Originally published in Hyde Park Life Spring 2009

By Mike Alford, Healing Prayer and Nicaragua Mission Team member

Healing prayer. Those words seemed somehow foreign to me, even though I had grown up regularly attending church. The words conjured up image of a sweat soaked televangelist slapping the forehead of some poor sinner who would slump to the ground, slain in the Spirit. Sure, it might have worked back in Jesus’ time, but it didn’t seem to make sense in my world... you know… the world of text messaging, teleconferences and

iPhones. Prayer groups were the religious equivalents of knitting circles as far as I could tell. Nice to have around, but not part of my daily life.

I was running a legal department for a company that employed thousands of workers all over the country. I had worked my way through college and law school and after 20 years of climbing the corporate ladder, I had made it. The illusion of control was perfect.

Then it happened. One morning I woke up and couldn’t catch my breath. It felt like my chest was being crushed in a vise and the only way I could breathe was to lay perfectly flat. I tried to sit up and couldn’t. My mind raced through the possibilities. Could I really be having a heart attack at the age of 45? I knew I needed to eat healthier, exercise more, lose some weight… but a cardiac episode? This wasn’t part of my plan. Eventually a cardiac specialist at St. Joseph’s gave me the news.

The lining around my lungs and chest cavity was inflamed. I had high blood pressure aggravated by diet, stress and inactivity.

If things didn’t change, my prognosis wasn’t good.

I remember coming to church not long after being released and fighting feelings of anxiety, depression and self-pity. My smug self-reliance had been shredded. Not knowing where to turn, my eyes drifted to a small blurb in the bulletin. It said, “Healing Prayer offered after services today in the Chapel.”

And for some reason I turned to my wife and sheepishly whispered, “Maybe I should try this.” She immediately encouraged me to go.

I went, not sure what I was going to say, what “they” were going to do, or even why I was actually trying this. I wasn’t even sure I knew what healing prayer was, but I was desperate for help. When I walked into the Chapel I saw three people seated near the altar leaning together in prayer. Taking a seat near the front, I waited my turn.

When the team had finished their prayers and the third chair opened up, they looked toward me, smiled, and invited me forward.

Once I was seated, they asked me how I was doing and what had led me to walk in that morning. As I tried to explain, the emotions I had been fighting seemed to bubble over. Eventually I made it through and one of them anointed my forehead with oil as we prepared to pray. I wish I could remember their words as we held hands in our circle of prayer that morning, but I can’t.

What I do remember is the profound feeling of peace and well-being that came over me as I felt the Lord’s presence in and around us. I was on Holy Ground. All the misgivings and preconceived notions about healing prayer melted away in the warmth of that experience.
    
I walked away believing that God had healed me in body, mind and spirit, and that is exactly what happened. My physical health was restored to the point that I ran my first marathon later that year.

More importantly, I directly experienced the power of God’s love through the ministry of healing prayer. I now  have the privilege of serving on the team and have experienced the very same presence as I take the hand of someone else, just like me, who is in need.

That’s the real miracle. God can use any of us, even a skeptic like me. All we have to do is let Him.