Opening yourself to healing means choosing to rest in the unknown. Not because it’s comfortable (it’s not), but because acknowledging that it’s okay to not know is enough.
“You’re wasting your prayers,” my dad told me bitterly. “If God wanted to heal me, He would’ve done so long ago.”
I was dumbfounded. My father, who had introduced me to Jesus, had lost faith. The culprit: chronic pain and mental illness.
Holding back tears, I looked up at him. “I will never stop praying for you.” An offering of hope. But it was no use. He’d made up his mind.
“See what’s left of your faith after you’ve suffered fifteen years, Amber.”
Why would he try to discourage me in my walk with Christ? In my hopes for healing?
But after experiencing my own suffering, I learned he was partially right. I didn’t know the weight of anguish he carried. I’d barely skimmed the surface. Now, five years into my own mental and physical health conditions, I’m beginning to understand.
While I haven’t lost faith or hope in Jesus, I’ve been challenged. I’ve cried out to God to heal me so many times that I’ve grown weary and stopped. I’ve started to see that same cynicism creep into my heart. How did I get to this place?
The difference between my dad and I is that I’m still holding onto hope – not because it guarantees healing, but because it encourages resting in the unknown with your Creator.
Dad introduced me to Jesus at age eight. My faith was bright, and the problems I faced were minimal. I prayed away bumps, bruises, or broken bones, and God answered. By ten, faith and healing didn’t turn out the way I thought they should. Family members died from drug and alcohol abuse, and I suffered from verbal and emotional abuse myself.
Over the years, my half-siblings' threats and incarcerations were the norm. Drugs, abuse, and violence were known by my last name. When my father got placed on disability and grew ill, increasing trauma filled our home.
In college, faith and feelings diverged, but I knew God’s faithfulness. After I graduated and grew ill, I started to question God: “If you can heal me, why haven’t you?” The conversation with my father flashed before my eyes.
I had closed my mind to healing and didn't even realize it.
Have you?
Today, I offer three ways to cling to hope amid suffering. Not as prescriptions but as small starts anyone can pursue: being open to healing, recognizing that sometimes God says “no,” or “not yet,” and clinging to the faith we do have.
1. Open Yourself to Healing
Being closed off to healing can look like reciting mundane prayers or not praying at all. At least that’s how it started for me. Not because I no longer believed, but because I was weary and discouraged. I thought “What’s the point?”
I don’t have all the answers. And while Jesus loves you and has a purpose for suffering, I don’t want those statements to come across as cliché rather than comforting. I want to encourage openness towards healing because that’s a great step towards hope.
Opening yourself to healing means choosing to rest in the unknown. Not because it’s comfortable (it’s not), but because acknowledging that it’s okay to not know is enough.
God is a powerful healer. But I can’t tell you that if you just “pray more,” or “have enough faith,” you’ll be healed because it’s not biblical. He heals in the way and time He sees fit.
In John 11, Martha said, “If He’d been there,” her brother Lazarus wouldn’t have died. When Christ heard, however, He stayed where He was for two more days, and said to His disciples: “Let us go back to Judea. … Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to wake him up” (John 11:7,11 NIV).
Unlike Mary and Martha, we know the rest of the story (John 11:38-44). Jesus raises Lazarus from the grave, and this miracle glorifies God. But imagine how it would’ve felt sitting in the unknown. These questions, doubts, fears, and insecurities illustrate two things:
Just because God doesn’t answer our prayers in times of suffering doesn’t mean He doesn’t care.
There is always hope even when hope seems lost.
Jesus saw their tears and wept with them. He cares about your pain and suffering too, even when His answers don’t align with our timeline. Martha knew Jesus could raise Lazarus to heaven (John 11:21-24), but she didn’t comprehend His ability on earth. We may struggle to believe this but hope promises us healing in heaven even if Jesus doesn't physically or mentally heal us here (Revelation 21:4; Isaiah 25:8).
2. Recognize Sometimes God Says “No” Or “Not Yet”
Weary, I’ve pondered why God heals some here on earth and chooses not to heal others. I’ve questioned whether miracles are still possible today. I’ve seen others healed by Jesus’ power yet doubted He could heal me. But sometimes, God says "no" or "not yet.”
In a recent counseling session, my therapist told me that when it comes to faith in God’s healing, we believe, but we don't put all our eggs in one basket. While we fully acknowledge God can heal, we remain realistic, knowing that isn't always His answer here on earth.
God’s ability and decision to heal aren’t contingent on your prayers or the things you do. Isn’t that freeing? As you learn to heal, remember to acknowledge that God might not answer as you desire. This isn’t putting up walls and denying God entry but remembering He has the final say.
When God doesn’t answer as you desire, think of Lazarus. Mary and Martha were upset Jesus didn’t come sooner. If He did, Lazarus wouldn’t have died! They couldn’t see the rest of the story, but their realistic hope that God would heal Lazarus in heaven was met by supernatural hope—Lazarus being raised from the dead here on earth (John 11:18-33).
3. Cling to the Faith You Have
After twelve years of bleeding, a woman was desperate for the Lord’s healing. At times, I feel like her. Desiring to touch the hem of His robe. A sliver of His sleeve. I bet she was weary. Maybe just exhausted enough to believe, "If I just touch the hem of his garment, I will be healed" (Matthew 9:20-22).
Jesus didn't say healing would always happen here on earth. Yet this woman heard about Jesus and believed.
Now, let’s be clear. This wasn’t “name it, claim it” faith in healing. This is not biblical. God has the final say, and though He can heal, you're not called to guilt yourself or those who haven't been healed into thinking you just need more faith, prayer, or power to achieve that healing.
As I wrestle with needing healing, I wonder if the bleeding woman had a little or a lot of faith. A little–believing if she just touched the hem of His garment; a lot-knowing all she needed was one touch of a thread. You, too, can be inspired to cling to faith like a single mustard seed, which can move mountains (Matthew 17:20-21). What matters is that you hope and believe.
A Call to Join Me
One Sunday, when I couldn’t find the strength to pray, I sunk into the pew defeated. But as we all stood to pray with those who’d asked for prayer, a friend made her way to me.
“I knew Jesus wanted me to pray with you,” she said tenderly. “We’re going to see you healed.”
Her words shook my soul. I wanted them to be true. But after five years of suffering, I questioned, Can God still heal me?
I don’t know what hardships you’re walking through, but I write this to let you know healing isn’t a far-off dream; it’s a promise we can look forward to (even if that’s heaven). Clinging to hope acknowledges that we won’t always understand but can trust His plans even when we fail to draw logical reasons that comfort us.
As you cling to the slightest smidge of faith, longing to graze His hem, know I’m right there with you. This is just my attempt to touch the hem of His garment, and I encourage you to join me.
Agape, Amber
Photo Credit: ©GettyImages/kieferpix
