TITLE: Y'shua Please Heal Me By Sheila Koester 01/22/07 |
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“From that time on Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” (Matthew 16:21)
“My turn," my father said picking up a bowling ball. “My back hurts,” he said as he dropped the ball. I watched as a pastor prayed for healing of the intense pain my father was experiencing in his lower back.
“How could I have fractured my back?” my father asked after his visit to the doctor. I felt sad because my father realized he couldn’t do something he had once enjoyed.
Months later during a service my father fainted falling from his seat onto the floor. A nurse in the congregation had difficulty getting a pulse rate while holding his wrist. They thought that my father wouldn’t recover as they were praying for him.
“Leave me alone! I feel ok,” my father said to the crowd gathered around him.
“We called the ambulance for you,” one of the prayer warriors said.
“Why did you call the ambulance? I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he shouted angrily. The Lord had healed him that day.
After the doctor diagnosed the problem, my father was surprised and shocked to learn that he was in stage III of multiple myeloma (cancer of the bone marrow). The disease develops when an antibody becomes malignant with a cancerous tumor. It multiples and pokes holes in the bone marrow and bones. Bone degeneration and bone marrow loss develop making this form of cancer harder to treat than others.
Raised in an Orthodox Sephardic Jewish home, his family brought their traditional religious practices to the United States from Spain and then later Greece and Turkey. Jesus as the Messiah was never mentioned. In 1992 my father was hospitalized for a cancerous tumor that eventually healed. A Rabbi of a Conservative synagogue refused to visit him in the hospital. Instead, a Baptist pastor was willing to come. This act of compassion moved my father to accept Jesus (Y’shua) as his savior and he became a baptized believer in December of 1992. Since then he always looked for opportunities to share his testimony with others.
While going up stairs my stepmother caught her heal in one of the steps forcing her to fall backwards pushing my father, who was behind her onto the pavement. He was rushed to the hospital with a broken leg and pneumonia.
“Bunny, please go to the store to buy a dietary supplement for me,” My father called me in April 2004 after he had been released from the hospital and nursing home.
“I will Dad. See you soon.”
“This should help me get better,” my father told me taking the dietary supplement cartons and iron pills from my hands. He believed that he could fight the disease and extend the longevity of his life.
“They are picking me up and taking me to Bible studies on Wednesday nights at a nearby church,” my father announced to us in a restaurant.
“Hi Harry. How are you doing?” one of the members of my father’s church greeted him while passing by my father’s seat.
“Hanging in there and reading the Bible,” my father answered grinning and shaking his friend’s hand.
“That’s all we can do just keep walking with the Lord.”
In March of 2005 complications from the multiple myeloma developed and my father was hospitalized with acute pneumonia. From March until May he was in and out of the hospitals and nursing home trying to recuperate from the severity of multiple myeloma, pneumonia, and
heart failure. My father’s health declined drastically.
“Dad I’m sorry that you are going through this,” I said to my father who was lying listlessly in his bed.
“That’s life. I was going to live in South Carolina but now I can’t because I’m stuck in this bed.”
“Did you sell the house?”
“Yes, we had the closing last week.”
“Dad, it’s depressing to see you this way. You were always so active working part time, traveling, going to church services and bible studies, and visiting your friends in their homes.”
“Look Sheila. Don’t pity me. I’ll be fine. The Lord knows where I’ll be,” my father responded. He was irritable, angry and frustrated.
“I came to see you. Do you want me to stay?”
“That’s up to you. Right now I need to get some rest. I appreciate you visiting me but you don’t have to overdo it. I’ll be fine.”
My father went to sleep. I stayed and read for awhile in his room by his bedside. When he didn’t wake up I left. I felt as if something had died within myself.
I visited my father often while he was under hospice palliative care. A few weeks before his passing I wrote a letter of closure which I read to him on one of my visits.
“Dear Dad. I love you and am grateful and proud that you’ve been there for me You have done a super job as a father, mentor and role model. Please do not worry about me. I want you to know that my life has been blessed and enriched by your presence. I know that you love me and desire the best for me. God has been a big part of your life and you have always had a close relationship with Him even before you became a Jewish believer. God will be with you and I pray that He will send you peace and joy. I will cherish the happy memories with you. All my love.”
“Eh eh uhm uhm mmmmm,” Dad muttered something softly in response.
“What did you say Dad? I can’t hear you over the voices of the other visitors in this room.”
“Mmmm uhm Bunny uhm uhm.”.
I felt sad and alone inside. I was reaching out for my father but he was going away from my reach. He was no longer the loud, boisterous man I remembered from childhood.
Four days before the end of my father’s life his acceptance came when he prayed a Hebrew prayer after a long period of intense silence. He remembered the traditional Jewish burial practices from his father, who had been a member of the Chevra Kaddisha, a Jewish burial society. They said the Shema Yisrael (Hear O Israel) prayer for people who were terminally ill. It is considered a mitzvah or good deed to say this prayer. He asked God’s forgiveness for any misdeeds or mistakes in his life. The prayer also helped to calm his anxiety and sorrow of saying a final goodbye to his loved ones. My stepmother Sandy thought she heard music in the background. That may have been a sign that angels were present.
Philippians 4:4 presents the following exhortation, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again. Rejoice! ”
I rejoice in the Lord for the time He gave me with my father. I rejoice also that the Lord called him home to be with Him in heaven. My father has been healed of all suffering and affliction and now rests in peace. Thank you Lord. Amen.
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