I stepped into the sanctuary of the revival church that night in 1976 anxious and excited. I’d never been to this particular church before and didn’t know what to expect. I was a bit skeptical. But I was so desperate for healing that when a friend from my Bible study suggested attending this service, I was willing to try. My friend and I looked for a seat. God, please let this be the restorative healing moment I know you have in store for me.
My hearing had been deteriorating since I was 12 years old, when I was diagnosed with bilateral sensorineural hearing loss. Nerve damage would eventually make me deaf. I had always hoped that God would heal me, even though my condition worsened. I married my high school boyfriend, who knew I was hearing impaired. However, as my hearing continued to deteriorate, he became less supportive and was too embarrassed to learn sign language. I briefly considered attending college, but I doubted my abilities. How could I expect to learn in an environment designed for hearing people?
Now, in the revival service, I took a seat in the front row beside my friend. I patiently waited for my moment of healing.
The evangelist and his wife gave a rousing service about salvation, then invited anyone with pain or afflictions to come forward. Finally, I got the courage to get up, head toward the stage and walk up the steps.
I told the evangelist about my condition. He cupped his hands over my ears and prayed. Then he touched my forehead.
The touch hit me like a lightning bolt. I fell backward. The evangelist hadn’t pushed me or knocked me over. I’d actually fainted at the touch of his hand, collapsing into the arms of the two people behind me. When I came to, they helped me to my feet.
“That’s called being slain in the Spirit,” my friend explained when I returned to my seat.
Whatever it was called, it was a clear sign of God’s presence. Even though my hearing hadn’t yet returned, I knew my prayers had been answered. My healing was coming! It had to be.
Before bed that night, I laid my hearing aids on the nightstand. I imagined waking up the next morning and no longer needing them. I pictured myself awakened by the sounds of traffic or birds in the trees. My experience at the service seemed too powerful to be anything but a promise that my prayers would be answered.
I opened my eyes the next morning and heard…nothing. I lay there in stillness, hoping the silence would bring forth some kind of sound, any kind of sound. But the minutes ticked by, and the world was still as quiet as ever. Nothing had changed.
I reached for my hearing aids, tears welling in my eyes. Everything was the same as it had been the day before. I was exactly the same. For a few days I couldn’t think about anything but my disappointment. Eventually, I decided to start praying for healing again. What else could I do?
God, I know you have a plan for my life, I thought as I got out of bed, one morning. Please let me… My familiar prayer was interrupted by a strong new thought: Why did I keep waiting for God to “fix” me? Why wasn’t I changing my life myself? In that moment, it was as if something was suddenly unveiled, a way of thinking that hadn’t previously seemed possible. Maybe God hadn’t changed me because I didn’t need changing. He’d already prepared a life for me. I just had to start living it.
Once I’d made up my mind to try, my deafness didn’t hold me back. I graduated from college at 42. I taught myself to write programming code and got a job in IT. I even pushed through my fear of being on my own and got divorced, no longer willing to live with a partner who didn’t believe in me.
Eventually, medical science even provided help for my hearing. In 1995, I received my first cochlear implant. I can now hear better than I ever thought I would again. But the real healing had happened years before, when God reminded me to start living and loving myself just the way I was.
