New Roads Part 1

There was a period of time in my life, just a few years ago, when I didn’t have a relationship with Jesus but I knew deep down I believed everything I’d heard about him. Dad brought me into community with my peers, people I worked with and lived life with, who were in a similar place relationally in their walk with Dad. 

Together, we grew. We delved into our Bibles, ate together, we drank and smoked hookah and prayed. As our relationships with each other were knit closer and tighter, so were our relationships with Dad. None of us called God “Dad” when we first started. Now, I don’t think any of us uses the title “God.” We’ve gotten to a point in our relationships that “God” is too unfamiliar, too cold. Dad, Daddy, Papa, Father - are better words to describe our creator, our lover, our best friend. 

One of the big topics for me on my journey into relationship with Dad was healing. Any conversation, and chapter or verse, could lead to a conversation about Dad’s will to heal people. 

I think at the start, my friends and I wanted to believe God heals, but we all shared doubts and misgivings and painful past experiences. Slowly and methodically, though, Dad revealed his heart to us. By now, three years from the start of our Bible studies, I can’t think of a one of us who hasn’t been healed miraculously. Not one of us hasn’t been part of laying hands and getting someone healed. 

My friend Josiah had a headache one morning while we opened our coffee shop. I started praying for his healing while doing dishes (I was too nervous to offer to lay hands). Suddenly, he turned to me and asked “Have you been praying for my head? Because it doesn’t ache anymore.” 

Our friend Esa had a torn ACL when we met him. As a group, we all laid hands and prayed. He was too stunned to make a big deal about it, and we were too nervous to poignantly ask. Eventually, after months of him not using a cane or feeling pain, we all accepted that he was completely healed and we’d been part of it. 

My husband Jeremiah and I laid hands on our pastor's back on our way to the "alter," and he got better.

Two co-workers had kidney infections healed.

Our chihuahua survived getting hit by a mini van.

My mom's migraines don't stand a chance against these hands.

The first stranger I laid hands on, an elderly homeless woman with crippling back pain, said "Lot's of people have prayed for me. That's never happened."

She got up abruptly to leave, and as she made her way to the door I asked "Do you feel better?"
Without turning or pausing she shouted, "I'm walking aren't I?"

*One of my favorite stories happened a few months ago. Claire’s mom had to have surgery on her right shoulder. A calcium deposit was slicing through the muscles and tendons around the joint, causing overwhelming pain. Surgery took months to recover from, on top of the months of pain that led up to it.

Claire's sign: "Joy is a weapon."
Winter's sign: "Smile, the sun's out" 

Eventually, she did fully recover, but peace was short-lived. Inability to use her right shoulder caused her to overuse her left shoulder, generating new, painful issues.

Claire was sick of seeing her mom hurting, and wanted her healed. When Claire got to this part of the story, I almost danced for joy: “I really wanted to wait until you could lay hands with me,” she said. “But then I decided, ‘I don’t need Kaylani here, dammit, I can do this.’” So she laid hands, prayed, and her mom’s shoulder is doing just fine thank you.* 

We required extensive preparation, first of our minds and then, after some persuasion, our hearts, for Dad to convince us his will was that all are healed. We got involved laying hands sheepishly at first, and only on those we trusted. Every time we stepped out, Dad turned our faith into substance, into the evidence of things unseen. So often, that I began to offer healing to customers, and to coworkers who weren’t part of our Bible study, as did my friends. I can’t think of any who didn't experience God and get healed.

Until now, that is. 

I tore my ACL and meniscus about four years ago while playing volleyball. After receiving a cadaver tendon and six months of physical therapy, I played volleyball for two more years in highly competitive college environments. No further damage was sustained to my knee, but my spirit was pretty busted up. I got entirely too interested in vicodin and rum, resentment, anger, and self-pity coursed through my veins. 

Just the family, being knit together via zombie makeup.

One of the reasons Dad had to prepare my mind before my heart was I couldn’t allow him into my heart. It was too filled with the familiar self-pitty and resentment. But Dad knows what he’s doing, and he infiltrated my heart with resounding success. 

Last Monday, playing in an extremely non-competitive game at Capitol Lake Park, I severely re-damaged my knee. I haven’t gone to the doctor because I haven’t worked all week and can’t afford a copay. That’s the logical brain reason at least. The heart reason is that I’m convinced of Dad’s will to heal and I’m pretty convinced I’m no exception. 

Yet, despite my friends’ and husband’s eager efforts at laying hands, along with my own, my knee is resolutely swollen and painful. I’ve been nearly immobile all week. 

At the same time, my husband has been dealing with chronic sinus congestion that, despite our most faith-filled prayers, hasn’t gone away. 

We’re on the verge of a major freak out, folks. (Lol)

God has been talking to me about two topics, which I’m going to explore in the next post. The first is familiar spirits, how to recognize and deal with them, and why they're relevant in this context. The second is a vision Dad gave me, which was interpreted alongside some dreams. For now, I’ll say the vision has me convinced that the roads that brought me here aren’t available any more, I’ve got to try new ones.

So, today I’m headed to work. Because I’ve never worked on a broken knee. 

Here’s what I’m going to do my best to focus on while I’m serving coffee and janitor-ing after close: Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen. Dad has provided ample substance healing me and those in my life. He’s given me evidence of the unseen. Now I’m going into the unseen. By golly I’m done with evidence, I’m seeking the unseen the evidence is proving. 

I’ll let ya know how it goes. 

*Portion edited for accuracy after consulting with Claire.