JESUS, HELP ME!

My wife, Beverlee, and I received Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior in 1972. Within six months, the Lord began to progressively heal Beverlee of crippling rheumatoid arthritis and lupus. A few months later, He healed me of a slipped
disk condition that for nearly ten years had periodically disabled my back.

Although our faith for healing had increased because of these, I continued to suffer from agonizing attacks of hemorrhoids—a condition that had recurred far too frequently for over 14 years.

The particular attack I’m writing about continued unceasingly for over two weeks, until I was apologizing almost daily to Beverlee and our children for my irritability. Going to work was impossible, as was a full night’s sleep. I would awake almost every hour with nightmares of burning knives being plunged into me.

Toward the end of this two-week attack, nothing helped anymore to ease the pain—medication, hot baths, nothing worked. I prayed constantly for relief but without results. An operation was fast approaching as my only option. This night of all nights, I used all the medication I could, took a hot bath, and then laid in bed on my back as quiet as I could. After some time I fell asleep—and then woke up about 1 A.M. with the most agonizing pain I had yet experienced.

From my waist down I was literally on fire. It was impossible to stay in bed, so I worked my way up and into the bathroom. There I grabbed the sink with
both hands and braced my body against the waves of pain that roared though me. Sweat poured down my face as I stared at myself in the mirror, straining not to make a sound that would disturb Beverlee or our children. I had never before been in such agony.

I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was desperate. I needed help. Then suddenly, in the midst of this agonizing pain, from somewhere deep inside, a cry burst out of me:
“Jesus, help me!”

The pain instantly stopped, as if someone had taken a knife and sliced it away from me. It stopped so suddenly that my body, which had been braced against the pain, lurched forward and then back.

I didn’t move a muscle. I hardly breathed. I just stood there, unable to believe what I was no longer feeling. I don’t know how long I stood there, but at some point I moved slowly back into the bedroom and laid carefully down on my back and waited for the pain that I was certain would return—but which I hoped against hope would not. Then I drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke the sun was shining through our open bedroom window and I could hear birds singing in the backyard. Mentally I checked myself immediately for pain, and there was none, not a whisper, only a slight pressure where there had been agonizing pain for nearly two weeks.

Beverlee was still asleep and I got slowly out of bed and went over to the window and looked out at the backyard. A slight breeze was blowing, and the early morning sunlight was shining through the trees, chasing the shadows of the leaves on the lawn. I listened to the birds singing happily for the first time in two weeks—or so it seemed to me. Then suddenly I realized that the Lord had healed me and I wept like a baby. That was twenty-one years ago, and there has never been another attack. (Beverlee's husband)

You will still die one day afterall.

Thank God for the healing