When God heals an inoperable injury

One of the things I love about my ministry is being invited to speak in new places – be it festivals, conferences, church services or other events – and so it was that I recently found myself preaching at a beautiful Anglican church in a village not far from London.

It’s been a place of worship for more than one thousand years, and there is still a vibrant group of believers there today, who faithfully gather each week to worship.

My remit, as ever, was to speak about how God brings ‘light through the cracks’ into tough times – which I did by unpacking one of the well-known Bible stories about a miraculous healing.

So, imagine my joy when a sprightly lady in her eighties came up to me, smiling, as soon as the service ended. “I have a miracle story of my own,” she said. “Come over here, and I’ll show you where it happened.”

Her name is Jody and this is her story, shared with her blessing.

***

The days are starting to get lighter and longer, and buds are pushing up through the hardened earth, when there is an overnight frost.

Two days on from celebrating a significant birthday, Jody is going out with two friends. As the designated driver, she is heading down the steep steps that lead to the garage below her bungalow.

Untouched by the early morning sunshine, the ice has not yet thawed on the steps. So Jody is caught off guard when she skids, slips, thuds to the bottom and lands awkwardly on her right shoulder.

“The pain was sharp, instant and intense,” she tells me.

Dragging herself into a standing position, she clambers back up the steps, into the house, to call her doctor and daughter for help.

Several hours later, now in the Emergency Department of the local hospital, Jody finds herself being assessed by an orthopaedic surgeon who specialises in shoulders and upper limb injuries. As he looks at the Xray results, displayed on a screen, he is kind but firm.

“You look to have dislocated your shoulder and broken a bone,” he says. “You have also badly torn a key ligament.” Jody looks at him wide-eyed, as he points to the relevant places, visually showing her the things he is describing. “Sadly, there’s not much we can do at this stage,” he concedes.

A short while later, Jody has been sent home, with her arm in a sling and a prescription for some strong painkillers.

Over the course of the following weeks, she has occasional steroid injections, but they barely dent the pain.

“I had to keep using my left hand to hold up my right hand, so my shoulder was supported – which, given I’m right-handed, was incredibly debilitating,” Jody tells me. “Otherwise, I couldn’t even do the simplest of tasks.”

By the height of mid-summer, on a particularly bright sunny day, Jody finds herself back at the hospital. She is here for a meeting with the orthopaedic surgeon.

“It looks to me as though the break and dislocation have both healed nicely,” he says, his tone reassuring. “But we may need to shave a bit of the bone to stop it rubbing against your ligament, as we don’t want the tear to get worse. Nor do we want you developing arthritis.”

He pauses a moment, and then continues. “We sadly can’t operate on the ligament itself though, as the tear is too jelly-like.” Jody appreciates his clarity.  

***

Over the following months, she learns to live with the pain and inconvenience of her ‘new normal’ until, one particular autumnal Sunday, she finds herself chatting at church with a much younger woman. She is someone Jody has known since her teens; someone who now lives as a missionary in another part of the world and is currently home on furlough.

“I told her I was still in pain from my fall, despite the passage of time,” Jody explains to me, “and she was so kind and compassionate”.

They are standing near the rear of the church, at the end of an inconspicuous pew, not far from a huge solid wood door. Outside, there is a nip in the air – and the trees are looking glorious, proudly displaying their golden orange and russet red leaves.

Recognising that they are about to part company, the missionary pauses a moment.

“Can I say a prayer for you?” she asks, and Jody doesn’t hesitate to respond. “Yes please,” she says.

As the missionary lays her hand on Jody’s shoulder, she calls on the name of Jesus for healing in the damaged ligament. Immediately, Jody feels a strange sort of heat surging through her shoulder.

It makes her feel emotional, even just recalling it.

“I knew I had been healed,” she tells me. “I lifted my hand high above my head, which I hadn’t been able to do for months, and I didn’t even feel the slightest twinge.” She pauses a moment and points towards the end of the pew where it happened.

“I love telling people this story,” she says. “Everyone needs to know that Jesus heals today. He healed me then, and he can heal them now. God alone deserves all the glory!”

***

As you consider Jody’s story, here are some threads of thought for you to ponder:

If you are a Christian, how aware are you of the power and authority that you have, to pray for healing, in the name of Jesus? Why don’t you ask God for greater awareness of this, and then stay open for any opportunities he brings your way to put it into practice?

What stories do you have of God at work in your life, answering prayers? Who could you share them with, in ways that will give him all the glory?

Alternatively, if you aren’t yet a Christian, did you know that God longs for you to be in relationship with him through Jesus? Why don’t you pray and ask him for this?

As ever, constructive comments are welcome below.

Photo from WorldInMyEyes on Pixabay