I’ve never been one to have female “problems.” My monthly visitor would arrive, stay about four days and leave, only to reappear the next month right on schedule.
Until I had my third child. Then the visitor wasn’t so gentle and stayed longer than welcomed. Over the next 8 years, I stocked Midol as the symptoms grew worse. By spring of 2012, my visitor was an unwelcomed guest, staying for three weeks, leaving for two, and returning for an addition three weeks. It was a hideous cycle. Something was obviously wrong with my body. But…
I haven’t had medical insurance in twelve years. My bank account was empty. So I prayed that God would heal me.
The Lord answered, “Don’t worry. I’ve healed you before, I can heal you again.”
But He didn’t.
Finally, in September, the visitor refused to leave. By the end of October, I was using one “super plus” sanitary product an hour. That’s not a typo. Yes, One per hour. With the added protection of an extra thick liner.
After SIX WEEKS of this horrible nightmare, I became so weak, I could barely get out of the bed. I literally thought I would die. Since, God hadn’t answered my prayer, I gave in to the commands around me and made an appointment. $1700 later, the doctor diagnosed me with tumors in the uterus. I don’t know the technical term he used. But basically it was this. Since the tumors were isolated in the uterus, they shouldn’t grow, and should eventually shrink after menopause. I could have surgery or make my visitor welcome until after menopause.
Hello! I’m only forty. And did I mention the ONE sanitary product an HOUR for going on SEVEN weeks straight now. And he wants me to wait a “few” to ten years. No, thank you.
Surgery? I did mention no medical insurance and my empty bank account. Right?
My visitor and I went home, crawled in bed, and cried into the pillow. Why wouldn’t God heal me? A few nights later, though weak, I dressed and forced myself to church. During the choir, as the congregation worshiped, the Spirit descended. Someone laid their hand on my head and prayed. Instantly, energy surged through my weak body as God spoke. “I’ve healed you before. I’m healing you again.”
I shouted all over that platform. Thanking God, for His touch.
When I got home, my visitor was gone. Hallelujah!
Since November 2012, I haven’t returned to the doctor. There’s no need. Now, months later, the visitor sometimes peeks its head in the door, but doesn’t stay longer than three days.
The lesson learned? If I hadn’t doubted God’s healing ability, I wouldn’t have $1700 in medical bills. I’m not saying that He doesn’t sometimes use doctors. But I’d rather be healed by God’s touch than by a scalpel.
Can I get an Amen?
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