Faith To Be Healed
At the national wrestling tournament, in March of that year, during the medal rounds of my sophomore year at the University of Oklahoma, I snapped my knee. The sound of it was so loud and reverberating that my parents and coaches later told me they could hear it from the mat side and the stands.
Over twenty years have passed since, and I still vividly remember that moment. Everything slowed down. I heard the crowd near the floor let out a collective gasp as searing pain shot up my leg, into my lower back and seemed to distribute itself over my entire body. And then, I collapsed as the sound returned with referee whistles and a gaggle of voices.
The medical team rushed to carry me from the mat, but I insisted on trying to walk, only to find that I had neither the strength nor the capacity. Arm-in-arm with my coach, I hopped off the mat and down the tunnel.
A whirlwind of emotions followed the pain. I was angry and sad. It was my year to win it all, and it was over. I felt a darkness come over me that would not lift for months from that moment, as depression consumed the rage and life—at the moment—felt as though it would never be normal again.
In the weeks that followed, I went through the standard protocol: doctors, prognosis, surgery, and a cast that was so worn on the bottom by the time it was removed that the doctor remarked he should have put treads on it.
I want to draw your attention to the moment of that surgery. When I received my prognosis, I was told that three things had torn in my knee, my M.C.L., P.C.L. and Meniscus. I was going to be out for a minimum of 18 months. If you were doing some quick math, that would have been my entire junior season and my senior year.
Receiving that news had been devastating. In my mind, my collegiate career was over. I remember, too, that during this time, my parents took extraordinary care of me, even travelling to and staying in Oklahoma. Even though I was as mean as a rattlesnake, they loved me through it.
On one occasion at my tiny apartment, while I was lamenting about all that would be lost in the coming months, my mother asked me if I had prayed to be healed. I said no. I had not been living for the Lord at that point in my life, and we had little communication. She said that I should and that I should believe for healing.
Perhaps it was the time alone or the oxy's, but I took it to heart for whatever reason, as I had never taken anything about God to heart before. I prayed. I prayed daily. I prayed for hours. I plead with God to heal me and give me another chance to serve Him through sport.
On the day of the surgery, I was full of faith. In preop, they explained what would happen, what they had to repair and how long it would take. I firmly told the surgeon; God has healed my P.C.L.; you will not need to operate. He smiled. "Sure, but I am not sure you are aware of the extent of the damage," I repeated myself. He smiled again. The nurses drugged me in preparation for surgery.
I do not fully remember this, as I was hazy, but my father later told me that as they wheeled me back to the operating room, I was yelling at the top of my lungs, "don't let them touch my P.C.L.! God has healed me!"
Well, it turns out that He had done it. Oh, the doctor said, "it looks like we misread your M.R.I. the other times, and the damage was not as bad as we thought it would be, so it did not require surgery. You will be back at it in six months." How did multiple professionals misread an M.R.I. numerous times? He was so smugly calm in responding to my urging not to touch it. Yet, there we were, twelve months shaved off my recovery and my P.C.L. restored. God had indeed healed me.
Now, this is my story. And I am sharing it with you all in hopes that it plunges the biblical narrative from the pages for you and into our post-modern era in a way that enlivens your heart and intrigues your mind. I hope it rattles loose faith and prayer and belief that God still does things today that He did back then.
Why am I pushing so hard on this, you may wonder?
Because if we are honest with ourselves…
We have more faith in the practice of medicine than we have in the promises of God.
I am logical first. It is how I am wired. And I have a great deal of respect for the medical profession and medical professionals, but even their expertise is a gift from God. (Genesis 1:26-27)
And I am not telling you to reject medical care, so let me say it outright before I get any blowback—if you need medicine for a physical, emotional or mental diagnosis of any kind, acquire and take your medicine!
I am not attacking or casting doubt on the practice of medicine, but a challenge to our paradigm of belief.
We trust people God made more than we trust God! And that is the bottom line.
Yet, we see from scripture that if our faith is placed in God, it is never misplaced. If our trust is invested in God, it is a good investment!
And God still heals, but we must have faith to believe He can and does.
But what if God does not heal? Why does God not heal sometimes? I am sure you have that question. I have asked myself this question many times since my brother went to be with Jesus. I prayed for his healing almost daily for a year. God did not heal him on this side of heaven; He took him home. What do we do with instances like his?
Well, I was praying through the same last week at one of our prayer mornings during these 21 Days of prayer and fasting, and the Lord brought this verse to mind. I even shared it with my mother on my brother's birthday on Monday, January 16 2022.
"Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time. But no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die."
[Isaiah 57:1-2 N.L.T.]
"The righteous man perishes, and no one lays it to heart; devout men are taken away, while no one understands. For the righteous man is taken away from calamity; he enters into peace; they rest in their beds who walk in their uprightness."
[Isaiah 57:1-2 ESV]
Sometimes God does not heal because He is protecting someone from a future we cannot see. Sometimes He does not heal because the person we are praying for is ready to leave this world because they are done facing the world as it is, and they want the peace and rest that only eternity can provide.
So what do we do, even in light of this? Just one thing—ask God for more faith to believe that He can and does heal, and then begin to regularly pray for healing for those around you who need it.