There was nothing extraordinary about it.
I was only sitting in a hammock strung between two palm trees.
Sweat trickled down my back.
A mongoose emerged from the foliage and sniffed around the dumpster stationed at the end of the parking lot.
He kept prodding me. But I was afraid to ask, because his answer would demand a response, and pain had become a familiar dwelling place.
When the Jews came to Jesus looking for miracles, he asked them, Do you want to be healed?
A preposterous question for the crippled and blind, and yet….
To be healed is to walk in a foreign reality.
I wanted to be healed. I believed he would heal me. Someday.
I had witnessed healing the night before, women cured of infertility, tumors disappearing, breaks and misalignment coming into center.
I believe God can heal instantaneously, but more than that, I believe in the process, that he is after the heart of a person, and the heart of a person usually desires healing as a means to evade pain.
Yet the Son did not evade pain, but embraced it for the love it produced.
Long had I been obedient to the Spirit’s process in me, and wavered in disbelief that this time he would do it in a moment, clicking the pieces of my heart together like a Rubix Cube.
He just wouldn’t let it go. So I finally asked him:
Do you want to heal me by the process?
Or do you want to heal me instantaneously?