I’ve been learning about miracles. Waiting on the Lord for miracles. Been anointed time and again for signs and wonders.

The anointing has been increasing incrementally over the last few years, and exponentially the last few months.

Having been in the business of emotional healing and heart miracles for some time now, years of inner healing and deliverance has me completely confident that when I pray/declare something freed off of a person that it happens. It is done.

Strongholds are broken. New opportunities await. Lies are released. Freedoms are found. Bonds are finished. Strength is imparted.

There is no doubt. No double-mindedness. No wavering.

But when it comes to physical healing, I am still a novice.

Still learning, still experimenting, still trying to figure it out.

Two weeks ago, praying for person after person, there came a woman who had trouble with her colon; it would come out of her body when she used the toilet.

I am really glad that no one could tell what I was saying as I with quiet dismay softly prayed out loud,

“God, I haven’t the slightest clue what I am doing.”

“Nor how you heal this kind of thing. I simply ask that you heal her.”

I then received a picture of the fibers around her colon being stitched back together, so I declared this, spoke what I saw and in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

I don’t what happened for her, if anything. But the picture I received gives me hope that perhaps something healed for her that day.

A dozen or more people down the line, came a boy of about 12 who was deaf in his left ear. Again, in dismay and softly out loud, this was my prayer that time,

“God, I am afraid of having you pour through me. I feel as though you will consume me if you pour through. But today, I give you permission to destroy me if that is what it will take to heal this boy. I am okay with your destruction of me if it will heal him.”

And the boy was healed.

My hand was over his ear as I was praying that rather unorthodox prayer. I felt nothing, but upon testing he could hear.

We smiled, and those in line who had witnessed clapped.

And I wasn’t consumed, and I wasn’t destroyed, I’m here to tell about it.

What I am learning is that healing comes when ones heart is moved by God’s heart for another. This in turn moves God’s heart, and with two hearts in tandem for someone else, healings are the result.

But I am still afraid.

Afraid to pray individually over person after person for hours on end.

Afraid of exhaustion. Afraid of being consumed. Afraid of being poured out. Literally.

Simply afraid.

The day I prayed strongholds off of an entire area I was exhausted afterward. And with fifty children and twenty adults then pressing in for handshakes and hugs and well wishes, I was simply relieved that Moses had fired up the motorcycle and all I had to do was make a run for it and we were gone.

There are a lot of growing pains to go through in the months and years to come. I am glad I don’t have to learn it all at once.

And I am glad that God is big enough for my fear, and I am glad that God will wait on me as I adapt and grow into this calling.

And I am glad to know that what was hard years back is now easy today, and therefore, what is hard today, will simply be easy in the future.

That day of healings, as I was leaving there was a boy of about 7 years of age. His right hand was lame. It hung limp and useless. I touched his hand, spoke some words while I massaged it, willing healing to come.

I encouraged him to flex his fingers, to open and close his hand. The other children all around helped to tell him what I was wanting, and he began to move his hand, flexing his fingers in and out.

I don’t know if his hand has been healed or not.

But I realize that healing is the same muscle as being healed. We must flex it, and test it, and want it bad enough to risk it not happening, and to keep on asking anyway.