“And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not. 3 And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.”
“Who is this coming up from the wilderness Leaning on her beloved?”
Song of Soloman 8:5
For longer than a year I pleaded with God to heal my body. Every alter call, I went up. Every prayer meeting for healing, I was there. Weeping, weary and dying inside. I was convinced something medically was wrong with my body, this couldn’t simply be just anxiety attacks. I told myself I must have had lung cancer from the mold in the Farm house we lived in. I also convinced myself my Thyroid was off, as was my nervous system. I told myself I had MS because of all my numbness that came along with my attacks. Surely I also had asthma, as it was difficult for me to breathe.
It took some convincing from my husband and family to see a Doctor. People around me assured me I had severe anxiety, as I was determined I did not. I was not an anxious person. I went with the flow, I planned my days with a relaxed schedule, and it took a lot for me to get upset.
Many nights were spent weeping on my husbands chest, begging him to just drop me off at the nearest hospital. Leave me there until they find what is wrong with me. I was only hurting him and the children we raise together. No child should see their mother in such captivity to her body. This resulted in him telling me I was not crazy. He wanted no one else but me, and no one else to raise his children. Even still, I did not believe him. I cried myself to sleep many a night, believing I had failed my children. Most days I put a smile on my face for my babies, and some I simply could not function. Those were the days where I hated myself for laying there while their Daddy changed diapers, and fixed dinner. That was supposed to be me, their Momma. Fixer of all things. Do-er of all things. I was supposed to be perfect.
But I am human.
I Spent countless hours googling my symptoms and diagnosing myself with illnesses. Here were my symptoms, daily:
Chest tightness, so tight my ribs popped.
Left side of face numb
Feeling as if I would die at any moment
Left leg numbness and pain
Feeling as if I was paralyzed
Difficulty catching a breath
This lasted two years. Two years of my life spent in complete physical agony, simply because I refused to seek medical attention. Until one day I ended up hospitalized, and was forced to have tests run, and reevaluate my quality of life.
I allowed my body to go through changes of FOUR different medications until I found the right dosage and medicine for me. It wasn’t long before I realized that my anxiety was caused by two things:
Life’s events and a chemical imbalance in my body.
Frustrated and feeling very lost spiritually, with the fourth medication I made a declaration to God each time I took it.
” Thank You God for this medicine that will help heal my body. Amen.”
Each morning I took it . It wasn’t until I did not HATE the medication that it actually started to work for me. It wasn’t until I admitted that I needed some medical attention, that I actually began to feel better.
Now, slowly , each day I feel more like myself. I am thankful for my medication that allows me to feel whole. Even more thankful to have my life back.
Do I believe that Jesus could have healed me immediately, and saved me from all suffering?
Oh yes, he is ever powerful. I’ve experienced people being healed right before my own eyes. I know His power, and I know his presence.
But I also know that he allows things in our lives to shape us into the person he intends us to be. He is a GOOD Father, this is why during my wilderness I had more encounters with him than I ever have. He became so real to me in my darkest times. A shining light in my pitch black room, where I wept for the baby I would never hold. A life I wanted, and a life I hated.
After two years of suffering physically, and being a captive to my own flesh, I am a free woman. Was I healed at a prayer meeting? No. Was I healed at a Womens Retreat where I suddenly was set free from captivity? No.
My healing was a process. A roller coaster of twists and turns, and in each whip of my head he healed me from the inside out. The ride was long. So long that I wanted off long ago. I held my hands high and asked for it to stop, many times I screamed and I begged to get off.
But in the end I can say that I rode the whole way. I did not die, but I lived.
I am alive in Him.
The farm house