I began receiving people at the church for healing from every walk of life, religion, nationality, and race. They came from every social background, from the poorest of the poor to the wealthiest. All sought healing and peace, and I saw it as my responsibility to help restore not only their well-being but also their dignity and to give them strength, hope, faith, and courage.
Week after week, I witnessed remarkable transformations. Those who had arrived feeling hopeless often returned to express their gratitude and appreciation for the healing they had experienced. My team and I never accepted a penny for ourselves. In fact, holding the healing sessions cost me money every week, but I never minded. When people asked how they could repay us for our service, we simply invited them to donate to the church.
I never judged anyone who came to see me, regardless of what they had done or how they chose to live their lives. Everyone was treated with love and respect, and I felt a responsibility to help them rediscover the beauty within themselves. No sin was greater than the love of God. No matter how deeply someone struggled with guilt or regret, there was always hope, and I wanted them to see it. My true enemies were guilt, shame, and a lack of self-worth. It was remarkable to witness how profoundly these burdens could damage a person’s physical, emotional, and mental well-being. I could not bear to see anyone imprisoned by their past. I firmly believed in redemption whenever a person’s desire for change was sincere.
The healing service was conducted with great reverence because we were there for a serious purpose. It was important to remove any sense of spectacle for the occasional thrill-seeker fascinated by the paranormal. My team and I looked beyond such distractions. Our focus was always on healing.
Those years at the church taught me a great deal. Not only did I learn more about healing others, but I also learned more about myself. They made me a better person and reinforced the importance of never judging anyone.
Then one day, the church administration, for reasons I believed were self-serving, decided to discontinue the healing service. I was deeply saddened and informed everyone that the sessions had ended, at least until I could find another venue.
One of the people who attended the healing sessions, Suzy, a working girl, immediately reached into her purse and handed me the keys to her apartment.
“This is the least I can do for you. Please use my apartment as you please. Don’t let them stop you doing God’s work. You help so many people.”
This lovely woman displayed a depth of spirituality that, in my eyes, surpassed that of any of the church’s administrators. I did not accept her generous offer because she had three cats, and her apartment would not have been an ideal setting for the healing sessions. Nevertheless, I thanked her sincerely. Her kindness meant more to me than she could have known, especially at a time when I, too, needed healing.
In the days that followed, it became clear that leaving the church had been a blessing in disguise. Alternative arrangements soon presented themselves, and God led me along a different path of service as a reader, a calling that, in its own way, also brings healing and comfort to loved ones on both sides of life. Although I look back on my years at the church with great affection and sometimes miss them, I also know it was the right time to move on. One chapter had ended, and another had begun. It was time for growth.
