Last night my mom “forced” me to take Christopher to a healing prayer. I say “force” because yes, I did NOT want to go. It was just going to be a bunch of fanatics and their deep faith that God would make it better. Why hope for the better when, in reality, this was Christopher’s fate?
Honestly, I felt that God had betrayed me and praying was the last thing I was going to do. People always told me to pray especially during these trying times but there was something deeper that prevented me from praying. I was hurt, angry, dejected – prayer was the last thing on my mind and the last thing I was going to do. I was angry with myself for being angry at God. Yet, I felt compelled to go because what did I have to lose? All that would happen would be that God would continue to ignore my pleas of desperation.
We got there in time for the Exposition of the Sacraments. That is when the Body of Christ in the form of the host that you take at Holy Communion is put into a beautiful holder and is presented to the people. As the priest walked down each aisle, he would say that a particular person’s illness was being healed. Could it really be possible?
Me being a stubborn jack-Catholic, I rolled my eyes thinking, “There’s no way in h*ll that God could just heal a person then and there.” Or could He? Had I turned into the doubting Thomas? That is when the tears started rolling. I had become a bad person; I had succumbed to the glass half-empty. I really didn’t wanna be mad at God and as much as I didn’t want to be there, being at that healing prayer was my solace. I squeezed into Christopher as he snuggled into me and I spoke with God for the first time in a long time.
“Why me, God?”
“Why MY Christopher?”
“You’ve always been there for me when I needed you but why forsake me NOW?”
And finally, “God, I’m sorry. I trust you and leave our fate in your hands.”
I desperately sought answers to my questions and for the priest to speak of a particular child’s liver illness being healed that very second but that did not come. Instead, the “sick” approached the front row in which the priest prayed over them. It was our turn. The priest placed his hand on Chris, touched his cheeks with anointed oil and prayed. God hadn’t healed Christopher physically but He graced me with Faith that night.
After the healing prayer, the priest spoke about God’s great healing power. He spoke of the crosses people carry in their lives and how those crosses get heavier. After all, “Christopher” means to bear, to carry. But then, God wouldn’t give people those crosses without strengthening their backs. Sometimes He’ll will for a person to get better. Sometimes He won’t because maybe through a person’s sufferings, it atones for someone else’s sins. Who knows?
I’m not a die-hard Catholic, but having faith that God will see me through it is all that I can hope for. I’m not angry with God anymore and I know that He has a plan for my Chris-Chris and us. I just have to have faith that we’ll make it through with God’s help.
NOTE: I don’t mean to upset anyone by my words on religion. I’m just pointing out my return from darkness. A lot of my family are those “fanatics” and I love them and respect them and their relationship with God. Sorry if I have offended anyone. God bless!
