I’m healed.
I know what you’re thinking. “Isn’t this the girl that posted a month ago about how God can’t heal her?” “God doesn’t work that quickly.” “I really doubt that she’s healed.” “If she is, she probably never really had Celiac in the first place.”
Believe me, guys. I have had all of those thoughts and more over the past couple of weeks. “This can’t be real.” “Maybe I’m eating gluten free bread by mistake.” “Maybe I’ve got new symptoms or something.”
But no. Y’all… I’m almost afraid to type this but
God
Healed
Me.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s back up.
I had spend some time last month looking through the gospels, recording every instance where Jesus healed someone. And y’all, there are a BOOTY TON. Healing was like, Jesus’ thing. He would pop into a town, heal various diseases and then teach about the Kingdom. I don’t know why, but the words various diseases caught my attention. Surely Celiac disease could be included in that. Okay. Maybe God really can heal me.
Then, one story particularly stuck out to me. In the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, I read about a man named Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus was a blind beggar who sat outside of Jericho, and when Jesus passed by him he cried out and, well, begged Jesus to heal him. The people around him must have been tired of him or embarrassed of him or just really doubtful because they told him to shut the H up (I’m assuming). But Jesus heard the cry of His child and stopped.
“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked.
“Rabbi,” Bartimaeus replied, probably in shock, “I want to see.”
“Go,” Jesus answered. “Your faith has healed you.” And immediately Bartimaeus could see. He could see colors for the first time. He could see Jericho for the first time. He was completely healed.
I think this story struck a chord with me for a simple reason: Bartimaeus just wanted to see. He didn’t over-spiritualize it. He didn’t ask for forgiveness first. He didn’t do anything to prove he was worthy enough first. He just told Jesus he wanted to see more than anything.
So then I thought… well… I want to eat gluten… I want to be healed. I want to be healed and now I believe that God CAN heal me through Jesus. So what’s stopping Him?
There’s a church literally around the corner from mine that does a night of healing prayer the last Thursday of every month. I had driven past a couple times and thought (along the lines of my last blog post), “Cool, but God can’t heal me.”
And then the Lord told me to go last month.
I remember thinking, “Lord, this is kind of all happening very fast. I just blogged about healing last month, for crying out loud. Are you sure you want me to go to this event? Is healing actually going to happen?”
And so I wrestled with the idea of going for a few days (scratch that. It was a day. God moved fast). I made a pros and cons list:
PRO: I could legitimately be healed.
CON: I could not be.
PRO: BUT I COULD BE HEALED.
CON: BUT I’D HAVE TO GO ALONE AND THAT IS HECKA SCARY.
PRO: BUT HELLO, I COULD BE HEALED. I HAVE LITERALLY NOTHING TO LOSE
It was then that my heart caught fire with the idea of going. You know when the Lord tells you to do something, and you’re like, is that you Lord? Or is that heartburn?
Just to be sure, I bounced the idea off a couple friends (because apparently I couldn’t just take the Lord at His word) and they immediately told me to go and were excited for me and praying for me.
side note: normally, when something exciting happens with the Lord in my life, my first instinct is to blog about it (hello) or at least tell as many people as I can. I think it’s the extrovert/large group teacher in me. But this time, I felt the Lord saying, “Keep this quiet, at least for now.” And I immediately knew He was right. I didn’t want a Bartimaeus situation, where people told me not to go or hit me with their own skepticism and doubt.
Okay. Okay, Lord. I’ll go.
And so, the night came. I had a dinner to attend before I could go to the healing event, and I have to admit I was not 100% present. My heart was beating a bajillion beats a minute and I was just ready to GET THERE. Finally, I, very much alone, got in my car and drove around the corner to the healing event.
I walked through the front doors, still very much alone, still very much nervous, and filled out some paperwork.
Welcome! We are so glad you’re here. Could you tell us a little about why you’re here today?
Hmm. I thought for a minute.
“I have Celiac disease, I’m going on a year-long mission trip, and I’m tired of doubting that God can heal me.”
I tentatively handed it back to the front desk workers, who handed it back to me, and they directed me to the next station. I was given a number. 102. One oh twoooooo. The Holy Spirit + adrenaline was beating out a samba inside of me. I was either going to pass out, do a backflip, or some embarrassing combination of both.
I was ushered into the auditorium and told that when my number was called to go behind the partition to the left and I would be prayed for. The auditorium was dimly lit, with a group of maybe ten people leading acoustic worship on stage. There was a girl painting a canvas on stage, and the few people waiting their turn ahead of me watched her with vague interest. Some people were on their knees. Some had their arms raised in worship. You could hear the soft murmuring roar of prayers being lifted across the partition to the left.
I sat down on the last row in the back, wanting to be as inconspicuous as possible. And y’all, I’m not going to lie. At first it was a little weird. I didn’t know any of the worship songs, and there would occasionally be women who got up and danced with ribbons, which I’ve never seen before during worship. There was a prayer team that walked around and placed hands on everyone waiting for their number to be called, and the first time I got prayed for I felt so awkward. Should I pray too? Should my eyes be open right now? Are they feeling how tense my shoulders are?
To try and calm down, I read the back of the form I had filled out:
Welcome to our soaking room! Relax and enjoy this setting of worship. Our prayer team will pray for you until your number is called. Then you may go to the left and be prayed for specifically. Afterwards, you may take communion if you so choose.
Communion???? I hadn’t had a real communion in 3 years! I would have to tell them that I couldn’t take communion, that I couldn’t eat gluten, and that I—
Oh.
Ohhhhhhh.
It hit me in that moment: I really could be healed from Celiac right now.
I got out my journal and told the Lord about how nervous I was, but I also begged Him to make this real. To heal me. Please, Lord. Heal your daughter. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.
The numbers ticked slowly forward. 67. 68. 75 & 76. 84. 89. I kept journaling and praying. I kept waiting. I kept being prayed for by strangers. I kept listening to songs I didn’t know. And then, I felt the Lord nudge me.
Look up, sweet girl.
The girl that had been painting on stage suddenly caught my attention. Last time I looked at her, she had been painting a blue background with a figure on it, her arms and legs spread out in a free expression— almost like she was dancing, but also like she was caught in a gust of wind. Her head was back, and she was seemingly levitating on the blue-gray background. She was wearing a short white dress. It was beautiful. I remember thinking, “Wow! That’s really cool.” I made a mental note to tell my artsy friends about it.
But when I looked up this time, my heart stopped it’s frantic samba. I’m not even sure it was beating at all.
That’s… that’s me. She’s painting me. How can she be painting ME? She doesn’t know me. I don’t— how can— I can’t— that’s me!
She had added hair. Hair of my exact length and color. Her shoulder length red-brown-blonde hair was flying gracefully behind her. Tears filled my eyes.
This is how I see you, sweet girl. I had been waiting to hear the Lord’s gentle voice and immediately relaxed. My Daddy was here. Sweet girl, you are free. You are beautiful, you are loved, and you are mine. You are forgiven. You are made new. This is how I see you.
“Will number 102 please come down to the front?”
Ohhhhh my gosh. That’s me. Okay. Breathe. Don’t trip. I put away my Bible and journal and walked down the aisle to the front. I took another look at the painting and my heart jumped. I was the Lord’s. The Lord saw me as new. This could really happen.
I was met with two women who I will never forget. The first had short, spiky black hair, a nose ring, and lots of colorful tattoos. I remember thinking I liked her already. The second woman was taller, with blond wavy hair. When she introduced herself, she had an Australian accent.
“So,” said the first woman. “Let’s see your sheet! Why are you here today?”
I handed her my form and I saw her eyes move back and forth as she read my response out loud.
“Celiac… year long mission trip… tired of doubting God can heal me. Well, okay! Have you been actually diagnosed with Celiac?”
I told her I had.
The second woman spoke up. “Celiac? I have Celiac!”
“Wh-what?” I couldn’t make my brain say real words. What were the odds? The one time I chose to get prayer for healing, the woman praying for me had the same disease I was seeking to get healed from. Okay, Lord. You’re doing something here. Should I feel guilty that I’m getting prayed for and she’s not? No. This is purposeful. Let’s do this.
We talked about Celiac for a few minutes and we talked about the World Race. We talked about how hard it would be to eat overseas for a year. We talked about cross-contamination. We talked about how I hadn’t had real communion in three years. Suddenly, I spoke up with a transparent frustration.
“Honestly, I’m really tired of having Celiac.” It felt good to voice this to someone who understood, but also who had faith that God could heal it.
The first woman responded. “Well, of course you’re tired of it. It’s not part of the Kingdom.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Like, the Lord could choose to heal me on the World Race. But, who’s to say He also couldn’t heal me here?”
The woman smiled with kind eyes. “Let’s not wait anymore, shall we?”
The two women laid hands on me and immediately began praying for healing. They declared healing in the name of Jesus. They told the Lord we believed He could do it. They placed hands on my stomach. They rebuked any feelings of doubt and any feelings of sickness from here on out. They prayed many beautiful and true things.
While this was going on, the worship band in the other room began to sing a new song. I detached myself from prayer for just a second to listen… and they were playing How He Loves, which is probably the best worship song ever written ever in the history of ever. How cool that, in the moment that I’m being prayed for, the band finally plays a song not only that I know but that the Lord uses to remind me who I am in Him. Another picture of the love the Lord has for me. I raised my hand in worship while the women prayed. Even if I didn’t receive healing, I thought, coming here tonight was absolutely worth it.
It was then that the second woman stopped praying and spoke up in her soft, lilting Australian accent.
“You know when the Israelites walked around Jericho for six days, and on the seventh day they walked around seven times and the walls of Jericho fell down?”
I told her I did.
“I’m sensing that the Lord wants you to take communion every morning for six days. Real communion. On the sixth day, the Lord wants you to sit and experience His love for you. And on the seventh, declare healing over yourself seven times.”
We were all silent. This was one of those moments where I just knew the Lord was behind it. I was gripped with excitement, but also with fear. Real communion? What if I got sick? I couldn’t be sick for 7 days straight… But immediately those fears were replaced with truth when the first woman spoke up.
“You’ve got to test the Lord in that. He wants you to be healed. He died on the cross not only to save your sin but to free you from this.”
I released the breath I must have been holding. “Okay. I’ll go to the store tonight!” I laughed, because there was no way this was real. There was no way I had just agreed to go by bread and eat it for seven days. But then I realized it was real and there was a very good chance healing was very near.
The women prayed over me again, this time for the Race, and then escorted me to the communion table. Y’all, I was hecka nervous. I was about to choose to eat gluten for the first time in three years. But I believed that the Lord would let me.
The woman at the table looked me in the eye, and I told her about what had just happened. With excitement in her voice, she prompted me to take the bread. “If you were the only person on earth, Jesus still would have come and died for you to set you free from this.”
I took the bread. I dipped it in the juice. And I chomped down, worshipping my Jesus who is faithful to heal His children.
And y’all…
I
was
FINE.
Normally when I eat gluten, I am greeted with extreme fatigue, bloating, pain, and worse. It didn’t come. Twenty minutes passed. I waited at the church. I watched the girl paint. Thirty minutes passed. I waited to feel that first feeling of exhaustion mixed with sickness. It didn’t come.
I drove as fast as the speed limit would allow (maybe a hair over) to the nearest Publix. I walked into the Bakery section (a place I haven’t been in three years) and purchased one Kaiser roll and a six-pack of grape juice. I was on top of the world.
Around this time, I started to get a killer headache and the doubts started rushing in. Maybe this is it. This is me getting sick from the communion. But I laughed. Never in my life had headaches been a symptom of me eating gluten. The enemy was trying to fake me out. Not today, sir. Jesus wins. Jesus won.
And so, I took communion for a week. And I was FINE. Any time I felt the slightest bit strange, I prayed against it in the name of Jesus and it went away. I have had full energy. My stomach feels better. I felt healed.
Just for context, a few months ago I had eaten a french fry that had TOUCHED a piece of bread from Zaxby’s and I got so, so sick. But I was eating big ole hunks o’ bread every morning and I was fine.
The Lord showed me a lot in His word that week. One of the days, I was reading Joshua 6 with the story of Jericho and I had a realization—Jericho is the same city Blind Bartimaeus was sitting outside of when the Lord healed him. There’s no way that’s a coincidence! The Lord also showed me that when the Israelites marched around Jericho, He had them be silent until the seventh day, which is why I’m only blogging about this now. This past month has been a sweet time of healing between me and the Lord. That week, I felt closer to the Lord than I have in a long time. I was dependent on Him to bring healing to my body. I prayed every time I felt the slightest bit of doubt. I felt so loved by Him. I felt so known and cared for.
Finally, day 7 arrived. I ate my communion. I declared healing over my body seven times. I worshipped the Lord alone in my living room.
….And then I drove to the Daily Grind and ate a cinnamon roll…
…and part of a sandwich….
…and some Chick-fil-A nuggets…
and I was FINE.
Since then, I’ve eaten gluten almost every day. I eat lots of Chick-fil-A. I eat lots of chicken teriyaki. I eat lots of pizza. And with every bite, I am in AWE of my Daddy the Healer. Y’all, He IS ABLE to heal physical ailments. I am living proof. Healing miracles aren’t just for “charismatic” people. Healing is a characteristic of our great God. And he is willing to extend this gift to His children.
We need only ask.
I am healed. He is good. And that’s all I really know.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
