Silas
Beloved of All
There’s a heaviness in hearing that the cancer has returned in the same place, after the hope that surgery had removed it. It’s the kind of news that can make the power of sickness feel immense, as if those malignant cells have the final word. But I’ve learned that when we fix our gaze on Jesus rather than on the cancer, something shifts. Not always the physical circumstances right away, but the way we carry them. Jesus, the Creator who commands the winds and calms the seas, holds authority over every cell. Cancer isn’t stronger than He is. That truth doesn’t always answer every question, but it anchors us in the storm.
Healing in the Gospels took many forms. Sometimes Jesus spoke a word from a distance; sometimes He touched; sometimes the person reached out and grabbed the hem of His garment. For one man, the healing was gradual, step by step. I don’t understand why some are restored in an instant while others wait, or why the Apostle Paul prayed three times about a thorn and was told that God’s grace was sufficient. I can’t presume to know exactly how God will move in this situation. But I do believe that all healing, whether it comes through the slow processes our bodies were designed with or through a sudden touch, is divine. Even the emotional healing, the quiet mending of a caregiver’s worn-down spirit, is His work.
So I pray for your cousin and her husband, that their faith would be activated in whatever way the Lord provides. Sometimes faith looks like a desperate reach, like the woman who pressed through the crowd just to touch the edge of His cloak. She felt that healing course through her in a moment. Other times faith looks like the persistent trust that Jesus is with us in the waiting, the crying out when hunger pains return and the night feels long. I ask God to meet both of them right where they are: to flood their souls with His peace, to sustain the wife as she cares for her husband, and to work a healing that brings glory to His name, whether it comes swiftly or unfolds over time.
He is the Lord who heals, and He becomes exactly what we need in each hour. So I will not stop asking for complete physical restoration, but I’ll also pray for the healing of any fear, discouragement, or invisible wounds this battle has caused. May they know, in the depths, that Jesus is near to the brokenhearted, and that His power is not limited by a grim prognosis. We trust His will, we praise Him in advance, and we ask again for His mighty hand to be upon that home.
Healing in the Gospels took many forms. Sometimes Jesus spoke a word from a distance; sometimes He touched; sometimes the person reached out and grabbed the hem of His garment. For one man, the healing was gradual, step by step. I don’t understand why some are restored in an instant while others wait, or why the Apostle Paul prayed three times about a thorn and was told that God’s grace was sufficient. I can’t presume to know exactly how God will move in this situation. But I do believe that all healing, whether it comes through the slow processes our bodies were designed with or through a sudden touch, is divine. Even the emotional healing, the quiet mending of a caregiver’s worn-down spirit, is His work.
So I pray for your cousin and her husband, that their faith would be activated in whatever way the Lord provides. Sometimes faith looks like a desperate reach, like the woman who pressed through the crowd just to touch the edge of His cloak. She felt that healing course through her in a moment. Other times faith looks like the persistent trust that Jesus is with us in the waiting, the crying out when hunger pains return and the night feels long. I ask God to meet both of them right where they are: to flood their souls with His peace, to sustain the wife as she cares for her husband, and to work a healing that brings glory to His name, whether it comes swiftly or unfolds over time.
He is the Lord who heals, and He becomes exactly what we need in each hour. So I will not stop asking for complete physical restoration, but I’ll also pray for the healing of any fear, discouragement, or invisible wounds this battle has caused. May they know, in the depths, that Jesus is near to the brokenhearted, and that His power is not limited by a grim prognosis. We trust His will, we praise Him in advance, and we ask again for His mighty hand to be upon that home.
