When I got home, I sank to my knees and cried out to God. I had been a believer my whole life, faithfully attending church and trying to walk in His ways. And now in my darkest moment, I desperately needed Him.
"God, please take this cup from me," I pleaded. "I don't understand, but I know you have the power to heal me. Your Word says that through your stripes I am healed. I am claiming that promise for myself today, Lord. Please, take this cancer away and restore my health."
I stayed there on my knees, praying, petitioning, begging God to perform a miracle. But the days slipped by and my health continued to decline. The treatments my doctors prescribed didn't seem to be having much of an effect. Still I prayed and believed God for healing.
As the weeks went on with no change, I began to struggle with anger and doubt. Where was God in all this? Why wasn't He answering my prayers? I had been faithful, so why had He abandoned me in my most desperate hour?
Dark thoughts swirled in my mind. Maybe God didn't have the power to heal me after all. Maybe He just didn't care enough about me to answer my prayers. My anger toward God festered. I stopped praying or reading my Bible. I turned my back on the faith that had once seemed so sure.
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