"Lord, Please Heal Me."

The rib‑cage and back pain from the bike wreck were, at times, excruciating. Lying down was the worst of it; the longer I stayed down, the more the stiffness and pain gathered strength. The spasms would seize the entire rib cage, gripping so tightly that even breathing felt impaired. These were not the best of times, and it often seemed doubtful that any of it would ever end. Night after night, trying to sleep in a recliner only deepened the exhaustion. I kept wondering if relief would ever come.

Weeks passed with little improvement. Deep breathing and trying to relax into the spasms offered only small mercy. Prayer after prayer rose up — “Lord, please heal me.” I repeated the name of Jesus almost like a chant, but the heart of it was always the same plea: “Please heal me.” And still, the spasms continued.

Knowing my own tendencies, a troubling thought surfaced: If I were healed, would I even appreciate it? I remembered the time my father and I pulled a cow from a mud hole it surely would have died in, only for it to chase us the moment it was free. No good deed goes unpunished, they say. Would that be me? Would I forget where God brought me from and, in doing so, lose sight of where He might yet lead?

Then one day — unexpectedly, almost quietly — the pain began to ease. The spasms faded. And now, the pain is gone. Yet just as I feared, I feel the old pull toward ingratitude, the temptation to simply move on as if nothing had happened. As I once braced myself against the spasms, I now brace myself against that lesser part of me that would ignore God’s mercy and slip back into the natural, ungrateful man.

This is more than the end of pain; it is an invitation to grow. A chance to make gratitude a larger part of who I am. And so I pray: “I am naturally ungrateful. Mold me, Lord. Change me, Lord. Please heal me.”

Thanks be to God, from whom all blessings flow.

The rib cage and back pain from the bike wreck were excruciating at times.  Lying down was the worst of times, and the longer one lay down, the more pain and stiffness.  The pain came in spasms, seemingly gripping the whole rib cage to the extent that it made breathing impaired. These were not the best of times, and it seemed doubtful this would ever end.   Night after night, trying to sleep in a recliner imposed a severe sleep deficit. Would this ever end?

A couple of weeks went by with little or no relief. Deep breathing and trying to relax against the spasms helped some, and prayer after prayer was desperately offered.  "Lord, please heal me."  The name of Jesus was recited in a sort of chant, but the impetus of the recitation was "Please heal me."  And the spasms continued.

Knowing my natural self, the thought occurred that if I did get healed, it probably wouldn't be appreciated.   Like the time my father and I got a cow out of a mud hole it would have died in, only to have the cow chase us to hurt us when we finally got it out.  No good deed goes unpunished, they say. Would this be me? Would I forget where God brought me from and, in doing so, lose sight of where God might take me?

One day, miraculously, the pain began to subside.  The spasms abated, and now there is no longer a pain issue. Just as expected, I find a terrible propensity to just go on ungrateful.  As I bore myself against the spasms and the pain, I try my best to bear up against my lesser self that would ignore God's blessing and just go on in the natural man; go on in the ungrateful.

This is more than a relief from pain going on here; it is my chance to grow, to make gratitude to God in me a bigger focus than it was before.  And so I pray:  "I am naturally ungrateful.  Mold me, Lord. Change me, Lord.  Please heal me."