I bought this sticker last summer as a PSA of sorts. When you hear "God WILL heal you because He is KIND" one too many times—and you're still not healed—you need to remind the world and yourself, as often as possible, that "if not, He is still good."
Prayer makes me lose it these days. The elders of my church prayed over me this month and I wept and wept (and then went home and wept some more). A coworker prayed for me on a snow day prayer call, and I broke down entirely. My camera and mic were off, or she would have seen me sobbing on my knees. Begging God.
These are tears of desperation. These are tears of being known and knowing that God is kind, always. They are tears of a long trust in the faithfulness of my God who has always done the best thing for me. And now I'm asking him for the best thing to be my healing.
"God," my pastor prayed, "would you let Alicia pick up her mat and go home?"
God and I have been through so much together. "As they go through the Valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools" (Psalm 84:6 ESV). "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me" (Psalm 23:4 ESV). He has walked me through the valley, holding my hand so tight. He has brought me so far in my healing. We are cresting the hill, and I see the sunlight breaking through the darkness. Why, then, am I so emotional? Why am I so desperate for healing now, when it feels so close?
I drove for one hour last week for the first time in years, something my neurological symptoms haven't allowed. One hour. To someone who was limited to 15 or 30 minutes for so long, this is what true freedom tastes like.
But the emotional whiplash still stings. The days after that triumphant drive crumpled into little symptoms. Back and forth, better then worse, hoping and questioning. Am I crazy? Am I doing something wrong?
I really think God is going to heal me. I FEEL SO GOOD! I AM SO GRATEFUL! I can smell it in the air like spring. There is an army of people praying for me like the friends who lowered the paralyzed man through the roof so Jesus could heal him (Luke 5:17–26).
In that story Jesus said to the man, “'I say to you, rise, pick up your bed and go home.' And immediately he rose up before them and picked up what he had been lying on and went home, glorifying God" (vv.24–25 ESV).
I do not know how my healing story will end. I do not know if I will pick up my mat and go home. But what I do know is this:
While I want God's best to be my healing, I know that God himself is the best thing.
While I want to pick up my mat and go home, I know that God himself is my home.
I looked at this sticker today in the morning light at breakfast with my dear grandparents and a dear friend. She prayed for my healing before she left, and I can't explain it, but for the first time in weeks I didn't cry. I felt a quiet confidence. A contentment.
I really feel like God is healing me—
and if not, He is still good.
If you need an army of people to come around you in prayer, please write your request in the comments. Let's lift each other up and lower each other through the roof. Let's be the Church.
Cover image by Annie Spratt
'But what I do know is this: While I want God's best to be my healing, I know that God himself is the best thing. While I want to pick up my mat and go home, I know that God himself is my home.'
This is powerful faith in action. Thanking you for your honesty, believing in His lovingkindness.
Healing is such an evasive thing, isn’t it? Something we feel we are promised yet the length of time it takes to receive it (if it’s received at all) is infuriating. I can so relate to this. Lifting you up in prayer, alicia. Funny you should mention whiplash in the story--I am currently struggling with stage 2 whiplash and would love some prayers for complete and total healing for my neck. Walking alongside you in this!