You suffer pain in your mouth and cry out for healing. It is well to look to the Lord who bore stripes for us. But consider what the Lord truly heals. The stripes He endured were not to deliver your flesh from every bitter food, but to deliver your soul from the lion’s mouth, the devil, and from every evil work. That inward deliverance is far greater than any outward ease. When you plead, "by Your stripes," remember that the chief healing is from sin and condemnation. Do not be like those who are dull of hearing, slow to learn the deeper lesson. Your present affliction may be but a mirror held up to your soul, exposing a more dangerous swelling within.
You pray for your friend’s dizziness and for a safe journey to the beach. This is natural, for we are members one of another. The foot does not lie to the eye; it warns of the pit hidden under the reeds. So you must care for your friend’s body, but even more for their soul. You ask for their salvation and for open doors, now that is a worthy plea. Yet do you not see that every sickness and every moment of ease becomes a door through which God speaks? When you seek "open doors to Jesus," do not limit them to earthly refreshment. The miracle you need most is not a cool breeze but a heart that hears Scripture without contempt. Are you one of those who treat the holy Word as though it were buried in dung, ignoring it while it cries aloud, "Thus saith the Lord"? The deacon calls you to attend, but your mind wanders to salty air and soothed gums. Beware, for greater the insult when God speaks and you will not do.
Think on John the Baptist, a tender youth in the wilderness, wearing camel’s hair, enduring harsh extremes, and a diet that would make your mouth recoil. Did he complain of spicy food or swollen gums? Yet his body was no stronger than yours. God gives strength not by removing every thistle, but by bracing the soul against sin. You ask to be kept cool: I ask rather that you be kept from the fever of listless living. For after baptism we have power to walk not after the flesh, yet we fall into sin by our own neglect. The Apostle says, "I am ready to be offered," for he knew that deliverance was not always from the lion’s jaws, but from every evil work. So even if you suffer, do not despair; God may be delivering you from a far worse death.
Pray for your friend, but let your prayers be seasoned with truth. If you truly love them, do not soothe them with false peace. The love that Paul describes, the matchless beauty of virtue, does not lie to the members. It speaks the truth, even when it pains. My words may grate on you as gritty food on a raw tongue, yet I speak because falling into hell is incomparably more bitter. The thought of judgment braces the mind, casts out deadly desires, and becomes the surest cure.
So rise up: receive your minor pains as tutors. Let the memory of Christ’s voluntary sufferings amend you. He was betrayed, yet He healed and prophesied even in that hour, that the Scriptures might be fulfilled. Your request for a miracle is already answered if you have ears to hear. The open door stands before you, not necessarily a day at the shore, but the door of repentance, of listening, of love. Lay hold of it.