My husband was talking to a well-known preacher and he graciously offered to pray for us. We didn’t have any specific prayer requests but invited him to listen to the Lord for us and pray into our lives. He started out praying for my husband, and then he turned to me. He was quiet for a few seconds before he turned to one of our bible school students, asking her to pitch in and lay her hand on my stomach. Then he started praying, loud and clear: “Lord, we pray for this woman’s female parts.”
I’m not particularly shy, but nevertheless, I almost fainted. I was taken by surprise, and all I could think was “My female parts? What’s wrong with my female parts?”
Apparently quite a bit, because he kept on praying for my female parts. (I know, the term ‘female parts’ is getting to you, isn’t it? Well, it got to me, too.) He kept on praying about my bits and pieces, and I kept on thinking that I would have to do some serious counseling on that rosy-cheeked bible school student who kept her eyes closely shut and whose hand trembled slightly on my stomach.
After a while I gave in. I could have told him off. I could have removed myself from that situation. My husband could easily have helped me if I had asked him to. But I didn’t. I surrendered.
I decided to surrender whatever cell that might not be acting according to God’s purpose for my body. I gave God permission to do whatever he wanted, whether that was what the preacher prayed for or anything else. Once again, I abandoned my self-appointed right to remain in control. (I have to do that regularly. I’m such a slow learner.) I didn’t become scared of being sick, I reckoned that my life was in God’s hands anyway. I had given it all to him. Any problem that I might have had was now rightfully his. He didn’t mind.
After they were done praying I thanked them and made my way out. In that moment I made a decision not to be offended. Of course I would have preferred that this preacher had approached my differently, and it sure would be nice if that poor student would ever make eye contact with me again, but it didn’t really matter. At the end of the day, all that mattered was that Jesus would be glorified, and I was determined to leave any possible offense at his feet.
Facing a challenge
The next day I was praying for sick people at a conference. A woman approached me and asked me to translate for her. She wanted someone to pray for her, she said. She had endometriosis.
It dawned on me instantly. Endometriosis is a particularly painful disorder that affects the uterus, ovaries and surrounding tissues. Now, who should I ask to pray for her female parts? Yep, you got it!
The preacher invited me to join him as we prayed for her. She was quiet and didn’t really know what to expect. She didn’t know the Lord, but she was desperate for someone to relieve the pain and the crippling consequences of her disorder.
All of a sudden I had a “hem of his garment”-moment. Remember the woman with the issue of blood? The one who had been sick for 12 years and who, driven by desperation, secretly touched Jesus’ clothes as he passed her by? The very same woman who got healed when she touched him?
Jesus noticed that the power went out from him and enquired who had touched him. I always wondered how he knew. Well, now I know. As we prayed for this woman, I felt a power leaving my hand as I touched her.
Don’t get me wrong. I do not have warm hands. There’s nothing special about my hands. I do not have a particularly healing touch. I think touch is healing by nature, but there’s hardly anything miraculous about that. I don’t have a special gift of healing that I know of, but I worship a God who loves to heal. And that’s what he did.
When she spoke of it afterward, she said: “I felt very warm when they prayed for me. Then it felt like an earthquake inside. All of a sudden, something just left me. Whoosh!”
Six months after the doctor cleared her. Tests, ultrasound and exams showed no trace of endometriosis. The doctors were baffled, they had never ever seen anyone healed from this disorder. “What has happened?” they asked. She beamed: “Well, you see, first I felt all warm inside, then it was like an earthquake…”
God’s healing touch. And whoosh! New life begins.
I could have chosen to be offended.
I could have told everyone about this loony preacher who kept on praying for my intimates.
I could have refused to take her to see him.
Maybe God would have healed this woman anyway, what do I know?
The point is, I don’t know. None of us do.
I don’t even know if I had cell changes or another unknown complication at the time when he prayed for me, and it doesn’t matter.
All I know is that when this woman came for the healing touch of God, my loving Father had already shown me how he wanted to heal her. I knew.
Because I didn’t take offense I got to participate in a miracle. I rather enjoyed being a co-laborer with Christ, knowing full well that he did the miracle and I got to go along for the ride. But what a ride!