clem: a friend of a friend who spends his Friday nights on the streets of Thamel, going wherever he feels led to go, praying for the people he meets.
Friday night, a group of us walked to the corner with the falafel stand where we had all planned to meet, and we saw Clem praying over a man who was identified to us as the biggest drug dealer in Thamel.
The group was huge, at least too big for me, so I drifted away for a second and sat on the curb next to two of the street kids that hang out with Clem every Friday.
~*~
Before we left to walk around, we gathered in a sort of huddle to pray and ask the Lord what he had in store for the night and where exactly we should go. I’m not very good at this kind of stuff and get distracted easily, but in the middle of our prayer my leg began to hurt and the pain continued after the prayer ended. So I shared with the group, unsure of what it meant, and wishing the Lord had just said “go left” instead of making my leg hurt.
But off we went, walking through the busy streets, passing tourists and bicyclists, and the men who get too close to my face and whisper, “cocaine?? LSD??” and a jumble of other characters I can’t even begin to describe.
We kept walking, unsure of what or who we were looking for, when Clem went up to an older man, around 70, sitting in the corner of a dark building – hidden to my eyes from the shadows that enveloped him – but present all the same. We asked how he was, and he told our Nepalese friend that he was not well and had pains in his leg and his right hand that had kept him from being able to work.
He reached out his hand to show us and it was swollen and painful to even the lightest touch, his fingers curled into a harmless fist, too painful to straighten.
Once again, every one began to crowd around, and I decided to move towards the back of the group and hang out with the kids. We were just starting to have fun and teach each other dance moves when Clem called me to come over, because this was my guy. The guy with the leg pains I was still experiencing and I needed to pray for him.
So I wiggled my way to the front of the group, crouched down so the man and I would be on the same level, and laid my hands on his knee as we all began to pray.
We prayed that God would heal him – heal his hand and his leg and destroy whatever was making his body immobile and hurt. By this time I was a pro at healing prayers, because every night in India I would pray for healing for the people in the villages, but I never saw anything happen.
Tonight was different though, and in the middle of the prayer the pain in my leg ceased, it noticeably released itself from my body, and the prayers slowly began to fade and I looked up at the man so I could see his face.
It was silent, and the man slowly looked up and then back down at his hand with incredulous eyes.
He told our translator, “the pain is gone.” And then carefully, like he didn’t even believe it himself, he opened and closed his fist with the widest eyes I’ve ever seen. The biggest smile broke across his face as he was attempting to process what just happened and he began to jump around on his legs that had previously been his source of pain and confinement to the little corner that hid him.
My eyes were probably just as big as his, let’s be honest, probably bigger, and I asked again to make sure I understood what had happened and then I poked the man’s hand waiting for him to wince like he did before. But he just joined with me, poking and slapping his hands together, with a contagious amount of glee.
I was seriously amazed, and honestly, surprised.
We shared with him the Love that has power to heal. Teaching him the gospel and he accepted Christ. I guess a group of foreigners circled around an elated, jumping Nepalese man, are perfect ingredients to gather a crowd and a group of curious by-passers stopped to see what the commotion was about. The man explained to them what had happened, still hopping on his leg and opening and closing his fist, giving us the opportunity to share the Gospel with the growing crowd.
After he shared his story with everyone around, he started doing martial arts/karate kicks with an unfamiliar agility and the smile never left his face.
~*~
As we walked away to go eat dinner with the kids I turned around for one last look. And the man was stroking his beard with his newly healthy hand and as we waved goodbye he waved back at us over-emphasizing his ability to move, just because he could.
I will never forget his smile or the incredulous look in his eyes, or how my same surprise was reflected perfectly in his face.
And I will remember his face when I hear of miraculous events taking place. Whether in a hospital or the streets of a foreign city. With medicine or with our own hands.
I will remember that there is Power to heal.
I will remember that after praying for healing hundreds of times in India, that sometimes God says no, or not yet.
But I will have hope that sometimes, in the craziest and most unlikely of situations, He says:
yes.
