A story of healing

I'm learning that you can't outline how healing comes to people. Here's one man's unique story.

It was a cool, drab February morning, just warm enough for the snow to begin melting. As I walked the indoor track at the Park District field house, a smiling man dropped his jacket on the bleachers. We introduced ourselves by first names and shook hands, and headed off on the circuit together.

Bill asked what I did. I replied, “I do spiritual healing.”
“Oh,” he said, “I believe in that.”
“Tell me more,” I encouraged him.
He eyed me cautiously, “I found Jesus.”
“I’d like to hear about that.”
Reassured, Bill smiled. This was clearly a story he enjoyed telling. And one that moved me deeply to hear. Deeply.

“Around 2000,” he began, “There was a large Mary sculpture that was going around the country on a flat bed truck.”
“Yes I remember seeing it.” While it held no emotional meaning for me, we had taken some out-of-town Catholic friends to see work of religious art in a nearby church parking lot.

Bill and his wife were in the Catholic church till about 1967. “Then I got mad about something and walked out. We went to other churches, and for about 10 years we were Methodists. That’s where I learned about the Holy Spirit. And I’m so grateful.”

Later one day at work, Bill threw a coffee cup at a colleague. Fortunately it missed her, but he had to ask himself at that point, “What am I doing?” He asked a buddy to sign him out, and he went home for the day. His buddy called Bill’s wife to give her a heads up. “Something’s wrong with Bill. He just walked off the job, and he’s on his way home.”

His wife set up an appointment for him to see, in his words, a shrink.

Before that appointment, this Mary sculpture was in the area. They were driving, and his wife asked Bill if he’s like to see it, and he said No. They turned into the parking lot, though, and she asked if he’d like to get out and take a closer look, and he said No.
Father Paul, a hands-on healer, was there, and she asked if he’d like to talk to Father Paul, and Bill said No.
Yet he found himself talking to Father Paul who asked, “How can I help you?”
Bill said, “I don’t know. I’m very angry, and I don’t know why.”

He talked and talked and talked. Father Paul put his hand on Bill’s head and prayed. As he was praying, a storm came up - wind blowing the folding chairs around, and lightning, so intense that Bill couldn’t hear the prayer. Finally the storm quit and there was peace. He felt as though a burden had been lifted.
His wife asked, “Are you OK?
“Yes,” Bill nodded. “I think I can sleep tonight.” then he added, “Wasn’t that the strangest storm!”
His wife looked at him. “Storm? Bill, there was no storm.” Bill realized it had been his own personal turmoil raging within him. No one else saw a storm.

About a week later his wife asked Bill when he had last suffered a migraine headache. These had plagued him from childhood and, though he had tried many medications over the years, nothing had helped. He realized there had been no headaches since Father Paul had prayed for him. In addition, all the anger was gone. They canceled the doctor’s appointment.

Bill went back to work and though nothing had changed, he wasn’t upset by his work environment anymore. No more Mr. Crabby.

He had never read the Bible. But his daughter, an Evangelical Christian, gave him one after this experience. Several months later he read about the Day of Pentecost. In great excitement Bill came running to his wife, “You have to read this! This is me!” He was thrilled by the description of the Holy Spirit as a rushing, mighty wind.

He and his wife returned to the Catholic church because, as she said of Bill’s transformation, “This is real. This is real.”

His story lasted about 30 minutes. We put our jackets on and left the field house together still talking. We hugged in the parking lot. “God is good,” he said as we parted. “Yes,” I agreed, He sure is.”