I am learning how God heals.
I’m not a Biblical scholar, ok? I don’t want to introduce a bunch of scriptures out of context, so I will share one scripture that spoke to me recently and keep the rest of them tucked away in my private journal.
This particular conversation concerns adultery, I know. But, I think this passage successfully illustrates my key takeaway after spending any length of time in God’s Word. And that is:
I am learning that for whatever ails you, God restores your sight first.
Whether it’s actual blindness or a bleeding disorder or paralysis or a wicked heart, I’m learning that for any request for healing, Jesus usually restores your mind’s eye first. Where are you? Who told you you were naked? Has no one condemned you? Who touched me? We are not asked these questions as a humiliation ritual or because an all-knowing God needs an answer. No. Much like journaling or therapy, strategic questioning helps us see our situations more clearly. Questions prompt introspection. When our sight is restored, we are better equipped to follow God’s lead.
I am learning that when you go to God for healing, you aren’t asked to recite your wrongs.
You aren’t asked to sit down and analyze everything you’ve done to contribute to your current situation. You aren’t asked to come up with a 37-step plan on how to repair the damage or make amends. No, having all the answers isn’t a prerequisite for your healing. When God restores, you are simply encouraged to check in with yourself before making a decision to live differently. To turn around. To see what’s positive about an uncomfortable reality. To change.
I am learning that in every circumstance, it is possible to see yourself and your world differently.
Asking for more money may not pad your wallet, but perhaps you begin to see the treasures you already possess with new eyes. Going to God for your pain may not rid you of your wheelchair, but it may offer revelation and creative resources on how to get from A to B with more comfort. When God restores your sight, your life is made new.
I go to God for healing because I believe God is a healer.
That is an action inspired by faith. I believe, through restored vision, it is possible to see our present condition for what it truly is. Broken. In need of repair. Out of our control. Redeemable. Jesus — in allowing me to approach His throne with my raggedy, sinful feet — frees me in an instant with clear, simple instructions.
Girl, get up and walk. Go and sin no more. Go in peace. The grace made available in these clear, simple instructions, offers a place to drop the guilt and move on. It is there, at His feet; the place I’ve spent a lifetime trying to find. My search for the perfect degree, the perfect title, the perfect partner, and the perfect apartment in the perfect city led me to a perfect state of rest in Him. And, I can live here rent-free and guilt-free for the rest of my days. What freedom. What love.
I am learning how my early life experiences negatively influenced my journey as a Believer.
Not having a present earthly father made it difficult to conceptualize the love and protection of a heavenly one. Being an only child with a battered self-image made it difficult to appreciate that there are people who want to listen to me and genuinely care about what I think and how I feel. Living in a capitalist society makes it difficult to conceive that I don’t have to work for God’s provision, attention, and love. I don’t have to earn rest or attention or joy or surrender.
In an attention economy that thrives on transactional relationships and the propped-up idol of self-worship, it takes daily reminders from God (hidden in plain sight in His Word) that it’s okay to accept gifts that I do not deserve and did not earn. I moved to Dallas as a way of cleaning my slate, but the fresh start I was after was already available through Christ. That gift was available in Indianapolis, San Diego, Las Vegas, and every morning when I rise. I thought I was chasing the sun when I really just needed The Son. That’s a bar. (drops mic)
I am learning that when it pulls you backward, it isn’t God.
When it forces you to revisit the failings of your former self, it isn’t God. When it humiliates you or reminds you of all the things you didn’t get right or didn’t learn or didn’t have, it isn’t God. That practice — that forced rehashing — comes from another spirit. An adversary.
There are consequences for our actions, yes. Very often, there are opportunities to make things right. But, there is no condemnation. That’s the difference between how God operates and how absolutely everything else does. The Devil has used guilt and the bondage of public perception to play in my face for as long as I can remember, but I am no longer bound.
I am releasing my grip on the life I created.
At any given moment, you can change your mind. You can turn around. You can royally screw up your life and go to the King for an opportunity to try again. I am laying down all the ideas I had about what my life was supposed to look like and who was supposed to be in it, and what I was supposed to have. I don’t need a plan (which is fabulous, since I don’t have one). I don’t need to know what’s waiting on the other side. I just needed a place to drop my bags so that I can keep walking. Jesus offers that place through grace and restores our vision for the road ahead.
Today I woke up to find my past and future vying for my present attention. I’ve decided to step aside and let those two nobodies fight amongst themselves. They both have an energy that won’t quit, and I’m tired of being caught in the middle. I’ve felt chained to uncertainty about what to do or where to go for far too long.
Stillness, once I made room for it, pointed me in the only direction that makes sense.
Forward. With restored vision, I’m moving forward.
CandaceAlikéSmith.com is a wellness and wanderlust journal penned by writer Candace Smith. Read her diary entries, and follow her content on essential oils, product reviews, local libations, and wellness travel. Read her mom’s mental health contributions and get your mind right.
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