A Journey of Faith and Healing
Hope Amid Illness, Divine Healing, Acts of Faith, and God's Perfect Timing
In April 2005, I was gripped by an unrelenting sickness that felt like a shadow of impending doom. Hopelessness weighed on me, suffocating my spirit. What began as a troubling discomfort soon spiraled into a three-year ordeal of unanswered questions and medical mysteries.
I sought relief from countless doctors, each visit ending in frustration. None could provide a definitive diagnosis. Faith healers became my next hope, as I prayed for a miracle to end the torment. The emergency room staff knew me too well; I became a regular visitor, often arriving in distress, gasping for breath and consumed by panic.
Every test imaginable was conducted, MRIs, endoscopies, colonoscopies, you name it. They all pointed to non-terminal conditions: GERD, IBS, dyspepsia, hyperacidity, dizziness, migraines, and insomnia. But these diagnoses felt inadequate. My physical sensations were real: crushing chest heaviness, labored breathing, nervousness that left my limbs tingling, and even moments when I spit blood.
My digestive system rebelled, forcing me to visit the bathroom multiple times a day, leaving me bloated and uncomfortable. Nights stretched into restless battles with insomnia, while my days were marked by anxiety in public spaces. My children lovingly teased me as "killjoy," unaware of the silent war I was fighting within.
Despite reassurances from doctors that I was not facing a life-threatening illness, the endless cycle of seeking answers turned me into a hypochondriac. My desperation led me to undergo a hemorrhoidectomy and accept various treatments, but nothing brought lasting relief.
When my symptoms defied medical explanation, doctors began attributing them to anxiety and panic attacks. They suggested I see a psychiatrist, which I reluctantly did. The antidepressants prescribed left me feeling shaky, my muscles trembling uncontrollably. I questioned my sanity, wondering if I was losing my mind.
In my despair, I turned to spiritual healers, seeking solace beyond medicine. I joined charismatic groups, praying and praising God fervently. One healer performed a spiritual deliverance, claiming to see spirits leaving my body as she prayed. She insisted on seeing physical changes in me as she worked, offering a glimmer of hope that perhaps the source of my suffering was finally being addressed.
Today or seven years later, I can now confidently say that I am in good health. Yet, the true source of my recovery remains a mystery known only to God. Whether it was the prayers, the treatments, or a combination of both, I believe firmly that God’s hand was at work, in His own Perfect Timing.
God's timing is always perfect - never rushed, never delayed. Just trust and wait.