When God Doesn't Heal

I have an app on my smartphone that feeds me all kinds of news, not just headlines. It includes editorials from a variety of newspapers across the nation. One that caught my eye recently was written by a woman entitled “When God Did Not Heal Me.” That resonated with me and I clicked the link to read it. I have to say, I could relate to much of what she wrote.

As most of my readers know, I live with mental illness that has been crippling at times. I have been on the brink of an abyss that has threatened to swallow me but have managed to crawl back away from each time. I cannot count the number of prayers I have said asking to be healed. God still heals people today. It didn’t end with Jesus when he walked this earth. If he can heal cancer, Bipolar Disorder is not too difficult. Since I still have it, my prayers have either gone unanswered or have been answered with a no. Either way, God has not healed me.

I admit to having gone through a whole gamut of emotional responses. Sorrow, anger, hopelessness and worst of all, losing faith in God’s goodness toward me. All of which causes the added burden of shame that as a Christian I would feel that way. After all, shouldn’t I just accept it as God’s will and be at peace, even joyful in the midst of it? Paul was in far worse situations and took it all in stride. I should be able to do the same.  Have I? Have I at least made some progress?

A year ago I had just suffered a complete mental breakdown. I was left unable to work and function to the point of having to take a leave of absence for five months. In the first few months I was a mess and consulted a lawyer to discuss disability because it appeared I was going to be unable to hold down a job. And during that time, I felt estranged from God. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. Why I had struggled off and on with suicidal thoughts for years and then became psychotic. At times when I prayed I felt like a faithless lover speaking lies.

Slowly, I regained sanity and strength and I am fully back to as normal as I think what normal is supposed to look like. Yet, when I am in a place of relative stability, I always have the fear in the back of my mind of the other shoe dropping. How can I live with God not healing me?

Romans 8, a remarkable read, teaches that all things work together for good for those who are called in Christ Jesus. Though I find it a bitter pill to swallow at times, the truth of it is I have a deeper compassion for those who wrestle with the same question of why God does not always heal. Sometimes when I want to cut that verse out of my bible and throw it away, I remember that. All the bad, all the tragic and the failure, even the sin (yes, even that can be used) has a purpose in God’s plan for me.  I don’t have to understand in order for God to use me. Like Peter said to Jesus after he taught a particularly difficult lesson to the crowds and many left, and Jesus asked if the disciples were going to leave as well, “To whom else would we go?” I don’t understand why God doesn’t heal me, but I can’t leave him. Where else would I go? He alone is my salvation and my strength. My Rock and my Redeemer.

God isn’t afraid of my vacillating emotions. He isn’t taken by surprise when I feel some fear or question him. And as time goes by, I find myself less inclined to doubt his goodness toward me in spite of “No” answers to prayers. Romans 8 also says nothing can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. My mental illness cannot cause me to fall away from grace. It’s grace that keeps me in spite of it. My future is secure. I may still struggle in this life, but nothing can snatch me from the hand of God, not even myself.