If I were healed from cancer (a holy imagination exercise)

This morning I was awoken by my husband praying over me, and in that half-awake state, it stirred a holy imagination, faith, in other words, to picture what things would look like if/when I got healed from my stage 4 breast cancer. The following is an imagined scenario of what it could look like when the power of God transforms my broken body into a whole one.

Life. The dichotomy of beautiful, perfect, amazing things, and broken, painful, and horrible things. The beauty of a birds song, the sunlight gently filtering through the trees, and the laughter of children, my own. A blessed life. Souls for me to impact for eternity, many who love me in return. Our new home. Music creation to the aim of glorifying the Creator, birthed in me at an early age. Then bleak, malicious darkness, bent at thwarting God’s plan, and casting this faint shadow of eternity into oblivion. Hopelessness, discouragement, sadness. Pain and sleeplessness. Needles. Tests. A million voices telling me what to do. Cancer.

The gentle, faithful love of my lifelong best friend. My husband. Silently entreating the power of heaven to heal my body. God, the Maker of the Cosmos, former of mankind, inclines His ear. He always hears. There’s a stirring in the Divine Center of Emotions. The compassion of the Almighty is aroused. Now is the time for these mere breaths of wind that He loves inexplicable yet intensely to see a demonstration of His unsurpassed power and unfailing love.

I wake up like every other morning, but when I get out of bed, the usually difficulty with breathing is somehow gone. Mystified, I take several deep breaths, waiting for it to return. Nothing. Just peaceful, unlabored, unpainful respiration. I quickly check my phone to see messages from people who are praying for me. Friends who enlist the help of their friend’s friends to pray for me. Hundreds, maybe a thousand people.

I rest a second, soaking in the light of the Face of Jesus, my morning ritual. My hand wanders to just under my left collarbone where my port a cauth is implanted. The bump is gone. The mild pain that accompanied the minor surgical procedure is also missing. More unlabored breaths. I burst into the bathroom, tugging the top of my shirt down to reveal the ugly scar. It’s there, but completely healed. I scream.

My husband is already gone to work. My mom stirs from her bedroom. My daughter enters the hall. “My port is gone.” I show them the scar. They’re not sure what I’m talking about. I do a quick self-examination of the right breast. The monster lump is still there, but I swear it’s softer and smaller. My hand finds the growing mass above my collarbone, or tries to find it. “My tumor is gone!”

“In your breast?” My mom is catching on that something supernatural has happened.

“No, right here.” I guide her hand to the spot.

Locating my cell phone, I skip the usual text and opt for a phone call. “Jay!”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes! My port is gone. And the tumor above my collarbone.” We had opted for chemotherapy that was supposed to start tomorrow, but it got pushed back to the next week, so no treatment has begun yet. We weren’t expecting anything to shrink or disappear apart from a supernatural work from God.

“Are you sure?”

“Jay, there’s no bump. And the wound has healed up leaving just a small scar. I’m calling your mom.”

She’s at my house within the hour, crying per usual. Somehow, within minutes, the whole prayer team from church and my husband have materialized around her.

Faith in the room has escalated. Everyone can sense the finger of God. They press in for the miracle to be complete. Two hours of incense to heaven. The Great, Timeless, Omnipotent God of Heaven basks in the fragrance of the prayers of the saints. And then He breathes a word. LIVE.

Nine people are a witness to the holy eternal act: the lump the size of a plum shrinks before their eyes. The last of the cancer, this stain on God’s beautiful handiwork, is defeated.

When God acts, it’s not for the benefit of a single person. We’re all interconnected. Slowly, the massive network of praying friends and acquaintances hear the news. The story spreads, with more power and vitality than the cancer that aimed to erase me. Countless people who don’t believe in God, or believe yet don’t know or follow Him, are stunned and shaken. Everything is not as they thought. Even believers who’ve passionately served God their whole life but have never witnessed the kingdom of heaven breaking in with this magnitude are shocked.

I call my doctor, filled with boldness and confidence. She doesn’t believe me, but I schedule an examination.

Tonight is church. By now, thousands of people have heard. The media team has to feed a video of the prayer meeting to the children’s sanctuary. We are at max capacity. The parking lot is filled not just with cars, but with people desperate to be touched by God. I’m in a fog. This is America. This doesn’t happen here … The faith in the room is so strong you can feel it. There’s more excitement than when the Cubs won the World Series. Faces are lit with joy and expectation. The band plays, my husband leading, but the Spirit of God is so dominant, that our usual routines cannot survive. The people are already praying. The sick are already at the altar, thronged by the intercessors burning with the compassion and power of God.

The noise is like nothing anyone’s ever heard. Every time a person gets healed, it escalates. The doors stay open to let out the accumulating body heat, and the sound filters to the streets. It’s not long before the authorities arrive. Of course, as soon as they walk through the doors, they are pushed to their knees by the palpable presence of God. Tears flow down their faces.

The rest is history. A city steeped in sin and selfishness has had a second chance. Those marked for the kingdom of God encounter His grace and are transformed. To us, it is a revolution. To God, it was one word breathed.