“I believe you are healed from your disease,” he whispered in my ear, and I felt that tightening in my chest right before sobs escape my lips, but I held them back by pressing my mouth and eyes shut until my eyes burned and my head hurt. No one was looking at us, their own eyes closed in prayer, and those whose eyes were opened were more incredulous than I was, so I didn’t care about them.
I had stopped praying my friend’s prayer years ago when the medications were finally balanced and my mental health was stabilized. I no longer suffered from depression; I no longer felt on edge or snapped at my family; I no longer hurt on the inside or let guilt dictate my emotions. I was finally well enough to live life again rather than simply function in it. So I stopped praying about healing because I felt I was free from the burden of it. Sure, it was because of the medication, but after years of trying different concoctions of medications, the right combination of medications had finally been combined to balance my mind and my life. I attributed this to God’s intervention and His unyielding mercy.
Healing, however, meant a total elimination of my illness; it meant no longer needing the medication, no more monthly therapy sessions, no more psychiatrist visits, and total dependence on God. So when my friend – a trusted man of God – prayed healing over me and believed it, I trembled; not in expectation or alleviation as I had anticipated at the onset of my diagnosis, but in uncertainty and trepidation. I have been on the medications for so long, I don’t know what I would be like without them. I remember what I had been without them but in full-blown mental illness mode, and I do not want to return to that. But that is not healing, and that is not what my friend believes; he believes in full healing. The question is, do I?
But if I didn’t believe it, why am I so scared? Why does the idea of healing spring tears into my eyes? Why am I weaning off my medications already while carefully examining myself for any signs of regression? How to explain the power of God in my health in contrast with my lack of faith?
If only I had the faith of my friend, or the faith of a mustard seed, then I could move this mountain aside and be a completely healthy and staunch woman of God.