You Can Change God's Mind

 

You Can Change God’s Mind

Give, and you will receive. Your gift will return to you in full — pressed down, shaken together to make room for more, running over, and poured into your lap. The amount you give will determine the amount you get back. (Luke 6:38)

You sit in an ER waiting room surrounded by an anxious family. You rushed there the moment you heard about the accident. The teenage son of your neighbor was injured in a car wreck. He’s in surgery and your friends are in shock. You'd do anything for them. But what can you do? Or you try to conceal your shock at the news that your friend's teenage daughter is pregnant, confused and considering an abortion. Your friend blames herself. "If only . . . .” What can you do? Perhaps you sigh at the images on the TV screen. An apocalyptic firestorm consumes parts of the Los Angeles basin. Schools are in ashes, houses destroyed, lives lost. Such devastation. But what can you do when the challenge is greater than you are? When the hurt is palpable? When you feel helpless and impotent? Where can you turn? Turn to one of Jesus' most intriguing teachings about prayer.

“Suppose you went to a friend's house at midnight, wanting to borrow three loaves of bread. You say to him, ‘A friend of mine has just arrived for a visit, and I have nothing for him to eat.’ And suppose he calls out from his bedroom, ‘Don't bother me. The door is locked for the night, and my family and I are all in bed. I can't help you.’ But I tell you this – though he won't do it for friendship's sake, if you keep knocking long enough, he will get up and give you whatever you need because of your shameless persistence. And so I tell you, keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” (Luke 11:5-10)

That's you ringing the doorbell at midnight. The neighborhood is quiet, and the streets are still. The sky is dark, and so is your friend's two-story house. But still you ring his doorbell. Not once or twice, but three times. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. It's a big house, so it’s a big noise. His Chihuahua wakes up. He has that snappy, “Who-do-you-think-you-are?” kind of bark. You envision what’s happening upstairs. Your friend's wife is giving him a kick under the blankets. "Hank. Hank! Hank!! Get up! Someone’s at the door." Poor guy. One minute sound asleep, and the next? Summarily kicked out of bed. Doorbell ringing. Dog barking. Hank’s not going to like this.

The porch light comes on. The door opens. Boy, Hank’s a mess. Boxer shorts. T-shirt. Bed head. Face lined with pillow creases and covered in whiskers. "What in the world are you doing here?" he asks. "A friend of mine has just arrived for a visit, and I have nothing for him to eat," you answer. The homeowner grumbles and complains, but you insist. "Come on, Hank, please?" Finally, Hank acquiesces, invites you in, and takes you to his pantry. You fill a basket with food and take it home and Viola! Your surprise guest doesn't have to go to bed hungry. All because you spoke up on behalf of someone else.

That’s intercessory prayer at its purest – a confluence of paucity and audacity. "I can't heal them, but you can God." "I can't forgive them, but you can God." "I can't help them, but you can God.” That kind of prayer gets God's attention. After all, if Hank, a cranky, disgruntled friend, will help you out, how much more will God if you just simply ask? He never sleeps. He's never irritated. When you knock on his door, he responds quickly and fairly. Jesus never refused an intercessory request. Ever.

Peter brought concerns for his sick mother-in-law. The centurion brought a request for his sick servant. Jairus had a sick daughter. A woman from Canaan had a demon-possessed daughter. From sunrise to sunset Jesus heard one appeal after another: "My uncle can’t walk;" "My son cannot see;" "My wife is in pain." He heard so many requests that at times the disciples attempted to turn people away. (Matt. 15:22-23) Yet Jesus wouldn’t let them. "Great crowds came to him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others, and laid them at his feet; and he healed them." (Matt. 15:30) He never grew impatient at their requests. But he did grow impatient at the lack of one.

A father once brought his demon-possessed son to the disciples of Jesus. They attempted to help the boy but failed. When Jesus learned of their failure, he erupted in frustration. "O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I bear with you? Bring him here to me." (Matt. 17:17) Wow. Jesus is so uberpatient that any sign of impatience is a little disconcerting. So, what was the disciples’ oversight? Simple. They never took the boy to Jesus. Not in person and, apparently, not in prayer. They attempted to heal the boy without calling on Christ. He had to command them: "Bring him here to me."

Jesus had a strong word for that: unbelief. "Then the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, 'Why could we not cast it out?' So, Jesus said to them, 'Because of your unbelief.'" (vv. 19-20) Unbelief: attempting to help others without calling on Jesus. Belief: pounding on God's door at midnight. Doing whatever it takes to present people to Jesus. Kind of like Moses on Mt. Sinai.

When God saw the golden calf stunt, he was ready to wipe out the nation of Israel. They were eyewitnesses to ten plagues and one Red Sea opening. Their bellies were full of God-given manna and heaven-sent quail. But did they remember their Deliverer? No. They danced the night away in front of a homemade statue, instead, and God was not happy. “Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘Go down from this mountain, because your people, the people you brought out of the land of Egypt, have ruined themselves. They have quickly turned away from the things I commanded them to do . . . . I have seen these people, and I know that they are very stubborn. So now do not stop me. I am so angry with them that I am going to destroy them. Then I will make you and your descendants a great nation." (Ex. 32:7-10) Moses’ people. Dry grass in Pacific Palisades during a Santa Ana stood a better chance of survival.

Their only hope was their octogenarian leader, who'd met God, possibly on this same mountain some years earlier. If Moses had any influence, this was the time to use it. And he did. “[Moses] begged the LORD his God and said, ‘LORD, don't let your anger destroy your people, whom you brought out of Egypt with your great power and strength. Don't let the people of Egypt say, “The LORD brought the Israelites out of Egypt for an evil purpose. He planned to kill them in the mountains and destroy them from the earth.” So, stop being angry, and don't destroy your people.’" (vv. 11-12) God’s people.

Look at the passion of Moses. On his face one minute, in God's face the next. He's on his knees, pointing his finger, lifting his hands. He’s shedding tears and shredding his cloak. Wrestling like Jacob for the lives of his people. And how did God react? "So, the LORD changed his mind and did not destroy the people as he had said he might." (Ex. 32:14) That’s the promise of prayer – we can change God's mind.

God’s ultimate will is inflexible, but how he implements it is not. He doesn’t change in his character and purpose, but he does alter his strategy because of the appeals of his children. We do not change his intention, but we can influence his actions. After all, we are ambassadors for Christ. (2 Cor. 5:20) Ambassadors represent the king. They speak with the authority of the throne. If an ambassador sends a request to the king, will the king listen? Absolutely. If you, God's ambassador in this world, come to your King with a request, will he listen? Yes. You actually have a "seat with [Christ] in the heavens." (Eph. 2:6) You don't have a seat at the Supreme Court or in the House of Representatives, but you do have one that is far more strategic; you have a seat in the government of God.

Like a congressmember, you represent a district. You speak on behalf of your family, neighborhood, or softball team. Your sphere of influence is your region. And as you grow in faith, your district expands. God burdens you with a concern for orphans, or the homeless. You respond to these promptings by prayer. You are Moses in your cul-de-sac; Moses in your workplace; Moses in your classroom. You plead with God on other people's behalf. Intercessory prayer isn't rocket science. It acknowledges our inability and God's ability. We come with empty hands but high hopes. Why? Because God "is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think." (Eph. 3:20) He "will supply all [our] needs according to His riches." (Phil. 4:19) When God gives, he gives a gift that is "pressed down, shaken together to make room for more, running over, and poured into your lap." (Luke 6:38)

The apostle John wrote about prayer. In his vision of heaven John saw the prayers of the saints ascending like incense into the presence of God. “Then an angel took the censer, filled it with fire from the altar, and threw it to the earth. And there were noises, thunderings, lightnings, and an earthquake." (Rev. 8:5) That’s the power of prayer. You ask God for help and – bam! – fire falls to the earth. You lift your concerns to heaven and turbulence happens. So, knock on the midnight door. Stand up on behalf of those you love, and those you don’t. "Pray for those who hurt you." (Matt. 5:44)

The quickest way to douse the fire of anger is with a bucket of prayer. So, rather than rant, rave or seek revenge, pray. Jesus did. While hanging on the cross, he interceded for his enemies: "Father, forgive them; they don't know what they're doing." (Luke 23:34) Even Jesus left his enemies in God's hands. So, shouldn't we do the same? You are never more like Jesus than when you pray for others. Pray for those you love; pray for those you don't. Pray for this hurting world. Present their case to the Giver of bread and bring a grocery basket. You’ll have plenty of blessings to put in their pantry.

Grace,

Randy

The Only Tattoo Worth Its Ink

 

The Only Tattoo Worth Its Ink

The Only Tattoo Worth Its Ink - Audio/Visual 

“Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore? But even if mothers forget, I’d never forget you — never. Look, I’ve written your names on the backs of my hands. The walls you’re rebuilding are never out of my sight. Your builders are faster than your wreckers. The demolition crews are gone for good. Look up, look well!” (Isaiah 49:15-18)

Tattoo parlors should probably have a sign over their entrance that says, "Think before you ink." Or perhaps better yet a recorded voice playing softly in the background cautioning, "Do you really want to wear her name on your knuckles for the rest of your life?" Maybe even a full-time employee whose only job is to remind the customers, "The tattoo artist doesn’t come with an eraser."

Professional athletes probably set the standard for "oops" tattoos. On the cheek of one NBA star is the letter “P.” He’s a Pittsburgh Pirates fan. There’s just one problem – the “P” was stenciled backward. Maybe he did it himself using a mirror. Another player tattooed an exact replica of his girlfriend's lips on his neck. A perma-kiss. I hope he and his sweetheart stay together because another woman is going to think twice about snuggling up to the image of his former girlfriend's lips. One football player tattooed the word “Gods” on one triceps and “Gift” on the other. Not only was he lacking humility, but he also forgot the apostrophe in the word, “Gods.” He could have used a proofreader.

Now, it’s true that these same parlors can also remove the mistakes, and for the right price they can get the bad ink out of your skin. It’s a painful and expensive process, sometimes requiring multiple trips, but it’s pretty effective if you want to remove the unwanted marks from your past. And who doesn't? You may not have any tattoos, but you probably have regrets. You may not have a permanent souvenir from a Cancun Spring-break, but you probably have the memories of one. You feel remorse over the words said, or – perhaps – the deeds done. Guilt leaves a tattooed heart.

If your unresolved guilt manifested itself in tattoos, how much ink would you see? What images would be reflected in the mirror? The face of someone you hurt? The amount of money you squandered? All the could'ves and should'ves in life. "I could've been a better mom." "I should've paid more attention." When we dig around in the basement of our souls, what do we find? Wasted years. Perversions. Destructive diversions. Anger at parents, or exes. Selfishness. Arrogance. Racial slurs. We've cheated on exams, cheated on friends, maybe even cheated on spouses. The consequences can be ugly. Unresolved guilt gives birth to a gaggle of unhealthy emotions.

Most of them fit under one of two categories: defensiveness or defeat. Defensive souls keep the skeleton in the closet. Tell no one. Admit nothing. Seek innocence, not forgiveness. Life is reduced to one goal: to suppress the secret. As a result, failures go unaddressed and untreated. Defensive souls build walls around the past. Defeated souls, on the other hand, are defined by their past. They didn't make mistakes; they are the mistakes. They didn't foul up; they are foul-ups. They don't hide the past; they wear it on their sleeves. They flog themselves with doubt and shame. So, is guilt having its way with you? If so, consider this promise: "No matter how deep the stain of your sins, I can take it out and make you as clean as freshly fallen snow." (Isa. 1:18)

God specializes in guilt removal. He can do what no one else can: extract every last mark from your soul. When people come to God through faith in Jesus, they receive the greatest of all blessings: grace for all their sins. Jesus issues a pardon for every act of rebellion. This grace is a gift. We don't earn it. We can't lose it. But we can forget or refuse it. And if we're not careful, we can become guilt laden.

Even as Christians we need to regulate our guilt dosage. Granted, guilt is God's idea. He uses it the same way highway engineers use Botts’ Dots. When we stray from of our lane, it calls us back. Guilt does the same. It leaves us "more alive, more concerned, more sensitive, more reverent, more human, more passionate, and more responsible." (2 Cor. 7:11) Guilt alerts us to the discrepancies between what we are and what God desires. It stirs repentance and renewal. In appropriate doses, guilt is a blessing. In unmonitored dosages, however, guilt is an unbearable burden. We can’t carry it. But God can.

A graphic tradition from the old covenant shows us exactly how God does it. Three thousand years ago the Hebrew people were given an annual opportunity to watch their guilt being taken away. Each year as part of the Day of Atonement, thousands of Jews gathered in front of the tabernacle. The priest selected two goats. The first goat was sacrificed. The second goat was presented by the priest. He placed his hands on the head of the goat and confessed the sins of the people. "We’re cheaters, Lord. Liars. We envy our friend's success. We covet our neighbor's spouse. We ignore the poor, worship our idols, and engage in evil acts." Down the list he went until everything was confessed. “He shall lay [the sins] on the head of the goat and send it away into the wilderness by the hand of a man who stands in readiness. The goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a solitary land; and he shall release the goat in the wilderness.” (Lev. 16:21-22) Hence, the term “scapegoat.”

The people would watch as the guide led the animal away. The pair grew smaller and smaller and eventually disappeared over the horizon. And the people waited until the man reappeared, empty-handed. The object lesson was clear: God does not want guilt among his people. And you can bet your Torah that some ten-year-old boy tugged on his mother's robe and said, "Why, Mommy? Why did they send the goat away? He was innocent. He didn't do anything wrong." The mother, always one to seize the moment, would lower herself until she was eye level with her son and explain, "That’s the point, my child. God uses the sinless to carry away the sins of the guilty." Or, as Isaiah would write several hundred years later, "The LORD has put on him the punishment for all the evil we have done." (Isaiah 53:6)

Isaiah didn’t know the name of God's sin bearer, but we do. Jesus Christ. He came to "put away sin by the sacrifice of himself." (Heb. 9:26) He "was offered once to bear the sins of many." (v. 28) If you are in Christ, your sin is gone. It was last seen on the back of your Scapegoat as he headed out to Death Valley. When Jesus cried on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matt. 27:46), he entered the wilderness on your behalf. He carried your sin away. But unlike the sin-bearing goat, Jesus returned sin-free. His resurrection gives us power over sin. But to be guilt-free? Easier said than done.

You've dragged around your past for so long that you can't imagine yourself without it. God can. He sees a new script. Just because you were a villain in Act 1, you don’t have to be one in Act 2. He makes all things new. "The Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins." (Mark 2:10) Period. End of discussion. He has the final word on your life, and his word is “grace.” Jesus did his part. Now do yours. Give God your guilt. “Father, you are good. I need help. Forgive me.” Tell Jesus what you did. Place your guilt on the back of your Sin Bearer. Give it to Jesus, and do it as often as needed. One time, two times, ten times a day. Don’t hold anything back. No sin is too ancient or too recent, too evil or too insignificant. Be abundant but concrete in your confession. Go into as much detail as you can.

For instance, you may be tempted to say, “Lord, forgive me. I’m a louse.” But that doesn't work. For one thing you’re not a louse; you’re God's chosen child, and he loves you. For another, healing happens when the wound is exposed to the air of grace. Exactly what is it that you need forgiveness for? For being a bad person? That’s too general. For losing your patience in the business meeting and calling your co-worker a creep, or maybe something worse? There, you can confess that. Confession isn’t a punishment for sin; it’s an isolation of sin so that it can be exposed and extracted. So be firm. Be specific.

Satan traffics in guilt and won’t give up an addict without a fight. Exercise your authority as a child of God. Tell guilt where to get off. Speak to it in the name of Jesus. "I left you at the foot of the cross, so stay there!" And, for heaven's sake, stop tormenting yourself. Jesus is strong enough to carry your sin. Didn’t he say that he would? “He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west. The LORD is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust.” (Ps. 103:12-14)

We live in a guilt-laden world. But there’s a population of people who’ve discovered the grace of God. They don't drink their guilt away, work it away, or even chase it away. They give it away. God wants you to be among them. It’s a new year and the time has come for a clean start, a fresh slate. God doesn’t see the marks of your past. Instead, he sees this: "See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands." (Isa. 49:16) God has inked your name where he can see it. And at the end of the day, that’s the only tattoo that really matters.

Grace,

Randy

Suffering May Be Its Own Sermon

 

Suffering May Be Its Own Sermon

Suffering May Be Its Own Sermon - Audio/Visual 

He was despised and avoided by others; a man who suffered, who knew sickness well. Like someone from whom people hid their faces, he was despised, and we didn’t think about him. It was certainly our sickness that he carried, and our sufferings that he bore, but we thought him afflicted, struck down by God and tormented. He was pierced because of our rebellions and crushed because of our crimes. He bore the punishment that made us whole; by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:3-5)

A daughter of a dying man wrote these heartbreaking words in her journal: "Dad can't tie his own shoes anymore . . . . Dad can't sign his name anymore. Dad breaks his collar bone and stops going to work." ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) was claiming her father's musculature. She documented the awful and painful progress of the disease. "Dad falls in the parking lot and has to wait on the ground until someone picks him up . . . . Dad can't have his corn flakes for breakfast anymore. Dad can't put his arms around us anymore . . . . Dad has trouble swallowing pureed peas . . . . Dad can't hold his head up anymore." After seven years of her father's gradual deterioration, she finally wrote this: "Lying beside Dad as he sits in his chair working for breath. Praying for peace. Wiping his nose. Rubbing his shoulders. . . . Watching Dad gaze heavenward and take his last quiet breath . . . . The Lord is our shepherd." The family selected two Scripture verses for the handout at the funeral. On one side: "The Lord is my shepherd, and so I lack nothing." Across from it: "My God! My God! . . . Why have you forsaken me?"

The first passage is from Psalm 23, and the other, Psalm 22. I can read both on the same page of my Bible, and in times of sickness we can hear both prayers from the same heart. Our bodies ache and emotions sway. Try as we might to eat right, sleep more and sweat often, the hounds of wear-and-tear nip at our heels. Sometimes they can even take a bite. Cancer, heart failure, depression, dementia. Nothing bends our knees to ask for God's help more than a health crisis. We need the Lord to shepherd us through sickness. "But will he?" we quietly question. "Will he?" we verbally demand. "My God! My God! . . . Why?" We see good, prayerful people wheelchair bound or disease-ridden. We see salt-of-the-earth folks struck down in their prime. We see evildoers live into the triple digits. "Have you forsaken me, God?" How do we explain the why and when of God's healing? We can begin in Jericho.

“Now as they went out of Jericho, a great multitude followed him. And behold, two blind men sitting by the road, when they heard that Jesus was passing by, cried out, saying, ‘Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!’ Then the multitude warned them that they should be quiet; but they cried out all the more, saying, ‘Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!’ So, Jesus stood still and called them, and said, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, that our eyes may be opened.’ So, Jesus had compassion and touched their eyes. And immediately their eyes received sight, and they followed him.” (Matt. 20:29-34)

By this time, the popularity of Jesus was at high tide. Three years of feeding, healing and teaching had elevated him to rock-star status. The people loved him. He stood up to the authorities. He commanded cadavers, and he called the shots. He was a blue collared, big hearted hometown hero. He was Martin Luther King, Jr., Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Abraham Lincoln all wrapped up in one package.

The crowd was escorting him to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. They chatted, laughed and sang happy songs. And then from off to one side they heard this cry: "Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!" The crowd turned and looked at the two blind men. Eyes vacant, robes tattered, faces leathered by the sun. Pitiful. The people told the men to pipe down. This was a victory march; a day of triumph. Jesus was on an important mission. The people would have left the blind men on the side of the road.

Sound familiar? Afflictions can sideline the sufferer. Everyone else has a place in the parade. You’d be happy to join them if only the tumor would stop growing, or the atrophy would stop spreading. Others seem happy. You have mood swings as wide as the Grand Canyon. And you've wondered, What am I to do with this ailment? Like Mary, the blind men brought their concern to Jesus: "They cried out all the more, saying, 'Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David!'" They didn't ask for Peter or John. They didn’t request the disciples or Jesus’ followers. They went straight to the top. They cried out to Jesus. Persistently, personally and passionately. I need help, Lord. Heal me.

And here’s why you need to do the same. "Now may God himself, the God of peace, make you pure, belonging only to him. May your whole self – spirit, soul and body – be kept safe and without fault when our Lord Jesus Christ comes." (1 Thess. 5:23) God envisions a complete restoration of the garden of Eden. Everything he saw in his garden was good. That assessment included Adam and Eve. They weren't sick, crippled, depressed or afflicted. They were spiritually and physically sound. No emphysema, palsy or paranoia. Yet when they rebelled, everything fell out of harmony. The event is called “The Fall” for a reason. Adam and Eve had a falling out with God, and a falling out with each other. Nature fell out of whack, and the human body fell out of balance.

The Fall was exactly that: a fall from wholeness. Sin opened the door, and sickness walked right on in. "Sin came into the world because of what one man did, and with sin came death. This is why everyone must die – because everyone sinned." (Rom. 5:12) Sin and sickness are interlopers, consequences of the same rebellion. But they’re also cured by the same Redeemer. When Isaiah foretold of Jesus, he described him as the one who would take both our sin and our sickness. “He was wounded for our transgressions; He was bruised for our iniquities.” (Isaiah 53:5) “He has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases.” (v. 4) Jesus treated our sickness the same way he treated our sin – he took it away. He bore it in himself on the cross.

When Matthew saw the large number of healings in Galilee, he remembered the prophecy of Isaiah: "[Jesus] fulfilled Isaiah's well-known sermon: He took our illnesses, he carried our diseases." (Matt. 8:17) Did Jesus die for your sins? Yes. Did Jesus die for your sicknesses? Yes. It would be inconsistent to say that Jesus saved your soul but not your body. When Jesus took our sins to the cross, he took our cancers, disfigurements and depression as well. But if that’s true, then why do we still get sick? For the same reason we still sin. This is a fallen world, and the kingdom is a coming kingdom. Sickness and sin still stalk our planet. But here’s the difference: neither sin nor sickness will have dominion over God's people. Sin cannot condemn us. Disease cannot destroy us. Guilt is defanged, and death has lost its sting. In fact, the very sin and sickness that Satan intends for evil, God redeems for good. Sin becomes a showcase of his grace. Sickness becomes a demonstration of God's ability to heal.

We aren't victims of rogue molecules or rebellious cells. We do not live beneath the specter of uncontrollable plagues or emotions. Every fiber, molecule and brain wave answers to his command. God is in charge. So, if you’re sick, cry out to Jesus. Talk to him about your stomach, your skin, your moles. After all, he owns you because you and your body were "bought with a price." (1 Cor. 6:20)

And you need to do the same thing with your emotions, too. Did someone molest you? Did a spouse abuse you? Did you abort a baby, or abandon a child? If so, you likely need inner healing. And he will heal you – instantly, gradually or ultimately. For instance, one word was enough for him to banish demons, heal epilepsy, and raise the dead. He only had to speak the word, and healing happened. He may do that for you. However, in the case of a blind man from Bethsaida, Jesus healed him in stages. He took him away from the crowd. He rubbed spit on the man's eyes and asked him what he saw. The man answered that he could see but that it was a little fuzzy. So, Jesus rubbed his eyes a second time. Jesus healed the man, but he did so gradually. (Mark 8:22-26) And don't forget the story of Lazarus. After Jesus heard of the sickness of his close friend, Jesus waited for two days before he went to help. He let Lazarus die. By the time Jesus reached the cemetery, Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days. But Jesus called him out. Did Jesus heal Lazarus? Yes, dramatically, but not immediately. (John 11:1-44)

Our highest hope, however, is in our ultimate healing. In heaven God will restore our bodies to their intended splendor. "We know that when he is revealed, we shall be like him." (1 John 3:2) God will turn your tomb into a womb out of which you will be born with a perfect body into a perfect world. But in the meantime, keep praying. “Father, you are good. I need help. Heal me.” If Jesus heals you instantly, praise him. If you’re still waiting for healing, trust him. Your suffering may be your very own sermon.

Have you prayed but you’re still waiting for Jesus to heal you? Take courage and hope from Jesus' response to the blind men. "’Have mercy on us, O Lord,’ they cried. Jesus stood still." He stopped dead in his tracks. Everyone else kept going, but Jesus froze. Something caught his attention. Something interrupted his journey. You can almost see him raising his hand to stop the people, lifting a finger to his lips for them to be quiet. "Shhhh." What was it? What did Jesus hear? A prayer. An unembellished appeal for help, floating across the path on the winds of faith and landing against his ear. Jesus heard the words and stopped. He still does. And he still asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" The duo in Jericho told him. "Lord, that our eyes may be opened," they said.

And you? Lord, heal this heart condition. Remove this arthritis. Restore my hearing. Jesus' heart went out to the blind men. He "had compassion and touched their eyes." The Greek term means "he felt for them deep inside his stomach (gut)." Jesus moved in where others had stepped away. He healed them. And he will heal you, too. I pray he heals you instantly, but he may choose to heal you gradually. But this much is sure: Jesus will heal all of us – ultimately. Wheelchairs, ointments, chemo and bandages are confiscated at heaven’s gate because he’s the great physician. (Ex. 15:26)

Grace,

Randy