The Healing We Did Not Expect
There is a beautiful mystery about walking with God.
We often think the path will be clear — that the promises will arrive like a sunrise, obvious and undeniable. Yet so often the road of faith is quieter than that. It asks us to keep walking long before we see the destination.
This morning, after watching a sermon by Joel Osteen together, Christy and I were talking about this very thing. Faith is not just believing once. Faith is continuing to do what we know we are called to do — day after day — trusting that God is faithfully working behind the scenes of our lives.
Both of us feel deeply that God has spoken to us about the future. There are dreams, purposes, and beautiful chapters ahead that we believe He is already unfolding. In many ways, we can feel His hand moving things into place.
And yet, there is one area that still feels unanswered.
Christy’s pain.
Since 1988 she has carried a burden that few people could truly understand. That year her magnificent 21-hand hybrid draft horse, Grand Blanc, slipped on a wet course. In a terrible instant, the full weight of that great animal rolled over her body.
The injuries were devastating — crushing damage to her neck, shoulders, back, and left leg.
For nearly four decades she has lived with the consequences.
The most difficult part has not only been the pain itself, but the long and exhausting search for answers. Doctors, specialists, tests, theories — yet for years a clear diagnosis seemed just beyond reach.
Recently, however, a new chapter has begun.
A physician has helped identify some of the underlying issues, and several medications now help ease at least part of the constant pain. It is not perfect relief, but it is progress — and when you live with chronic pain, even small progress can feel like a miracle.
Still, healing is not passive.
Christy works for it every single day.
She sees an extraordinary osteopath - Vincent Beaugrand Champagne - who brings relief through gifted hands and deep understanding of the body. She walks faithfully, even when movement itself requires courage. Most evenings she soaks in the gentle comfort of a warm Dr. Teal's bath, letting the minerals draw some of the tension from her muscles and bones.
She does everything she knows to do.
So today I reminded her — and myself — that our role is simply to keep walking our walk of faith. To keep doing what we know is right. To keep trusting that God is faithful to His promises, even when we cannot yet see how they will unfold.
But then Christy said something that stopped me.
She told me that the greatest healing she experiences is something I had never thought of as medicine at all.
Our cuddles.
She said those quiet moments together — when we simply hold one another — bring her more relief than anything else.
I was surprised.
I have always loved those moments. They are peaceful, warm, comforting. But I had never imagined they could be therapeutic in a real physical sense.
She gently corrected me.
They are.
And when I thought about it, it suddenly made perfect sense.
Perhaps Heaven on Earth does not always arrive as a lightning bolt miracle.
Sometimes Heaven arrives as warmth.
Sometimes it arrives as presence.
Sometimes it arrives as the quiet human closeness that reminds our bodies and our souls that we are safe, loved, and not alone.
God heals in many ways.
But also through love.
Through tenderness.
Through the simple act of holding someone who has carried pain for far too long.
In those moments, the body relaxes. The heart softens. The nervous system quiets. Something inside remembers what peace feels like.
And maybe that is one of God’s quiet secrets:
That Heaven is not only a place we go someday.
Heaven is something we can begin to experience here — in small sacred moments of love, comfort, and grace.
Tonight I realized that perhaps God has not forgotten Christy’s healing at all.
Perhaps He has been delivering it to us every day — wrapped in something as simple and beautiful as a loving embrace.
And if that is true, then Heaven may be closer than we think. 💫
All our love,
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