It started out as a rash, a small one on my side, like a patch of poison ivy. I had been cleaning out a wooded area for several days messing with vines and brush and debris, so catching poison ivy wasn’t unusual even if it was mid-February. A day or two later, my head started to ache. Overnight the feeling changed from a dull ache to the constant tightening of a vice on both temples, accompanied by a 10-pound hammer smashing over and over onto my anvil-like forehead. I was miserable! I had experienced migraines as a child. They must have returned. Another day passed, and I was begging my doctor for the strongest migraine medication available. That didn’t help any more than the poison ivy cream was helping.
Two days later, I wound up in the hospital with a case of shingles (which I had never heard of before) and spinal meningitis - the viral variety not the bacterial type - not so great for me, but not bad for the people around me. After a few days of intravenous antiviral medication and some seriously strong pain medicine, the hospital staff sent me home; there was nothing else to be done. I wasn’t contagious. I wasn’t dying. The virus would run its course. No problem…for them.
The problem for me was the pain. I had never experienced such constant excruciating pain before: all through my head, in my neck, and running down my spine. Light hurt. Sound hurt. Sitting hurt. Laying down hurt. Standing hurt. For all intents and purposes, I was completely incapacitated. For weeks I laid in bed, so sick I could scarcely move. Keep in mind that while trying to care for my needs, my wonderful wife Jessica was also taking care of a three-year-old Makayla, two-year-old Nicholas, and infant Rebekah, as well as Brian and Destiny every other week.
I had been administered to in the hospital, but again I called for the elders, and then again, and then again. Five weeks went by from the time that I had come home, and still the headaches and neck aches persisted. I still couldn’t stand up without the pain creating wave after wave of nausea. While I should have been ramping up for the busiest time of a landscaper’s year, I was laying in bed with a pillow over my head.
I started visiting my chiropractor thinking that if he could just adjust my neck and stretch out the vertebrae, perhaps the headaches would resolve themselves. Adjustments just made me sick though, as did the acupuncture he tried (I’ve never liked needles, but now I have a distinct distaste for them, especially when they are dangling from my face and forehead). Another administration came and went without a healing, without relief. Desperation and depression were setting in.
Sure that a good massage and neck popping would be the ticket this time, I again visited my chiropractor, also an elder in the restoration. I walked into the clinic without an appointment, and a man I had never met before, nor since, stepped over to me, introduced himself, and announced that I needed an administration. I thanked him for his concern, and countered that I needed my vertebrae separated.
“No,” he said, “you need an administration.” I told him I had been administered to at least six times in as many weeks and really wanted a heating pad on my neck and head, followed by a nice adjustment. He was quite gracious and asked if I was looking for a healing. I told him I would settle for just a little relief, but yes, a healing would be nice. We compromised: an administration first followed by a chiropractic adjustment—no acupuncture.
I did not believe I would be healed, and I was not, but the moment the elders put their hands on my head something happened. Then he started to speak.
He told me first that the Lord was with me, that the Lord knew of my struggles and was carrying me. He said that the Lord wanted me to know that the sin that I battled with was forgiven through the blood of Jesus Christ. At that moment, a weight that I didn’t know I had been carrying lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how heavy the burden of my sin was. Jesus Christ took that burden from me right then and there at that moment.
Surely all of us have seen the movie, or the play, or the musical about Scrooge. At one point old Jacob Marley swoops through the air weighted down with what looks like several hundred pounds of chains around his shoulders and neck. It was the heavy weight of chains just like Jacob Marley’s that I shed, or rather that Christ took from me that day. I wept openly in my new freedom.
Five days later I sat in church, still very much in pain. I couldn’t keep from squeezing repeatedly at my neck trying to release the tension or relieve the pain or something, anything! After the service, as I walked across the back of the sanctuary hurting frustrated and down, my dear friend Susan pulled me aside, placed the palm of her right hand on the exact spot from which most of the pain seemed to be radiating, just at the base of my skull, and she prayed. She asked the Lord to release me from my pain so that I might attend to my family and my business. He did! It was a simple prayer: a supplication, a request; it was not an administration. I walked out of the church pain-free. My neck felt tight for several more weeks. My head felt oddly heavy, but the pain was gone.
I have never since felt physical pain quite that horrific, nor have I felt as free as when Christ lifted the weight of my sins from me at the Chiropractor’s office. I don’t completely understand the sequence of events, or why God chose to move the way He did, at the times He did, but there was no doubt then, nor is there now that it was in His time, in His way, that He acted, that He forgave, that He healed.
If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.
~ John 8:36
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