I’ve been working hard on my second collection of first-person Bible stories entitled, I Believe. Starting Monday, I am probably going to post just one article per week until I get this project finished. I really want to buckle down and have this available for sale within the next couple of months. One very cool note is that I was able to get an amazing blogger/author/pastor to write the foreword for me. I’ll post more details later.
I wanted to give you another sample from this new collection.
Time of Need
Every day of my life is filled with pain, torment, and a quickly fading sense of hope.
Sometimes, I don’t even try. There are so many here who are desperate for healing. I see mothers, holding small children in their arms, pleading for someone, anyone, to help them. I watch as husbands fight with reckless abandon for just a chance to have their wives healed, but that chance never arrives, and their efforts are in vain. Countless numbers of blind people wander around, hoping, praying they will one day regain their sight. It’s so sad.
On my worst days, I wonder if there was something I did to inflict this condition upon myself. I am unable to walk. I’ve been crippled for almost forty years. What was so horrible that I might have done to deserve such punishment? I fall into a darkened pit of self-pity, looking for anyone to blame for my situation. Then I stop myself and look at the obvious.
If God was the cause of my affliction, why would He send an angel to stir the pool so the sick could be healed? When the waters are aggravated, the first one to step in is instantly cured of their illness. That doesn’t sound like an angry or hateful God to me. It sounds like a God who wants to take care of the people He created. It sounds like a God of love and compassion.
Over the years, I’ve watched as blind people stepped out of the churning waters and saw their loved ones for the first time. Some had children, and they were overcome with joy as if their son or daughter had just been born into the world. All they could do was stare in wonder and amazement. Then they would all cry and laugh together in celebration of a miracle.
I’ve witnessed lepers hesitantly step out of the pool as if they couldn’t believe what had happened. Having for so long been shunned and abandoned as the outcasts of society, I’ve watched them break down in tears as they experienced the warmth of a hug again. The touch of another human being. Smiles from those walking by instead of fearful and hesitant glances.
And then there have been others, like me, who were unable to walk. They were eased into the moving water by those anxious to see a miracle, but stepped out under their power. I know it’s wrong and selfish, but I always wish it were me instead. I’ve tried so many times to make it into the water. I get so close, but then someone steps in front of me and becomes healed right before my eyes. I’ve dealt with so much bitterness, but I’ve started to realize I may never walk again. Maybe I should just accept the situation, and quit fighting it.
Where would I go? I have no close family. I don’t have any friends. No one wants to hang around a person if they can’t walk. It only slows them down when they want to do something. I discovered early on that certain people don’t want anything to do with you if you have nothing to offer. It’s sad because most people don’t even take the time to get to know me. Outward appearances shouldn’t matter, but, unfortunately, they do. They see a cripple, someone with a serious need, and that becomes awkward. To engage in conversation might require more than just a casual hello.
To be continued…