Healing The Nurses

I was on duty at a fire station the morning the twin towers were destroyed and the fire community lost friends and family. I’ll never forget the incredible pain and heartbreak I went through as the men and women of our department gathered around the television and watched the tragedy unfold. This post is dedicated to the memory of them with a hope for healing and a better tomorrow.

When we’re in pain, many of us go to a hospital for treatment. But we all know someone who still has chronic pain even after being treated by a doctor. Given that healing is supposed to be our job as medical providers, I’m puzzled at how many nurses and doctors live with chronic pain. This story is about four such people, all of them nurses, who were delivered from their afflictions on the same weekend.

I was working last weekend, which happened to be Labor Day weekend. On four consecutive days I had the opportunity to touch four different people who labor hard comforting the sick and who suffer from their own aches and pains.

On Friday, while picking up a patient at one of the area hospitals, I ran into a friend in the ER hallway. Kelly (not her real name) is the kind of nurse that paramedics naturally like; a competent nurse with a cheerful disposition and a wicked sense of humor. I’ve known her for years and always enjoyed her compay. When she was diagnosed with cancer, I got to know her a little better.

She went through the usual regimen of chemo and radiation with a smile, which is hard to do. Cancer treatment can be brutal. She’s a survivor and a living testimony to the advances in medicine. We were talking in the ER hallway, when she asked what I was up to. I shared with her some of the healing miracles I’ve seen lately. She told me she has plantar fasciitis in both feet and lives with constant pain. She asked if I would pray for her feet to be healed.

I knelt down on the floor and place my hands on her feet and commanded them to be healed. A minute later she said all the pain was gone and she was rejoicing – rather loudly. She yelled out, “How did you do that?” I told her I cheated. “It was God and He loves you very much.” We talked for a few minutes. I gave her some tips on how to keep her healing but I had a patient to see. So we hugged and went back to work.

The next day I was back at the same hospital. I asked a nurse if Kelly was around.

“She’s not here today, she’s on call. Can I leave a message for her?” I told her I was there to see how Kelly’s feet were doing. When I mentioned that she was healed of plantar fasciitis she asked me to repeat what I just said. I told her again that Kelly’s feet were healed. Her mouth dropped open. “Will you pray for my feet, too? I have plantar fasciitis in both feet.”

(God perfected the wicked sense of humor)

I asked her how bad the pain was and how long she’d had it then knelt on the floor and placed my hands on her feet.

She said in a surprised tone, “Are you going to pray for me right now?”

I jokingly asked, “Do you want to be healed right now?” She said yes, so I commanded her feet to be healed. A minute later she was jumping up and down with tears streaming down her face. “I can’t believe it, this is a miracle!!” I informed her, “You just got healed by a Jewish carpenter who died 2000 years ago.”

She was overwhelmed with gratitude. Tears of joy ran down her face. We talked about God’s love for her. I gave her a short lesson on how to keep her healing and told her if the pain comes back, not to accept it, but to rebuke it and command it to leave.

On Sunday, I was back in the same emergency room picking up another patient. I was telling the charge nurse, who is also a long time friend about the miracles. She said, “you know, it’s funny, but I’m having pain in my foot. It just started a few days ago.” She’s been training for months to run a half marathon. I asked if she wanted me to pray for her foot. She said, “I’d love it.” So I took her foot in my hands and commanded it to be healed. She hugged me and said thanks. We both went back to our labors.

On Monday, I had a fourth opportunity. I was in a different hospital, talking with the staff while waiting for a patient I’d be transporting. Due to paperwork and other issues we often arrive before the patient is ready to go. I asked one of them if she was a swimmer in college. (She had big shoulders and biceps like a competitive swimmer)

She said, “No, but it’s funny you asked, because I was thinking about swimming today. I can’t go to the gym anymore and I want to keep in shape” When I asked why she wasn’t going to the gym, she said she’d broken the 5th metatarsal bone in both of her feet.

This had to be a setup….

I softly repeated, “broken bones in both feet?”

She shot me an inquisitive grin. “Yeah, why?”

I got up and motioned for her to follow me. I walked down the hallway away from the nurse’s desk. When we were far enough away, so that no one else could hear, I explained what happened earlier this weekend. “You can certainly pray for my feet,” she said.

I tried to appear as if I was merely looking at her feet. I’m not sure she was even paying attention as I whispered the commands for healing. After a few minutes I left and she went back to the nurse’s station. I met my partner by our patient’s room. We loaded her on the gurney. He saw what I was up to and asked, “Did she get healed?” I told him I didn’t know.

As we were preparing to leave, she came over to us. “By the way, I wanted to thank you – my feet feel wonderful.” She smiled and left.

I got into medicine in 1982 so I could help heal the sick and injured. 28 years later that dream is finally coming true.

I’m not really special or gifted. I just stepped out of my comfort zone and miracles met me there. If you’re not seeing the miraculous, begin today as I did. One person and one miracle at a time.