Believe it...speak it.

I hardly know how to start this blog post.  I sit here among the cobwebs on my blog and ideas in my head and wonder, 'just how is this going to turn out?'  And truthfully, 'what are people going to think about it?'  But the yearning to speak it overwhelms the concern about the outcome.  Last Wednesday night, we had the pleasure of hearing Casey Treat speak at COTM.  First of all, brilliant speaker and quite the testimonial, to boot.  As I try to recount the exact topic and the exact statements that he said, I cannot.  I emphatically remember his stage presence, his confidence in what he was saying, his BELIEF in all things...but I only remember, for sure, one statement - believe it and speak it.

There are only a few people (less than I can count on one hand) that know this story.  In part, because it's very special to me but also because the story is a kind of controversial one.  It has to do with faith healing.  Now, before you stop reading (please don't stop reading), let me explain something.  I was raised in church.  I went all the time.  But the topic of faith healing was never a positive one to me.  In all honesty, I thought it was hokey-poppycock (that means whatever you want it to mean).

While I was pregnant with Ben, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  This was not a surprise to me, as I had the same diagnoses with both Ethan and Quinn.  I knew it would mean insulin shots -  a minimum of 4 times a day.  During this time, Pastor George did a series on 'Christ the Healer'.  It was a series, culminating in....oh yes...a healing service.  My initial thought was, 'dangit...I like this church!'  But I decided, instead of throwing in the towel on a church I absolutely love, I'd listen with an open heart about what was said and, oh I don't know, maybe learn something.

So I went.  Every Saturday. I listened. I understood.  And I slowly came to a place where I started believing healings were possible.  To clarify, I always believed God healed people miraculously.  The part I had a problem with was a pastor standing on a stage, putting his hand on someone's forehead, knocking them over, and proclaiming them 'healed'.  But as I listened, I realized it's not all about being pushed over on a stage.  To me, it was about asking God to heal me.  It was about asking God to take something away that He could take away.  It was about getting over my hangup about asking God for...well, anything.  I always though I should just be grateful for what I have...not ask for MORE.  My feelings on that subject could be another post, indubitably (I really like saying that word...indubitably).

The time came.  It was the last message in the series and my concern over Pastor bringing people on stage and knocking them over was put to ease.  It was a very quite, peaceful prayer time.  The music was being played, the lights were low, I held Eric's hand as I often do in church as we sang soft worship songs to our Father. I felt God so strongly that night, inside me, around me, He was everywhere. I never opened my eyes. Tears streamed out as I prayed quietly. I whispered in my mind to my Dad. My prayers are quite disjointed, they would never 'do' for an 'out loud' prayer for people to hear.  This is the best I could do to recreate it, in type...

"God...Father...please..." <swaying to softly playing music> "Please take this...keep Ben safe...my God...Jesus..." <barely aware of anyone in the room...and it was a full house...1200?> "Deliver me...my Papa...make me healthy...I trust You...I need You..." <feeling Ben kick and move inside me> "With boldness I ask...take this away."

Now, I never said the actual words...take the gestational diabetes away from me, please...but I believe He knew what I was talking about.  How could He not??  I had to constantly remind myself that this was a done deal. I could not allow myself to question whether I would be healed.  I could not allow myself to question God.  The audacity!

I didn't tell anyone.  This was between my Papa and me.  I continued to test my blood sugar - I never planned on just hiding my head in the sand and possibly causing harm to Benny-boy.  But I can tell you this...I didn't have to take another insulin shot after that prayer.  I didn't need to.  My sugars were always between 90-100. Lil Ben was born early and weighed 6lbs 13 oz...no problems, at all.

I didn't have to take another insulin shot after that prayer.


For the rest of my life...whenever I begin to question my God (I'm human, it will happen), I only have to remember Benjamin.  I only have to remember that God took away a physical problem.  I only have to remember that He did that...instantly.  I only have to remember that I believed He would do it...I trusted Him and He took care of me, as any parent would try to do.  Except He is the best parent...He will not waiver, He will not fail, He will not disappoint.

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