Jeremiah 33:6 - Behold, I will bring to it health and healing, and I will heal them and reveal to them abundance of prosperity and security. A few years ago, I was a deacon in a small country church just outside of Louisville, KY that we were member of for about five years. One Sunday morning I was standing at the back doors, as was my normal deacon duty station, when our pastor gave an altar call for healing, which was not his normal altar call. No one move for a while. After a bit, an older gentleman stood up in the middle of the congregation and moved towards the aisle and forward to the altar for prayer. The pastor announce that this dear old saint of God had a nasty fall a week earlier and was in severe back pain from his injury and asked for people to come up and pray for him. I immediately left my post and headed towards the altar to pray for him, my deacon obligation, but not before several others got up to pray first as this dear gentle man was dearly loved. Prayers were already being offered up for him by the time I reached the altar. There was such a crowd around him that I could not reach him to lay my hand on him while I prayed. However, not to be denied the opportunity to offer up my prayers for the little old guy, I was able to slip my hand in between a few people and lay my hand on him, just barely touching his back with the tips with two of my fingers, much like the woman with the issue of blood reaching up through the crowd to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment as He walked by. Shortly after my humble prayer, with just the tips of my fingers touching his back, I felt – yes – I felt something move under my fingertips, I felt the vertebras in his back that had been injured from the fall, move. YES, the vertebras in his spine moved under my fingertips and he was healed right then and there at the altar of a little country church. He could shave been healed without my prayers, or without the laying on of hand, and especially my hands. I am not saying that my prayers were special or more powerful than anyone else at the alter or even in the church as all of the congregation was praying for him. And I didn’t have to feel anything move to believe that he was healed, however, in God’s Grace, GOD allowed me to feel, and witness, this man’s healing for my benefit, my blessing. The elderly man was healed and I was blessed. God was true to His Word and healed His Son, yet, God was confirming His Love and Power when He allowed me to FEEL the healing! Yes – God healed in the Old Testament, – Yes, Jesus healed when He walked the Earth, – Yes, there was healing after Jesus ascended up to Heaven, - and YES, – God still heals today!!! Thank You Heavenly Father for Your Healing and for Your Love. All Praise – Honor – and Glory go to the LORD over all!!! - Written by Phillip Buttram, Gospel Tract Society President James 5:14-15 - "Is any sick among you? Let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the Name of the Lord: The prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the LORD shall raise him up; and if he has committed sins, they shall be forgiven him." -- It was early in the morning on Saturday June 24 when the phone suddenly rang in the quietness of the night, waking me in a moment of stark terror from a deep restful sleep. I was a commercial flyer employed as a chief pilot for the third largest corporation in the world. Getting up at “O-dark-30” in the wee dark hours of the morning was no big deal for me as I had done it so many times before while flying for the airlines when scheduled for pre-dawn departure, in the military going on pre-dawn watch, and on most of my jobs. But this was different, this was Saturday and there were hopes of sleeping past sunrise as we were not scheduled to fly during the weekend. All the hopes and dreams of a full night's rest ended with the rude awakening as the phone sounded the minising alarm of danger. Who calls in the middle of the night? It was either a teenager making another prank phone call, a misdialed by a drunk, or an emergency. I would have preferred that the intrusive loud ring of the phone was a prank call, at least I could have tried to get another 40 winks. Instead, on the other end of the line I heard the shaky voice of my mother. "Son, Dad has had a massive heart attack. We’re at the hospital. You had better come quick, they don’t know if he is going to make it!” There was panic – fear – and dismay in her quivering voice. I don’t know that I was struck with fear at the sound of her voice, but I don’t know that it wasn't fear, for sure, life jumped into high gear. Dad had never had any heart issues or really any health problems before. In fact, earlier that evening, the doctor told him that his heart was as strong as an ox during a routine visit and that he would live to be a hundred.
But now, the ox was in crisis mode and maybe on his deathbed. I don’t remember getting dressed or kissing my sweet wife good-by – I just remember driving, emergency flasher on, as fast as the road would allow me to go in the moonless night. My work life had me traveling by car, truck, rail, or plane since I was 24. Out of habit, I had always had the radio tuned to a local Christian music station. For me, the radio was mostly white noise to break the humdrum of the roar of the car's engine and sounds of road noise as I was accustomed to driving or flying 10-14 hours a day. It was dark, the radio was on as I sped to the hospital hoping – praying to see my dad one last time before he passed away. Mom and dad were very religious folks. Not religious in the sense of following customs or obeying the teaching of a doctrine – or tradition, but religious in a strong faith in the LORD and belief in Jesus Christ. Mom and dad had worked in their lay-ministry all of their lives and dedicated their strength – energy – and income to the work of the LORD publishing Gospel Tracts. We had been raised in a strong teaching of faith in God and high moral standards. My thoughts right then at that moment were not “God, how could You let this happen?”but were in dismay that this happened at all without any warning or knowledge of pending trouble. The music and song coming from my radio were playing in the background and for the most part I heard the words but was not really listening to them as my thoughts were on dad and my attention was on driving and staying on the dark country roads looking through tearfilled eyes. But in the quietness of the hour, some of the words were still registering in my mind. As one might expect, there was no traffic on the road at this early hour, not even the bread truck drivers. We lived in the country and even though the freeway was only four miles away, the most direct route to the hospital was by the surface or county roads which had curves – hills and stop signs, neither of which slowed me down. I remember as I hit a portion of road absent of stop signs and road hazards, the words of the song that had been playing began to land on my ears and enter my racing mind. I had never heard the song before so I wasn’t familiar and did not know the lyrics that ran across my ears; “The angel, the star, the kings from afar The wedding, the water, the wine Now it was done, they'd taken her Son Wasted before His time She knew it was true, she'd watched Him die too She'd heard them call Him just a man But deep in her heart she knew from the start Somehow her Son would live again.” Somehow these words entered my mind as a hollow echo – I can’t describe it any better than that – I wasn’t listening to the song but the words seemed to be alive as if someone was in the backseat talking to me over my shoulder. Then the phases just seemed to hang there In thin air and my mind refocused on the road in front of me. My car was now on the edge of the small city as I flew past the stop signs that were spaced a block apart. I have often referred to this town as a city of a thousand stop signs, and this morning I was running through all of them that were in my path. My car seemed to fly up a small hill just about a mile from the hospital. Just as I topped the hill headed west towards the hospital, still wondering if dad was alive and hanging on to life as dad was a fighter, or had he slipped into eternity without my finial hugs and kisses and ‘I love you dad” one last time, when the sun broke the horizon behind me with the first blinging rays of bright orange morning light hitting my eyes off of my rearview mirror when the follow phase of the playing song hit my ears, “ “Then came the morning Night turned into day The stone was rolled away Hope rose with the dawn Then came the morning Shadows vanished before the sun Death had lost and life had won For morning had come.” For the first time, I heard the words. I really heard the words. This time it wasn’t as if someone was in the backseat singing muffled or muted words aimed at the back of my head, it was as if the words were alive, right beside me, spoken directly to me, in my ear, by a voice of authority with clearity and power. Right then and there in that instant as the sun broke through the darkness of night, I knew in my heart and spirit that dad was not only alive, but that he was going to live to fight another day. The urgency to drive 90 to nothing seemed to pass in a flash and I actually slowed down a little as I ran through the few remaining stop signs still between me and the hospital. Yes, I arrived safely at the emergency entrance of the hospital, flew up the steps as a young high school teenager and found Mom in the emergency waiting room. Shortly thereafter we went in to see my dad who had been moved to ICU. He was alive, and he was awake and lived several more years to fight the battles of life and battles in the spiritual realm. Some time later, I found and listened to that song again. It was then that I realized that the chorus had been sung several times before the sun came up, but I didn't hear them until that very second of the sun breaking the darkness of night. Without a doubt it was God's timing to assure me, His Son, that He loved me enough to tell me - show me - that everything was going to be OK, in spite of the enemy's attack. Then came the morning – shadows vanished before the sun - death had lost and life had won - for morning had come! Thank you Father! Phillip Buttram Director Gospel Tract Society, Inc. gospeltractsociety.org [email protected] 816-461-6086 |
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