“Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief…”
On the second night of Training Camp I met a man named Chauncey Crandall. And I immediately decided I didn’t trust him. Dr. Crandall was a cardiologist and a missionary who told all of these stories about healing and the Holy Spirit, and they were just too good to be true. While I didn’t think he was lying, I just wasn’t buying it.
I can be cynical, especially when someone opens up their teaching with how the book they wrote “will change your life.” I don’t like to feel manipulated, even if it’s unintentional, and especially in regards to faith. That’s between me and God and doesn’t lie in the hands of one preacher or speaker.
So Dr. Crandall talked about healing and all of these miracles he’s witnessed. I was trying to listen to him without immediately deconstructing and analyzing every word, but there were a few things that got to me. The way he talked, you would think that all you had to do to be healed is to ask God. We all know that not everyone who prays for or is prayed for healing gets it. So I was irritated, and my squadmates next to me knew it – I wear my heart on my sleeve and more often than not on my face. The thing that really pushed it for me was Dr. Crandall’s insistence that anyone could be healed, and yet he told us how his young son had died from cancer despite years of praying for healing. Which one was it, Chauncey?
There were a lot of other stories, and once again, I don’t agree with every single thing Dr. Crandall said, but I’m not here to talk about what he said. I want to go into what happened after he stopped talking.
(Side note: now is not the time to go to the comments section and begin a theological debate. If you want to ask me more, I absolutely welcome that, but please do it privately and not here for the whole internet to see.)
“Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief.”
These three words went through my mind as I listened to Dr. Crandall finish his talk. “If all of this is real, God,” I thought, “then please, show it to me.” To be honest, I was more afraid that it was real than I was afraid that it wasn’t – if true, that kind of power was utterly terrifying.
So Dr. Crandall asked anyone who would like prayer to step forward. Here was my chance, and as I thought “what could it hurt?” I did. I was in the first row, but enough people had come forward to keep me from getting to the front of the group. I did my best to edge myself between other racers, but Dr. Crandall must not have seen me, because he skipped me.
I watched him pray for a squadmate, who immediately fell backwards to the ground.
“Just another charismatic trick.” I thought to myself. Suddenly I felt my eyes start to roll back into my skull. “No, no, I will not fall for this. I will not be manipulated. I will not be coerced.”
That’s when my right knee gave out. Then my left. And before I knew it I was in a kowtow position on the floor – on my knees, with my head to the ground and my hands over my head. I couldn’t move. I tried, but I couldn’t, as if my limbs were magnets held fast to a steel floor. Minutes ticked by as I stayed there, frozen, and as I tried to lift my head only to drop back down, I realized that the sole emotion I was feeling was fear. I couldn’t lift my head because I was afraid of what was in front of me.
What was going to be in front of me, anyway? Other racers, the worship team, AIM staff, Dr. Crandall? But then I remembered that every time someone encounters the presence of God or even just a messenger in the Bible, they fall on their faces and become “like dead men.” I didn’t dare move, for the overwhelming, irrational fear of what might happen if I did.
“Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief. Help my unbelief.”
Be careful what you wish for.
While still completely motionless, I felt like my body was rocking back and forth. I also briefly felt like I was going to puke my guts out right there on the floor of the training center – like something in my body desperately wanted out, and it wasn’t the fried rice we’d eaten for lunch. Thankfully my stomach contents stayed put, but all of these different experiences were scaring the living daylights out of me. Through all of this I still hadn’t lifted my head from the floor.
I felt someone put their hands on my back and heard them pray over me. I could tell it was a woman but didn’t have a clue who she was. I managed to sneak a peek at her nametag and saw that her name was Natalie, but I didn’t get the chance to look at her face. As she was praying, and I was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor for whatever reason, I only caught a few words here and there, but the one thing I remember was “you are safe.” And of course, just when I thought things weren’t going to get any more bizarre, you guessed it, they did. I could feel vibrations and shockwaves coursing through my body, originating where Natalie’s hands were touching me. I knew they weren’t from her shaking or anything she was doing – at one point I could only feel her fingertips in contact with me and the vibrations were still as strong as ever.
It felt like an eternity as I kneeled there on the floor, and it wasn’t until long after all music had stopped and the night’s session had ended that I finally managed to bring myself back up, sitting cross-legged on the floor completely dumbstruck. All of my energy was drained.
Now, I’ve done some research since Training Camp about some of these things that occurred, and while there’s a lot of debate out there, I do genuinely believe this was legitimate. It felt like a crushing weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt peace and joy that I had never experienced before, and above all, I was in sheer awe of God’s power.
I had asked to see it for myself, and I did.
