Tag Archive | healing

Cottage-by-the-Sea, #10, 3/24/17

These bodies You created are frail.
Yet they are also strong.
They fail when we need them most.
Yet keep going when least expected.
They sometimes appear to have hesitated,
Then soar over the worst conditions,
As if never to have even paused.

You’ve allowed mankind to open mysteries,
To learn how, why, when, what of these flesh,
Prolonging life beyond expectation,
Allow us our illusions we can conquer all,
But we’re not immune to the fall,
Death always stalks each of us,
Down the corridors and life’s halls.

Even in what we call a tragedy,
I will stand though weary of standing,
Though the storms are rolling in the harbor,
My anchor is forever attached to You,
It must not matter what Death comes to do,
Who it comes to claim, or scare, to scar,
My faith in You, Lord, must carry me through.
           dfav 3/24/17



We may never never forget,
But right now

We need You to help us forgive,
In these moments,

For a solution to work long term,
In the dark hours,

Be our love, compassion and truth,
Light up our heart,
            dfav 9/29/16


From the Cottage-by-the-Sea #7, 3/24/16


Abba Father,

You promised never to leave me,
So Lord, even in my anger,
I know You’re at my shoulder,
Waiting for my eyes to see.
I know I’m not angry at You,
Far easier to justify my anger,
Than admit I got swept up,
In what modern medicine might do.

Thank You for Your open arms,
Thank You for Your forgiveness,
Thank You for protecting me,
Keeping me from physical harm.

Sustain me as I swallow this bitter pill,
As I regroup and trust Your provision,
Use my life to encourage others,
To turn to You and drink their fill.
Like those who are thirsty to live,
Like those who need hope,
Especially those who need a Savior,
Let them see only You have these to give.
                                  dfav 3/23/16

Outskirts of Heaven


Sunlight dances through spring green leaves,
See the branches breathing, the air hums with life,
Even the sand beneath His very feet,
Whisper Hosanna as they open their paths,
The outskirts of Heaven, I’ve reached them at last.

Beyond the branches and sunlight,
The water streaks silver, rose and gold,
A sun warmed stone beckons for me to come rest,
Out in the middle of these very fast currents,
I should panic but there’s His calm assurance.

Steadily into the water He carries me,
Hospital bed left behind for I’m safe in his arms,
Though I’m afraid of water and should be afraid,
In His arms I know I can’t come to harm,
His heart beats beneath my ear, no alarm.

Liquid healing rushes over my legs,
I sleep and I wake and I’m never alone,
Somewhere nearby birds sing with words,
The days and nights, they come and go,
Jesus loves me, this miracle tells me so.

When ICU is over and I’ve a regular room,
Jesus stops coming like He’d been,
I understand now I’m going to be okay,
But I treasure the hours He spent with me,
On the outskirts of Heaven, Jesus healed me.
             d.f.a.v.  3/27/15

Carry Me Back

I will always remember –
Walls folding back in ICU
Grey turned green and blue…
Arms lifting me were strength itself
Heartbeat in rhythm beneath my ear…
The water running so swift
The human eye couldn’t see…
Trees so ancient they embodied time
Sunlight and leaves a dappled canopy…
Rock with cradle worn smooth
Warmed by a sun older than time…
Healing water that washed death away
Restoring my health and mind…
Having no fear or a bit of doubt
Knowing You had me from the start…
You chose to heal me ten years ago
This I am certain this I do know
Here I am on borrowed time still
Seeking Your healing within Your will…
The river was as real as Heaven itself
Healing divine and so undeserved…
I remember the river silent and sure
And the sound of Your heart forever more…
Carry me again to the river so sweet
Allow me again to hear Your heartbeat,
d.f.a.v 7-11-14

From the Cottage by the Sea 3:55 a.m.


Woke up this morning
There she sat
Watching me while I slept…
Quiet little girl
With big brown eyes
Pain in them she didn’t disguise…
She’s hung around me
For as long as I know
A part of me this child did grow…
How did she get left
When the journey began
Was saving her not the plan?
Silently we wept
For the price paid
If memories could fade…
Hard thing to do
Face the child
In the room where filed…
Her deepest hurt
Her guiet shame
Account held in her name…
Wise ole’ soul
In a body young
Heart’s song finally sung…
No condemnation
Do I from her see
A final gift for me…
Child freed woman
Woman nurtured child
Peace arrives sweet and mild.
In the beginning
When God grew the tree
One day destined for Calvary…
He also planned
For this very hour
Holy Spirit to work it’s power…
Another box emptied
From this tomb
Turned into a womb…
Years or minutes
Seconds to squeeze
In God we can be freed.
               d.f.a.v. 6-12-12

My Prayer – Jehovah Rapha

Jehovah Rapha, the God who Heals, I prostrate myself before You.  Please hear this prayer I plea.

When the doctors told me that the repeated, ever increasing in severity, infections would end my life quickly, I sought You.  I stood on faith and I agreed to let them amputate my leg.  It was no guarantee but it was the best option.  I am still here.  I never knew such dark days existed but Your strength sustained me.  By Your grace I returned to work.

Then another blood clot and my employer didn’t think I could do my job anymore.  So I sought You and You paved the way to disability.  The days were dark and bitter to taste but I was still here.  You lifted me out of that despair and revived in me old dreams that I had given up for sensible ones.  Your hand sustained me.

Now Lord, it has been six months of weeping amputation and leg.  Six months of busting nodules.  Six months of blood and water.  Six months of being swollen and sore and constant pain.  Six months and exhaustion claims me.  Six months of torment. Six months of decline. Oh these days are dark.  Oh so, so dark. And bitter. Oh, so, so bitter. And cold. Oh, so, so cold.

There is no job to fight for…
There is no purpose for me anymore…
I burden my family and our church…
I have no face-to-face friends…
And Lord I am weary…so weary…

But I have one hope.  I have You.

Lord, I don’t want pity or charity.  I want to be the mom my child needs.  The wife my husband deserves.  I want to cook, plant and harvest.  I want to write.

I ask Jehovah Rapha for healing.  For lymph nodes to open and allow fluid to escape.  My blood to be strengthen.  My body to heal.  Let me touch the hem of Your garment for I BELIEVE, I HAVE FAITH.

The hardest part of this prayer is to also sincerely pray for YOUR WILL not mine.  Whatever Your reply, You will not forsake me.

Less of me, more of You.


When Comes the Healing?


Photo original to author, all rights reserved, not to be used without permission.

He was special, there could be no doubt of that, not to anyone.  Yes, this little guy who looked to be sleeping soundly had my heart wrapped around his tiny, puffy finger.  Since the day he came into the world all covered in wet gunk and wailing loudly, he was special.

At first they kept him because he might be sick, but after several days of negative tests his parents had been ready to get him home.  His big sister waited for him, it was time to make the family unit whole and under one roof.  That pretense lasted a few days.  His biological parents marriage was already shattered, the impact of his illness simply gave it breath to implode.

Back to the hospital and he would stay for 60 days, 45 of those in a coma.  The doctors gave him little hope to survive, gave us little hope to bond with our boy. But I made the trek daily, he shouldn’t be alone.

A few hours before work, then five hours at work and another five at his bedside, often going back to work or working beside his bed, sometimes spending the night if he had a bad day.  Those days are a blur in my memory now.  A long tiring, exhausting two months of staying with him as much as possible, whenever possible.

I remember the cocoon like room in Children’s Hospital, the never ceasing beeps and swirling sounds of equipment breathing for him, living for him.  And I remember the day they became quiet and he surprised everyone by living under his own steam.  I recall clearly the kindness of nurses who offered me food and drink, blankets and pillows as I stayed by his side.

I remember the quiet swish of the nurses scrubs as she laid him in my arms and he curled up on my chest and shoulder and slept on for the first time in over 45 days. I remember singing him every song I could recall; silly songs, hymns, praise songs, children’s songs and telling him every story I could remember and dozens and dozens I made up.  I told him about his family and all the possibilities for him in the world.  I told him about ice cream, baseball and Jesus.

He and I waited too.  The staff and I walked around his father’s dirty underwear on the floor and his near empty bag on the sink until I broke down and picked them up, embarrassed by their presence and their message.  It wasn’t my place to be there alone with this precious boy but I was, I was and I wanted to be. 

It wasn’t until weeks had passed that one of the nurses told me how remarkable she and the other staff thought I was for my dedication to my son and my ministry.  Awareness flew in my heart, and I apologized telling her I appreciated the kindness but I wasn’t the mother, I was the aunt. I knew his mother came two or three times a week for brief visits, spoke with doctor’s by phone and waited for her marriage to fail or survive, her son to live or die. The pressure was enormous and too much, it was overwhelming and she did what she had within her to do. Never giving up but watching as what seemed like a nightmare play out before her with her son center stage. That’s a difficult place to be in. I understood that and I willingly made sure our boy didn’t want for company.

Toward the end of 60 days I sat with my sister and heard the grim prognosis…blindness, brain damage, feeding tubes, never speaking or walking.  Their advice was to put him in a home and get on with living.  His mother bravely took him home where she and our family took care of him until he reached the age of 12 and it was impossible to continue. My sister’s life revolved around her son and his needs. She gave everything.

For a while we thought he would prove them totally wrong.  He learned to drink from a bottle, he reached for toys, he responded to sounds, he was behind in development but he was getting there.  But at his first year check-up the bottom fell out again.  That same scenario repeated itself until he was developmentally a two to six month old in a body aging and growing normally.  His brain was destroyed, he lives today, now 19, with less than 5% of his brain stem.  As I write this he is in a different Children’s Hospital, a very sick young man, beating the odds again.

His mom is front and center, caring for her son with deep love and compassion, fighting for him every step of the way.  His dad, his mom’s second husband, watches with pain in his heart as his son lays ill.  His biological father struggles to find his place in his son’s life.  His sisters cringe inside as they soothe and comfort him.  I sit and speak with him and it is me keeping tab by phone this time.

Healing.  We all want that for our precious boy.  Someday he’ll have it. 

Healing now though, ultimate, complete healing I see may be the healing of the wounds and scars of a long ago young marriage gone bad that remain like open and raw pieces of rotten meat. Like the bleeding pieces of two hearts who lost their way in that special first love and never to refind one another, or find some release from pent up anger and pain.

It may be the solidifying of his support system, all of us pulling in the same harness for him, all focused on his best well-being. 

It could be the healing of a heart within a man, more than a stepfather but a true dad in every sense of the word, who bonded with our special child. A heart who knows that this boy is the heart of his heart, soul of his soul just not flesh of his flesh nor bone of his bone but his son all the more. 

Or perhaps the healing of regrets in the heart of a biological father who allowed circumstances to keep a gap between he and his first born children for 17 years. Who struggles, it seems to me, to find a place in his biological sons life.

Only God knows what ultimate healings He has planned for and through this one very special life. Through and because of the life of our special boy…healing is just waiting to be invited in to stay.

Yes, our boy is so special and he still has my heart wrapped around his little finger.



Healing is a personal gift I’ve received from God on multiple occasions. I’ve come to view healing as miraculous regardless of how it occurs. James 1:16-18 tells us “Don’t be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” Good comes only from God, by His grace and His blessing.

I believe that there are four types of healing that take place among the people of this world, those who will one day be citizens of heaven and those who will not.

First is miraculous healing. Healing such as Jesus gifted people in the gospels recorded by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Perhaps my favorite account of Jesus healing is found in Luke 8: 40-48. A woman had suffered for 12 years from a “subject of bleeding” and “no one could heal her.” She knew of Jesus ability to heal and she recognized Him, I believe, as the Messiah but most certainly as one whose gift of healing was from God. She was considered unclean by her fellow Jews. She was not allowed in the synagogue or to eat or be with her family. Everything she touched was considered unclean. She was an outcast because she was sick and no man had knowledge to save her. No doubt she had prayed for those 12 years for healing. At last God was going to answer her prayer. For with all her faith focused on one thing she was determined to find what she sought. Healing.

She possessed so much faith in Jesus’ healing gift that she believed if only she could touch the hem of His garment she would be healed. So she pushed her way through the crowds surrounding Jesus who was on His way to heal Jairus’ daughter. Jairus was a ruler of the synagogue. At last this dear woman managed to touch Jesus’ cloak, just the edge, and immediately she was healed. The bleeding stopped.

Just as quickly Jesus knew what had happened and He wanted to know who touched Him. He wanted to know who He had healed. Right? No. Jesus knew all along who had received an answer at last to their prayers of 12 years. He knew the woman would be there that day and He knew what she sought. He knew of her faith and her heart. He wanted to let the people know of this woman’s healing. He wanted her to be a testimony of His healing gift to her. It wasn’t to embarrass her. It was to uplift her in the eyes of her community. To restore her to them. He wanted her to know her prayers were answered. Her faith was valid and a testament of her heart. Twelve years is a long time to wait for an answer to prayer. So Jesus pressed to know who had touched Him and bravely she came forth.

I can imagine the gasps of the people in the crowd around Jesus that day. As a woman ceremonially unclean for 12 years I am sure the entire community and beyond knew of her separation from everyone. Yet in the presence of all those people, people who had shunned her for 12 years she fell at Jesus feet and told Him what He already knew, that she had been bleeding for 12 years and no physician had been able to make it stop. She told Him that just by touching the hem of his cloak she had been healed. Then Jesus said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” Jesus use of the word daughter here “was a tender address used nowhere else in Jesus’ recorded words.”*

This woman’s healing was miraculous. Instant once she touched the hem of Jesus’ cloak. But not instant in the sense of the number of times she held on during those 12 years praying and believing for a miracle. If she didn’t care about not being able to enter the synagogue would it have bothered her to be considered unclean? If her family were not devoted to the Jewish faith would they have participated in the required restraints?

The second type of healing I believe comes from God is the healing from the knowledge He has allowed mankind to have. James 1:16-18 tells us “Every good and perfect gift is from above,” and I conclude that includes the abilities of medicine, surgery and other medical services. The healing may not be as instant as the touch from the Great Physician’s hand but it is healing just the same. And the knowledge is allowed by God to be used for all. This healing comes with another edge to it for modern medicine and scientific knowledge has begun to seek and find ways to create life and just as everything can be used for good or evil, I believe so can medical and scientific knowledge. Mankind always seeks a Tower of Babel. Always seeks to reach to a status they cannot have or ever be. Nonetheless medical knowledge has saved my life on numerous occasions and I count those occasions as gifts of healing from God though delivered via the knowledge of doctors and surgeons.

The third type of healing is a combination of the first and second. We and our doctors and medical staff do their part and Jesus’ does His.

The fourth type of healing is the ultimate healing. The healing that occurs when God calls us home to be with Him. Then it all ceases. Our bodies are whole and new again. Our hearts no longer feel pain. Our bodies no longer bleed or break or know pain. The hurts and pains of this world are left far behind, so far we forget they existed. We are whole. We are healed. We are home.

So when I pray for healing for anyone, including myself, I do not limit God. I ask for His will in the situation, not for what I’d like to have or see happen. Sure I grow weary of fighting all the illnesses and breakdowns of my earthly body. I grow tired of the extra effort and limits my amputation and continuing Lymphedema, blood clots, depression, anemia and anxiety cause. But I am here and I have known both the miraculous healing, the healing through the knowledge allowed to doctors and surgeons and a combination of both. And one day, in God’s time I will know the fourth and final type of healing.

See that woman dancing all over the golden streets of Heaven? The woman kneeling before her Savior? The one leaping with joy? That woman is me.


*Per New International Version of the Bible study notes on Luke 8:48,