Hear my Cry

I gaze around the elementary kids’ ministry room and see their legos, magnatiles, and giant jenga blocks waiting to be played with. I bounce my eyes to the screen where the countdown will soon begin for their lesson to start. Everything’s ready and the volunteers have all they need, so I walk to the worship center to find a seat and attend the first service. Iris is sitting on the far side of the room, and she waves me over to join her. The lights begin to dim, the worship team starts playing their instruments, and I quietly make my way to my seat.

The strums of the guitar, the beating on the drums, and the notes on the keyboard fill the room. People’s voices begin to raise in praise and I feel the Lord’s sweet presence surrounding us. Time seems to disappear as I get caught up in worshipping my God.

There is nothing sweeter than Your presence.

I’m startled out of this captivation when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Iris.

 “This may sound weird, but I feel like God is telling me to put my hand on your stomach and pray for your healing.”

 A soft smile paints over my face as I look at her and say, “I don’t think it’s weird at all. Go for it.”

 I continue worshipping as she cries out to God to heal me. I remember the many times I’ve been in such a similar situation before. So many times I have begged for this healing along with many others doing the same for me. I know God always heard these prayers, yet for some reason He always impressed on my heart “it’s not the right time.” Something seems different about this time, though.

Wait. What’s that feeling? I glance down at her hand halfway expecting to see something that explains this sensation, but I see nothing. All I know is I feel something powerful and almost warm moving into my body where Iris’ hand is. This must be the Holy Spirit moving and working. I don’t know what else it might be.

You said you were going to have her put her hand on your throat if she did this.

You’re right, God. I did.

“Hey Iris… this may sound strange, but I need you to put your hand on my throat and pray over my esophagus.”

She simply looks at me dumbfounded.

“That’s where I fight inflammation every day. It’s worse than my stomach pain.”

She shrugs and gladly complies.

The sweet melody of music and praises continue to surround us.

Suddenly, I feel it.

I draw my attention to my esophagus, and it feels strange yet so familiar. Almost like a distant memory that is confused between a dream or reality. I haven’t felt this way in so long. Is the inflammation I have had the last four years really gone? I must be mistaken. But what if I’m not?

Where’s my water? I begin to look around for it. Taking a drink will help me confirm if this is in my head or really happening.

I take a sip and sure enough, it feels completely normal. There’s no way this is real. I can’t feel the inflammation anymore. I take another drink. I don’t feel like I’m swallowing rocks for the first time in four years! I collapse into my chair at the attempt to wrap my head around what is going on. I continue to drink my water simply so that I can experience the miracle more and more.

The music starts to fade away as worship ends and people start shuffling around to find their seats while the announcements take place. Iris is looking at me trying to ask what’s going on but I’m in my own world and don’t explain things to her quite yet.

God, is this finally the healing I’ve been waiting for?

Not yet, my child.

I take another gulp of water, only this time it feels painful again. The inflammation has come back after only a few minutes.

Why, God? Don’t tease me with this…