We’ve gotten a few reports of healing in our church on Sunday. I don’t know how else to say it than like that. We had an extended time of prayer during our service. And something happened.

Let me provide the context for that starting sentence: We are a contemporary UMC congregation that is growing rather quickly. We’re a t-shirt & jeans kind of church, with a praise band and practical teaching. Not so much “charismatic” but we do believe that God can do (and is doing) incredible things today. And we offer opportunities for our congregation to intersect with this God in a real way. As the staff person to oversee planning of the services, I knew a moment was coming Sunday. We’d allotted a good 15 minutes for people to respond to the sermon by praying–in whatever fashion they desired. And we invited those who wanted prayer for whatever reason, including healing, to come forward.

And when the moment came I thought: I’m a candidate for healing. My body is broken. Infertile. Mysteriously lacking. But I’ve already asked for this. Often. And Drew still prays for this. A lot of people do. And it hasn’t happened. And there’s been ample opportunity for something to happen. And I’m ok with the fact that it hasn’t happened. I’m ok. I’m in the “acceptance” phase of grief, I guess.

I left that thought in the seat and, instead, took my place behind my guitar… In coming to the place of acceptance, I think I’ve stopped wanting/wondering for things to be different. I don’t know if that’s right or wrong, but it’s where I am.

Then I heard about some of the healings that took place on Sunday…

Why not me? Ok. Fine. “Ye have not because ye ask not.” whatever. I asked I asked I asked I asked.

My only response is to continue to accept.