I am a firm believer in the power of prayer. Now, before you stop reading, this isn't going to be a treatise on the power of religion. I am not here to preach to anyone, anymore than I want someone to preach to me. I am simply talking about my personal experience with prayer. I also believe that prayer can take many different forms. Some of us pray to God, some simply meditate. I think that the effect is the same, in the long run.
As most of you know, I was born with a birth defect, requiring brain surgery at the tender age of six weeks. My parents were actually told not to get attached to me because I would most likely die from the surgery. Well, there was an army of people praying for me. Not only did I survive the surgery, I was the first baby to do so without being severely mentally handicapped. Now, the surgery is a pretty basic one.
Because of the type of defect that I had, a bone graft was taken out of my forehead. It is a fairly small area, but for years, it caused horrible headaches. Sometimes, the area would look caved in and it would be very tender to the touch. At other times, it would bulge out, and those would be the times that I would develop the headaches.
My mom took me to several doctors, all of whom told us that there was nothing they could do about it. It was just something that I was going to have to learn to live with. Now, I was raised in the Episcopal church, which is very similar to the Roman Catholic church. Our services are not loud and boisterous like many of the more fundamental faiths. We do, however, share something with the more evangelical Christians. We believe that God is the Great Physician and has the ability to heal us.
When I was around 15 years old, my grandmother announced that she was going to take me to an Episcopal healing service. At that point, the only healing services I had ever seen were the ones on TV, where people were whooping and hollering, and people seemed to get knocked over a lot. I told them I wasn't going, but my Grandmother could be a very persuasive person (meaning she didn't take no for an answer...EVER!), and I soon found myself sitting in a pew at the church.
I have to tell you that I was scared to death! At that point in my life, I was very quiet and shy, and I didn't like being the center of attention. I just knew that they were going to drag me to the front of the church, yell a bunch of things at me, and then knock me over. But, as the service progressed, it was a very normal church service, and I became a little more comfortable with the whole thing. Soon, the priest asked that anyone needing healing come forward to the altar.
"Here it comes," I thought to myself. I tried to scooch down the pew, but my grandmother got hold of my arm, and dragged me to the altar. Everyone knelt down, and the priest would quietly walk up to them and ask what they needed healing for. I couldn't hear what anyone was saying, so it boosted my confidence a little bit. When he got to me, he asked the same question, and I explained about the place on my forehead.
The priest laid his hands on my head and prayed, then he put some holy oil on the spot. I went back to my pew, thinking it wasn't so bad. I also thought that the only thing that would happen was that I would probably break out from the oil. I hadn't been back in my seat long before I started to feel a burning sensation in my forehead. It was centered right inside my bump, and it really started to hurt. The pain got more and more intense, and I got really scared! I told my grandmother, and she took me to the bathroom to wash off the oil, thinking it might be an allergic reaction. By the time we got to the the bathroom, the pain had stopped. When I looked in the mirror, the very prominent bump in the middle of my forehead was completely gone!
That was 35 years ago, and the bump has never come back. There is a slight indentation where it used to be, but it has never swollen up again, and it has never caused me pain since that day. Because of this experience, I quickly became a firm believer in the power of prayer. Now, I don't think that every prayer for healing results in something dramatic like what happened with me. I have prayed for my pain to be taken away, and it's still here. I don't think that God caused my pain, but I do believe that it serves a purpose.
Because of my pain, I have made wonderful friends from around the world who understand what I live with everyday. Because of my pain, I started writing again, and I love being able to do something creative. Because of my pain, I am hopefully able to educate others about what it's like to live with a chronic, invisible illness. And, because I have experienced God's healing love in my own life, I have hope that one day, my pain will be taken away as well.
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