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I Thought God Would Heal Me
by Phillip Aaron
T he little mission house was filled with excitement. The congregation sang in anticipation of miracles God was about to do. I had taken a yellow legal pad and was hurriedly writing down my feelings. For this was to be the night of my healing.
As I wrote, my thoughts went back to how this all began. While a student at Mercer University, I attended a Baptist church in Macon, Georgia. The church decided to start a mission, and I was chosen to teach adults. This, despite the fact that I had a birth injury which caused cerebral palsy, and, as a result, I walked on crutches.
One day the pastor announced a healing service for the following Sunday night. I felt that I was the reason for the special service. My reaction was to make fun of the idea. I would say, “When I get healed I’m going to date every girl on campus.” Some of my close friends, however, convinced me that since I had never tried a healing service I should put it to the test.
So now the zero hour was approaching. I had special times of prayer on Friday and Saturday. In no way was I taking this event lightly. No question about it, I believed God was going to heal me.
The worship service was too long, and as I was wrapped up in my own thoughts, I didn’t hear much of anything. I was jarred from those thoughts when the pastor announced the healing service would begin.
The little mission house was extremely crowded. Most of the young people from the sponsoring church were present. There were a few people there who, it was said, needed healing. A chair was placed in the middle of the floor. The pastor instructed me to sit there. All the young people stood in a circle around the chair, holding hands. Prayers for my healing began.
I tried to block my thoughts, to concentrate on Christ and my healing. There was no begging in my prayer; I just knew healing would happen. I felt the pastor’s hand moving up and down my legs and was aware of his voice. During the prayer I felt another hand touch me, and repugnance ran through my body. I don’t understand the significance of that brief moment, but I know what I felt. It would be difficult to know how long the congregation prayed. During the prayer a strange feeling swept over my body. Something was happening to me! Then I heard a loud, “Amen!”
 Lord, if you can use me
as I am, here I am.
Lifting my head from the prayer, it was as if a white sheet was before my face. I couldn’t see! I heard the movement of people to make a path for me to walk. Everybody expected me to walk!
A wave of disappointment swept over me. I wasn’t healed. I groped for my crutches and walked toward the door. A little boy, about eight years old, came and put his arms around my waist and said, “Some day you’ll walk.” I put my hand on his head, as if in a blessing. The congregation was confused and afraid. Some of the people still expected me to walk. They felt God’s presence and that He was dealing with me. Although I was blinded, I managed to get to the door and go outside.
As I stood in the cool night breeze, wave after wave of sadness flowed over me. I was not embarrassed that God did not heal me—just extremely disappointed.
A man from the congregation asked me what car I had come in, and I could not speak. Some men picked me up and put me into a car. There, alone with God, the tears came. Through the torrent of tears, I regained my sight. The knot in my throat relaxed and I was able to speak. I have no idea how long I was alone in the car, but finally someone asked if I wanted to go back to the dormitory. I knew that if I went back alone, it wouldn’t be good for me.
Fortunately, deep within me was a desire to hear the gospel. I needed an affirmation of faith. I sat in the back of an unlighted church and listened to a late radio broadcast to the Philippines.
After that healing service experience, it seemed as if all energy had left my body. It was all I could do to make it to classes. My friends left me alone because they did not know what to do. The next week after the disappointing healing service, I prayed, “Lord, if you can use me as I am, here I am. Give me power for service. I promise never to tamper with Your power.”
It took time for me to regain my physical strength after that experience, but I did. There followed a period in my life of questioning.
Forty years have passed since this happened. I still have to contend with cerebral palsy, and I don’t like being handicapped. I feel like a prisoner in my body. However, in spite of it, I have a successful ministry with Jeanie, my wife, and we have three wonderful children.
I’d like to tell the world: If you are the parents of a handicapped child, don’t be discouraged. If you are handicapped, you can make a difference.
Reverend Phillip Aaron has served as a missionary to Southern Baptist Home Mission. Retired from that, he is still actively preaching. Reverend Aaron also writes a column for the Sanger Herald. He and his wife, Jeanie, live in Reedley, California.
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