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The Sound of The Healer

posted Aug 26, 2013, 9:04 AM by Suzette Vearnon   [ updated Aug 26, 2013, 9:05 AM ]
On Sunday morning as I was tinkering with my laptop to bring up Israel Houghton's song, Friend of God, on youtube.com so I could make sure I had it ready for church, I had an awakening.  "Why do we as people of faith accept a negative medical report so readily?"  I pondered that as I continued to run my fingers across the keys of my keyboard.  Oh, okay, the song is in the key of E...yikes! 
 
Later, as I stood in the bathroom, putting on makeup and fluffing my natural hair, I meditated on that.  It was as if my awakened thinking made a statement that it wanted to further explore.  "Would you go to someone who has what you need and ask them for less?," it asked. 
 
What I love about the voice of our Wiser Self is a simple question brings such illumination about where we are and the direction we should take while at the same time connects the dots for us about what has puzzled us about it heretofore.  For me, it has been Divine Healing.  Though I've experienced the Divine when it came to emotional healing, it seemed to be a hit or miss when it came to physical healing.  There were so many paradoxes and unanswered questions that left me feeling unsure about that.  It wasn't that I questioned God's ability to heal, it was if he would do it for me.  Suffice it to say, I never wanted to be in a position of having to need it. 
 
Although it wasn't me, someone very close to me told me of a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis.  It rattled me for this was my son.  My 23 year old son.  My only son.  When I got the news, I was shocked.  Immediately, I felt that the very thing that my son's father and I dreaded had come upon him.  You see, his dad suffers from a neuromuscular degenerative disease for which there is no cure.  By the time his dad was diagnosed, the only recourse was a surgery that had little likelihood of doing anything more than keeping the disease from worsening.  Even with that, they said that it could have the reverse affect and leave him paralyzed.  When it comes to MS, it's not so much the disease that is feared but its effects.  My son's dad had to have both legs amputated in order to save his life.  It is against this backdrop of both my son and I being witnesses to how a disease like this can be so insidious that my insides quaked from the news.
 
Though I got encouragement from friends who sought to deescalate how I was feeling and to bring a broader perspective than the horror story that was playing in my brain, I knew that what they said would offer little to no lasting consolation for me.  I had to connect with a Higher Wisdom.  Not just getting on my knees and praying out of desperation as I would normally do in such circumstances.  Not just begging, pleading, crying and getting up drained, still not sure if He would heal or if my son would have to learn to live with it.  Something inside of me knew I had to get to another space--away from the input of others and away from my maternal fearing for my child--where my response to this was from an Awakened place.  I refused to pray about it until I got there.
 
My car was in the driveway, lifted on one side with the left axle exposed and the tools of my auto mechanic strewn all around.  A dismal sight.  Every time I went in my garage and saw my car leaning to and right with parts laying around, I thought to myself, that is how I feel.  Rather than pray for an answer, I just talked with God about how I felt.  "I feel sad.  I feel shocked.  I feel like somebody has kicked me in my gut.  I don't know how to pray for this God.  I don't know how to process this.  I don't want to pray out of desperation.  I don't want to rush to offer a pseudo prayer where I say what I think you want me to say in hopes of getting you to do something I want you to do.  That's manipulative and I don't want to do that."  My soul was waiting for the breath of God to make it alive.
 
Aliveness is not just a feeling.  Aliveness is a state of consciousness.  I needed to tap into God's consciousness about my son's diagnosis.  And so I waited.  I rehearsed Friend of God then packed up my keyboard.  
 
Back to the question I was left to ponder, "Would you go to someone who has what you need and ask them for less?."  Of course, my answer was no.  "Then why would you ask God, the Healer, for less than healing?"  Why should I or anyone be okay if there is a pill or a treatment when I had access to Healing of it altogether.  I now knew how to pray.  More than that, I saw God in a new and living way.  A more personal way.  He stepped out of the shadows and into the light as the Healer.  He specializes in healing.  He knows my son's body better than anyone.  He planned every detail, every hair, every sinew, every capillary.  Yes, the medical profession has merit.  They are stewards of the knowledge they have been given, but God is the Great Physician.  He is the Master Teacher.  Even what the medical profession thinks they discovered, God already knew.  In his providing for us, he assigned to willing participants the study of medicine.  But don't get it twisted.  They are still studying what God already knows. 
 
God, my Wise Guide, my Divine Strategist, the great I AM knew how I would react to my son's diagnosis.  My sister's diagnosis.  My ex's diagnosis.  This lesson wasn't about them.  He had to come to awaken me.  This lesson was for me. 
 
What of those situations where people have claimed healing or prayed for healing and it didn't happen?  I don't think there is a one size fits all answer.  I can only tell you what I coming to understand.  Everything operates the way it does for a purpose.  Despite my preference to avoid all pain and to avoid all of life's challenges, there are times when God allows calamity, challenge, and loss in my life.  There are times He allows me to suffer.  Does He get some type of sick thrill out of it?  No.  Love and Schadenfreude don't go together for a schadenfreude derives a sadistic pleasure out of watching someone else suffer.  God is not that.  Everything He does is from a loving place.  Love doesn't rescue us.  Love empowers us.  There is an empowering lesson in what we go through else God would not allow it.  No loving father would. 
 
No loving father rejoices in the suffering of his children.  My dad had his faults but he loved us.  And if he, being dysfunctional, would not sit back and eat in front of us without regard that we too are hungry, neither would God.  At the same time, a loving father doesn't stand in the way when his child asserts his independence.  The story of the Prodigal Son demonstrates that brilliantly.  The younger son decided to take all his inheritance and strike out on his own.  After making some choices that weren't the wisest, he found himself competing with the hogs to eat their slop.  In his moment of despair, he was awakened to the fact that even his father's servants were better off than him.  When he came back home, it was with humility and gratitude.  Though he wanted only to come back as a servant, his father's view of him was not diminished.  He was his son.  His father didn't once blame him, shame him or use this as a teachable moment.  He simply rejoiced that his son was lost but was now found.  God is no different. 
 
When I heard the news of my son's diagnosis, I felt lost.  I didn't know what to hold to.  I didn't know how to pray.  I didn't want to fly off in desperation.  At the same time, I didn't want to try to act all grown up when everything inside of me was quaking with fragility.  In just a few moments of sitting with the discomfort, sitting with not knowing the answer, dismissing all attempts to ease my troubled soul though well-meant, God made Himself known to me in a way I wouldn't have known otherwise.  He is the Healer. 
 
When you tell someone who you are and they approach you as if you are less than that, it is offensive to you.  Likewise, I will not offend or diminish who God is.  He is Healing.  He is The Healer.  So, I've asked him to heal my son out of this revelation.  What a lesson for me.  For this, I am grateful. 
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