His wounds became your healing.~I Peter 2:24 (From The Message)

My grandmother lived to be 101. At times throughout my childhood and adolescence she lived with my parents and me. My grandmother was smart, a retired school teacher and mother to eleven children. She knew many of the questions when she and I watched Jeopardy together. My grandmother had elegantly precise penmanship. She wrote hundreds of letters that were mailed all over the world to family, missionaries and strangers who visited her church. Always these missives were infused with her faith in Jesus. She loved to read, especially the Bible. Her name was Ella which means Beautiful Light. And maybe what's happened for me over these last few days made me ache to see my grandmother, to tell her of my experience, because so many times she pointed me to the faithfulness of Jesus. 

I received a bad medical report. An abnormal mammogram. The nurse at the oncologist's office called and said, "With your history, you need further testing." I felt anxious and scared. Then I thought, too, "with my history" could mean I'd be healed, because hadn't I been healed of cancer six years ago?"  I began speaking the promises of Jesus over my life, using my authority in Him to claim my healing and resist the enemy--to receive His peace and rest inside the situation. To be comforted by Him, knowing that I was covered in His armor for the battle. I alerted only a few people of my situation. Then five others who did not know what I faced, texted me and told me that God had placed me on their hearts and they were praying for me. The Lord gave me dreams.

I saw a woman dressed in pink in the first dream, and she said to me, "By His stripes you are healed."

In the second dream, I wound my way through a crowded train station, praying I could catch the train and find a seat. Out of breath, I was able to get on the train, but at every turn, couldn't find a place to sit down. Then just as I was about to give up, a first-class seat appeared. I took off my shoes and put my backpack in the overhead compartment. I leaned back in the spacious seat and rested, relieved that I was on my way.

In the third dream I heard a voice say, "You know the name Amy. And I have added the name Faith." The name Amy means beloved. The name Faith means trust.

As I went to my appointment to be tested a second time I declared. "I am the beloved, and I trust you Lord."

As I waited for the results, I felt calm, God's peace embracing me. The nurse finally came back and said, "You can go. There are no concerns." The spot was gone. I lifted my arms and said, "Praise the Lord." And that lovely nurse turned to me and said, "Yes, He is good."

Perhaps by writing this post, it's like I've told my grandmother my testimony. I can see her eyes, blue-green like the sea, shimmering with love and kindness, rejoicing with me in the telling. I know she would say, too, "Jesus is faithful. Jesus is merciful. Jesus is good."

I know we all have struggles and face battles. I wrote this poem in the midst of the battle I faced over these last days. May it encourage you to lay hold of God's goodness. To trust Him. His grace unfolds for us every day. May we have eyes to see--not only to see what is seen, but to believe for what is unseen. I love you.

SOLDIERING

I peer from the foxhole. Look up.

The hills are green, so green it is difficult to believe enemies hide behind their verdant bellies.

Dirt is embedded beneath my nails, the fight evident as I grip my weapon.

Strength flows through my arms as I pull myself into the morning light.

Dew on the ground, my boots on the ground.

A few more days in these hills, a wide blue sky my companion.

A shofar resounding in the distance.

By my stripes you are healed.