Post by MIRIAM JACOB on Jul 15, 2013 23:43:55 GMT -5
Miracle in the Mirror
Nita Edwards and Mark Buntain
WITH
Ron Hembree and Doug Brendel
CONTENTS
16 Circle of the Sacred Trust
17 Hail and Farewell
18 The Divine Touch
___________________________
16
CIRCLE OF THE SACRED TRUST
"What will you be doing on the afternoon of the eleventh?" Nita asked the boys nonchalantly as they settled her back in her wide bed. "Maybe you could come by and spend some time with me." It was still a few days away.
One of them had a class to attend: the other said sure, he would drop by. Nita smiled and closed her eyes, deeply satisfied. She couldn't tell them what was going to happen, but she didn't want them to miss out on the glorious event she knew it would be.
The next morning Nita's Buddhist attendant began the usual routine of washing and dressing her. While she changed the linens, she again put Nita in the wheelchair near the window, with her Bible on the bookrest on her lap. Nita strained to see the words, but some days it took forty minutes to get through a single verse of Scripture, and today was no different. When the attendant transferred her back to bed she knelt down with her back to the bed to straighten the dresser drawers. Nita looked down at her, and it occurred to her for the first time how long she had spent with this Buddhist lady. Now, in a few days, they would be separated - and Nita had never spoken to her about accepting Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour. The woman had observed plenty at close range: people had prayed hundreds of times in the hospital and the apartment; Nita had spent hours in prayer, and more hours reading her Bible. It was clear to the woman that her patient believed in God.
But now an inner voice prompted Nita: "Tell her." She waited for the attendant to turn around.
"Do you know something? I'm going to get well," she mouthed carefully.
The attendant smiled with kindness and sorrow at once, as if to say, "I would like to believe it if I could."
"Yes," she answered, "that's why I've been working so hard, day and night, for so many months. What else do you think I'm doing this for?"
Nita was amused. "Do you know my God is going to heal me?" she asked.
The woman's face dropped pathetically as if to say, "What a shame, you hopeless vegetable, that you're losing your mind as well." But she recovered in a moment, shook her head solemnly, and said, "Yes."
Nita knew better. She had not taken her seriously at all. Nita decided to make a more lasting impression on her.
"Bring me a piece of paper and a pen."
Now the woman laughed. It was comical for Nita to make such a request, with her fingers badly twisted. But she brought a pen and the cardboard backing of a scratch pad to humour her, and slipped the pen through the fingers as best she could, under her first and third fingers. Nita could not lift her hand off the bed, so the attendant slipped the paper between the bedsheet and Nita's hand. Then, while she held the paper steady, Nita summoned every ounce of available will power and painstakingly dragged her hand across the page, scrawling a message:
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 11TH, 1977 3:30 P.M.
The woman looked at it quizzically.
"Keep it," Nita said without explanation. "And don't keep it here. Keep it in your own room." She didn't want the woman to think when the day came that it had been tampered with in any way. She wanted to know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that Nita's God had done what He said He was going to do.
She wondered whether to tell Colton - wondered whether she would feel the necessary release from the Lord when he arrived later in the morning.
She heard him come through the front door, and she knew his routine. He always paused to quiz the attendant, to find out how many teasthingys of broth Nita had taken, how many times she had vomited or fainted or choked for air. Then he walked on into Nita's room, and she expected to hear the usual opening question: "How are you today?" But Colton had been talking to his Father, and He had heard something.
"What did God tell you?" he asked Nita pointedly.
Nita was taken aback. But she answered him cunningly with a question of her own.
"What about?"
Colton looked through her.
"What did God tell you?" he said again, with demand. Nita had not even hinted to Colton or Suzanne about the voice, nor its message, nor the confirmation she had received in Colton's church. But somehow Colton had sensed the turning of the tide. She grinned at him. She knew she was about to see a spectacle of jubilation; it was Colton's way.
"God told me He is going to heal me on the eleventh of
February at 3:30 in the afternoon."
But Colton did not exult as she expected. Instead, he stood there, mesmerized, humbled and quiet, taking in the full import of what she was saying, realizing that God was already in the process of doing something so miraculous that he could not completely grasp it.
"What do you want me to do about it?" he finally asked softly.
Nita began to share the thoughts and inclinations that God had given her. She wanted people present for the miracle, to witness what God was going to do. She wanted no unbelief in the vicinity when her Saviour came to her - only the company of true believers.
"No doubting Thomases while the Great Physician is at work," she said emphatically.
She wanted her mother close by. And medical experts who could document the authenticity of the healing.
But she made it clear, wagging an imaginary finger in Colton's face: he was not to tell anyone what was going to happen. She did not want anyone around to talk disbelievingly. No one was to know about the miracle in advance. God had sealed her lips. Much later she would realize why God had silenced her. He didn't want anyone talking her out of her miracle.
The preacher and the patient agreed together and prayed together, then Colton left. Nita lay awake after he had gone, unable to calm the fomenting excitement she was feeling.
As far as she was concerned, she was already healed. She had already begun to exist in the future, her mind and body as free as they had ever been. She was already living beyond February 11th. She rejoiced constantly, brimming with anticipation. She was convinced her miracle was en route. Later, those closest to her would recall the change in her personality even before the healing.
She laughed when she thought of this happening to her - of all people! Nita had always been the most sceptical Spirit-filled Christian she knew. She called herself "doubting Thomas's oldest daughter." She had never easily swallowed the miracle stories. The fantastic tales of God's unusual workings were fine for others - but now she was caught in the middle of one!
The agony was not in believing it, but in not being able to tell her precious mother or her grieving brother. She looked at them, worn with anguish, their faces creased with months of worry, and she begged her Father to let her ease their burden. But no release came. Nita had learned the hard way to obey the Lord, and she knew God wanted her to hold her peace.
But even this peculiar sadness couldn't quench her emotions and she never looked back. She was continuously bursting with excitement, as if the miracle had actually occurred.
Colton's guest, Syvelle Phillips, was still in town. He was one of the greatest believers in supernatural healing that Colton knew. Syvelle's own mother had been miraculously healed when he was a teenager. Colton asked Nita if she would allow him to bring his guest to the apartment to pray for her. She agreed. It was an honour.
Syvelle sat and looked at her with pity in his eyes. Besides her own deformities, she had attached deformities as well. She was surrounded by sandbags and wearing her hulking metal calipers, which ran the full length of her legs and kept them from shrinking to different sizes as her hands already had.
Syvelle ministered to her with bravado, then prayed for her.
Colton smiled a broad smile.
"I believe God is going to heal Nita," he said to Syvelle as the prayer came to an end.
Syvelle nodded pleasantly and smiled in general agreement, just as so many others had nodded and smiled so many times over the months, each time Colton had spoken in the fullness of faith.
Nita looked at the visitor and a little green light blinked on inside her. She knew she should tell this American preacher about the miracle. She related her story matter of factly.
Syvelle continued his nodding, but he couldn't hold the smile. He looked toward Colton, to see if he had accepted the whole story. It was clear that he had.
"Have you been reading Betty Baxter's story?" Syvelle asked her. Betty Baxter, had been healed dramatically years before in the United States and had also declared the date of her healing in advance.
"Yes, I have her tapes," Nita responded.
That was enough for Syvelle. He felt Nita had probably made herself believe her own story after dwelling on somebody else's.
Outside the apartment, the American preacher quizzed Colton. How could he go along with this datesetting business? Syvelle could accept the fact of Nita's eventual healing - but the audible voice, the date and the hour, were a little extreme. It probably was the subtle suggestion of the Baxter tapes combined with so many months of despair. It just couldn't be!
Colton was adamant. He would not be shaken from his position. Nita had heard God's voice and she would be well again at 3:30 on February 11.
Syvelle gave up with Colton and attached himself to Suzanne, Colton's wife. He talked to her pointedly about facing reality. He was concerned for his friend's health. Colton had been working feverishly on the new church building, and Syvelle was afraid that he would be shattered if the miracle failed to occur.
But there was nothing to be done. Colton could not be persuaded otherwise.
Finally Syvelle made Suzanne a final last-ditch offer.
"If the miracle doesn't happen, and it's too much for Colton to take, call me," the preacher said with genuine compassion. "I'll come back here to Sri Lanka and take him home with me to the States for a while. The rest might do him good."
Syvelle headed back to America alone, deeply concerned about the future of his friend Colton. This Asian girl could be the death of his dearest friend.
Nita would bring one more person into the elite sacred circle.
Brother Andrew, immortalized as "God's Smuggler," had been scheduled to speak at Colton's church on the ninth and tenth of February. Hundreds of people who never normally attended would show up to hear the renowned man of God who had carried thousands of Bibles behind the Iron Curtain. Nita had never met him, but she wanted to hear him, so on the first evening of his visit Colton's boys carried her up to the balcony of the church and put her in her obscure corner to avoid the limelight.
Throughout the sermon Nita felt Andrew's beautiful piercing blue eyes on her, as if he were scanning her brain. It made her again self-conscious about her physical condition - and embarrassed. Afterwards Colton brought Andrew up to the balcony and introduced them to each other.
Nita knew in a moment that this man should also bear the sacred trust. Quietly, with Colton interpreting her noiseless words, Nita shared the great sacred secret with Brother Andrew.
He exploded in praise to God. Probably more than any of them, Brother Andrew was accustomed to the miraculous. Among other things, he had seen God close the eyes of communist border guards as he smuggled Bibles and other illegal religious tracts behind the Iron Curtain. But the news about Nita turned his spiritual motor on, and he poured out thanks to God in a bubbly unknown language.
In the sacred circle of trust there were four believers and one sceptic.
17
HAIL AND FAREWELL
The next day was a hard one. The time had come for Ted to go back to England, and for all Nita's petitioning before the Throne of Grace, she still had no freedom to tell him about the miracle she knew would occur in only twentyfour hours. He was broken. It killed him to leave her, and yet he knew it was pointless to stay.
"Man, I've got to get back," she overheard him wearily telling a cousin. "I have only one day before I have to be back on the job. I've got to get myself together."
Nita longed to make him stay, to say, "Hey, big brother, be here, stay at home." Instead, she kept silent.
Inside, she ached for him to be there at the most fantastic moment of her life. The three other men she had been able to tell - Colton, Syvelle, Andrew - Nita would have gladly exchanged for the privilege of telling Ted. But the release never came.
She wanted to see him off to England, but he refused. He didn't want his sister to be a spectacle at the airport, and he knew that the trip, short as it was by normal standards, would exhaust her. He knew they would both break down, and he knew how dangerous that could be for Nita's failing heart.
Suzanne came by and took her to her mother's home, to bid him farewell. She did not get out of the car - the ritual would have taken too long - so Ted walked down to the gate and said his good-byes. He held her hand, the same crooked little hand that he had so desperately flexed on that first day in Sri Lanka. He bent down and kissed her again and again, grieved but trying to keep cool, biting back the tears. She knew by his face that he thought he was seeing her for the last time. Nita hated it. She loved him.
Now he was gone.
Mrs. Edwards drove Ted to the airport. Colton and his family would be going to church again, and they didn't want Nita to be alone in her apartment after the ordeal, so they insisted on taking her with them for Brother Andrew's second service.
It was late. The main floor was already packed. The balcony was full. People were standing in the stairways, in the rear of the sanctuary, in the foyer, anywhere there was a square foot of space. Nita was petrified. For every person in the swarming church, there were two gawking eyes.
It had already been an emotionally devastating day. She was at the edge, ready to break.
"If I can't get into the balcony," Nita pleaded with soundless lips, "I want to go home!"
Suzanne comforted her patiently. "It will be all right. I'll stay right with you. I won't leave you for a moment."
And she began pushing Nita's wheelchair to the only available place in the entire building: directly in front of the pulpit.
The service had already begun: Colton was at the pulpit, motioning to Suzanne to come on, come on, it's okay.
Nita felt her numb face growing hot with shame as the people turned and squirmed to stare, row by row, as she rolled down the aisle. It was the Roman Forum, the circus, with the spectators packing the galleries to stare at the freak. An international delegation occupied the front row. The military adviser to the nation's president sat a few seats away. All the big shots had turned out for Brother Andrew ... and here she sat, strapped like a bizarre rag doll to a metal chair, her head slumped down to one side on the end of a neck made of rubber, and absurdly - wearing sunglasses because of the constant tearing and the sensitivity she had developed to direct light.
Who among the hundreds of people could help but stare at the misshapen little creature in front of the pulpit, her bony legs encased in metal braces, her fingers misjointed, as if she had been assembled by a demented toymaker?
Nita was decimated. Already today she had watched her brother walk away in despair, and now this debacle. She had been out from under the public microscope for so long ... she had successfully avoided the limelight for so many weeks ... and now she was front and centre.
The service ended and bedlam descended on the helpless girl. The rabid attention of well-meaning masses had always embarrassed her, and now she was engulfed in it. A thousand people pressed in to pat her on the head and say, "God bless you, we're praying for you." Several of the foreigners wrote her name down to carry back the exotic prayer request. But Nita suspected they only came by out of morbid curiosity to look on her misshapen body. She was itching to tell them all to lay off with the sobbing and start rejoicing.
"Hey, brothers and sisters!" she wanted to shout. "Tomorrow at this hour, by the grace of God, I'll be walking!"
But she could no more tell her secret to these nameless throngs than she could tell her precious, troubled brother. Or mother. Instead, she was reduced to smiling blandly for the onlookers, secretly resenting their intrusion on her privacy.
If only she could have held them off one more day.
But God's hand had arranged the bizarre exhibition! More people saw Nita's deformed body in that single evening than had seen her in all the months of her captivity. Tonight she was an obituary - tomorrow she would be Page One.
After the service, Colton led his family and Brother Andrew and Nita to a late dinner on the lawn of the Fountain Café. Michaele played with Nita, rubbing soup on her lips and goofing around. He thought he saw Dr. Pieris, the cynical Buddhist neurophysician, at another table on the lawn.
"He's staring at you," Michaele insisted.
But the lights were too dim for Nita to see him. Michaele impishly wheeled her past the man: he averted his eyes as they went by. Yes, it was Pieris.
How ironic, Nita thought, that he would be among the last to see her in this condition. If only Ted could be here instead, she thought grimly, still pining over her brother's sad departure.
Brother Andrew, on the other hand, was soaring, gobbling his dinner and laughing and talking about Nita's impending miracle as if he were receiving the healing himself. Suddenly he pushed away from the table and leaned over to Colton.
"Is it all right if I hug that girl?"
"Of course, go right ahead!"
Brother Andrew bounded toward her, squeezed her tight, and burst forth in tongues, praising God and weeping with joy. He was going to fly out of Sri Lanka tonight, only hours before the miracle, but he knew it would happen, and he was gleeful.
Nita watched Andrew clapping his hands and praising his Father, and she was tickled by the happy demonstration. She sensed that God had given her this beautiful little encounter to lift her spirits at the end of her final trying day. Even in the slightest things, she knew, her Heavenly Father was still caring for her.
"The joy of the Lord is my strength," she often recited from Nehemiah 8:10. On this last night of captivity, with its particular sadness, the Lord was strengthening her with this expression of divine joy.
Still, it felt good to know that this was the last time she would have to watch someone else express what she was feeling. She was thankful already that very soon she would be able to reach out and touch these dear people just as they had reached out and touched her ... to show love as freely as she felt it ... and as freely as she had received it.
Nita sighed softly and closed her eyes. She longed for the perfect, gentle face of tomorrow.
18
THE DIVINE TOUCH
Nita had lived that week as one continuous day, hardly able to sleep for the excitement and anticipation. She began counting off the hours some four days before the event, urging the clock to hurry, hurry. She wanted time to speed away, so her Jesus could touch her.
She could see it already in her mind's eye. She could see the gnarled fingers and toes straightening. She could see her hands growing strong and healthy. She could see these miserable skinny legs filling out and straightening. She could see the bloated stomach shrinking to its normal size. She could hear her voice returning. She could see her vision coming back. She could see movement. She could see herself walking.
She could see herself whole.
It was no problem to see it all. It required no imagination, no mental talent. She was very sure.
Thursday night was a waste as far as sleep was concerned. The sun may as well have never set. Nita checked the clock every few minutes, and filled the time in between with prayer and praises to her Lord. But the night lingered on like an unwanted guest and would not go away. Finally she could wait no longer. As the hour hand of the clock crawled toward five, she buzzed her sleepy attendant and had her turn on Radio Sri Lanka. She also wanted her big wristhingych set precisely. She wanted to be ready for her appointment. She trusted that God had given her the promise in Sri Lanka time!
As she lay there, the tension of anticipation steadily mounted. Again and again she looked at the time and each hour she reminded herself of the promise.
At ten o'clock: "In five and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed."
At eleven o'clock: "In four and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed."
At noon: "In three and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed. Glory to God!"
Nita asked the attendant to place her slippers next to her bed. They had rarely been worn in the past year. The attendant laughed.
"Oh, you're planning to take a walk, eh?" she asked as she put them in place.
Obviously she had forgotten the piece of paper hidden somewhere in her bedroom, and Nita kept quiet. She would see soon enough what her Jesus was going to do.
The woman gave Nita her morning sponge bath on schedule, but her patient requested the afternoon ritual to be a bit early -perhaps 12:30? She wanted to be sure she was ready in plenty of time for her appointment with the gracious Great Physician.
At 12:30 Nita watched the attendant's hands rubbing the sponge across her lifeless flesh as she had for so very many days. She could see movement through her weakened eyes, but she could not feel the sponge.
Just three more hours, she said to herself, and I'm going to be totally healed. The confidence was absolute. She knew she would feel again in three hours, totally restored by God. Even the simple sensation of a sponge bath would be wonderful.
But maybe, Nita thought, since God's power is so great. .. maybe I'm already a little healed right now. The attendant finished her work and reached under Nita's body with both arms to roll her over. It had always been like lifting a sack of potatoes before. Nita decided to jack her head up off the pillow, to see how healed she was.
The muscles were as dead as ever. She couldn't move the first inch. She tried each mental lever in succession, but all the connections were still unplugged: no voice, no vision, no muscular control - nothing.
Still, her faith was solid. The oldest daughter of Doubting Thomas was vanquished. The faithless, scoffing university student had died, and in her place was a new creature, full of faith. It didn't occur to this new Nita to think, Hey, it might not happen; I might not be healed. God had short-circuited her doubting apparatus. The old Nita would have analysed and fretted over such a leap from cripple to conqueror. But the new Nita was not trying to help God do His work at all. She could still recall the calm, authoritative voice that had given her the promise: "Nita, I'm going to raise you up to be a witness to Asia. I'm going to heal you on Friday the eleventh of February."
How she would ever take the gospel to Asia she had no idea. But of her healing, of the date and the hour, she was utterly sure. God had given her the supernatural gift of faith. For the new Nita, the healing had already happened. All that remained was the gathering of the evidence!
In the past the afternoon sponging had always led to the same thing: the attendant would dress her in clean bedclothes. Today Nita stopped her.
"Bring me my slacks."
She had planned it all, days in advance. She knew just what she would be wearing when Jesus came in: a simple light green shirt, and the same pair of black-and-white checked slacks that she had been wearing as she bumped down the stairs of St. Bede's.
The attendant looked at her hesitantly, sceptically. Nita had not worn slacks at all in nearly a year. She would have to remove the heavy metal calipers from her legs.
"Go ahead!" Nita said decisively. "And take those rotten sandbags as well."
After months of gross weight loss, the slacks hung on her like shower curtains. But Nita was content. To walk again wearing these same slacks would satisfy her sense of dramatic irony.
When the attendant had carefully lain her back down on the bed, fully dressed, her eyes immediately locked in again, magnet-like, on her wristhingych. Gradually, prayerfully, Nita's eyes closed for longer stretches, as she began to be enveloped in the awesome presence of God.
She was beautifully calm, resting on a cloud of assurance, lost in the love of her Heavenly Father. Again she was floating out into the beautiful Indian Ocean, resting happily on her daddy's shoulders, confident of his strength, sure of his love. There were no doubts to disturb the moment, no questions to interrupt the tranquillity. The Father was there. Her Father was in firm and loving control.
As Nita slipped ever nearer to the heart of God, the chosen few who would witness the miracle began to assemble reverently around her.
At two o'clock, Colton and Suzanne arrived, solemn and quiet. They knew this would soon be holy ground. It was clear from the glow of Nita's face that the transformation would soon begin. They didn't talk to her at all, but sat down and began to pray quietly.
Colton's secretary Beryl had interceded in prayer for Nita with unmatched fervour during her illness. Colton felt she should be present. She arrived and joined the graceful travail.
Two women doctors, stepped into the room. They were medical professors who loved the Lord and who had examined and treated Nita during parts of her long ordeal. They had no hint of what was going to happen here; Colton had only invited them to a special time of prayer. They were honoured. They knew Nita Edwards was in seclusion and only a select few had ever been behind these doors.
Colton's youngest son Michaele arrived without his brother. He sat outside Nita's bedroom door to make room for the others. After a while he got thirsty and, with no idea of what he would miss, left to get a milkshake.
At three o'clock, Colton read a passage of Scripture. Even today, no one who was in the room remembers what passage he read. The presence of God was already so overwhelming that everything else was thoroughly submerged.
Then Colton knelt beside the bed to pray, and the others followed his lead - except for Dr. Sudo, who because of her pregnancy sat in a chair.
Nita's mother knelt to her daughter's left, closest to her. Colton and Suzanne were on the right, toward the foot of the bed. Days before, Nita had teased them about keeping their distance. "You never know what the Lord's going to do." It would turn out to be wise advice.
The room was filled with prayer and a sense of awe, and the supernatural transformation began. At 3:20 Nita looked at her watch for the last time. She knew beyond any shred of doubt that her days as a paralytic cripple were fast coming to an end. In that moment, by faith, she crossed the chasm between earth's time and God's time. And she was suddenly living in a capsule of eternity. Minutes and seconds became meaningless as the Holy Spirit bathed her in supernatural life, making her more alive than she had ever been.
Nita felt her spirit being lifted, and she soared with it. Her paralysed throat was gurgling and rasping praises to God. She was unable to stop bursting with praise.
Colton opened his eyes, amazed to hear it. In all his months of fiery ministry to her, and remembering all the people who had stood by her bed prophesying and speaking in tongues, he had never seen Nita open up in her worship. She had never even led in prayer. She had wept, she had entered into prayer, but her Episcopalian propriety had always prevailed . . . she had always been careful not to engage in that "raucous behaviour."
Until now. Even without a voice, she was crying out, before the Throne, without regard to the people around her . . . in keen anticipation of what God was about to do for her.
The power of God invaded the room, from the right side of her bed, like a ball of fire. The glory of God burst in, flooding that tiny space with such intensity that the inhabitants were swept up in it, and overcome by it. It was like looking directly at the noonday sun, and only being able to take in a tiny fraction of the radiance.
The air was charged with a fantastic burst of electricity.
Nita's bed began to vibrate with the energy of God's presence, and she felt a million volts of power coursing through her body. Every cell, every fibre, every tissue of her body pulsed with it. Wave after wave rolled through the full length of her. She was oblivious to her surroundings, to the others. She was longing to see Jesus.
Just at 3:30, He came into the room with blinding glory, phenomenal brilliance, impossible radiance. Nita gazed into His face, and everything within her struggled to reach out to Him, to draw even one bit closer to Him. Her healing was no more a factor. She was unaware of her own physical condition. Her physical realm had evaporated. She only longed to touch Him ... to connect somehow with that fabulous source of light and love.
In later years, when Nita tried to talk about it, she was never able to satisfy herself with words. Nothing ever came close to capturing the majesty of those moments. But as she struggled to describe the encounter, her arms often ached with the tension of that beautiful longing.
As she looked at Him, He moved toward her. She was suspended in time and space, filled beyond capacity by the unfathomable love of God. He came to the foot of her bed, and then He reached out with a nail-scarred hand.
And He touched her.
One time.
(CONTINUED IN NEXT POST )
Nita Edwards and Mark Buntain
WITH
Ron Hembree and Doug Brendel
CONTENTS
16 Circle of the Sacred Trust
17 Hail and Farewell
18 The Divine Touch
___________________________
16
CIRCLE OF THE SACRED TRUST
"What will you be doing on the afternoon of the eleventh?" Nita asked the boys nonchalantly as they settled her back in her wide bed. "Maybe you could come by and spend some time with me." It was still a few days away.
One of them had a class to attend: the other said sure, he would drop by. Nita smiled and closed her eyes, deeply satisfied. She couldn't tell them what was going to happen, but she didn't want them to miss out on the glorious event she knew it would be.
The next morning Nita's Buddhist attendant began the usual routine of washing and dressing her. While she changed the linens, she again put Nita in the wheelchair near the window, with her Bible on the bookrest on her lap. Nita strained to see the words, but some days it took forty minutes to get through a single verse of Scripture, and today was no different. When the attendant transferred her back to bed she knelt down with her back to the bed to straighten the dresser drawers. Nita looked down at her, and it occurred to her for the first time how long she had spent with this Buddhist lady. Now, in a few days, they would be separated - and Nita had never spoken to her about accepting Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour. The woman had observed plenty at close range: people had prayed hundreds of times in the hospital and the apartment; Nita had spent hours in prayer, and more hours reading her Bible. It was clear to the woman that her patient believed in God.
But now an inner voice prompted Nita: "Tell her." She waited for the attendant to turn around.
"Do you know something? I'm going to get well," she mouthed carefully.
The attendant smiled with kindness and sorrow at once, as if to say, "I would like to believe it if I could."
"Yes," she answered, "that's why I've been working so hard, day and night, for so many months. What else do you think I'm doing this for?"
Nita was amused. "Do you know my God is going to heal me?" she asked.
The woman's face dropped pathetically as if to say, "What a shame, you hopeless vegetable, that you're losing your mind as well." But she recovered in a moment, shook her head solemnly, and said, "Yes."
Nita knew better. She had not taken her seriously at all. Nita decided to make a more lasting impression on her.
"Bring me a piece of paper and a pen."
Now the woman laughed. It was comical for Nita to make such a request, with her fingers badly twisted. But she brought a pen and the cardboard backing of a scratch pad to humour her, and slipped the pen through the fingers as best she could, under her first and third fingers. Nita could not lift her hand off the bed, so the attendant slipped the paper between the bedsheet and Nita's hand. Then, while she held the paper steady, Nita summoned every ounce of available will power and painstakingly dragged her hand across the page, scrawling a message:
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 11TH, 1977 3:30 P.M.
The woman looked at it quizzically.
"Keep it," Nita said without explanation. "And don't keep it here. Keep it in your own room." She didn't want the woman to think when the day came that it had been tampered with in any way. She wanted to know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that Nita's God had done what He said He was going to do.
She wondered whether to tell Colton - wondered whether she would feel the necessary release from the Lord when he arrived later in the morning.
She heard him come through the front door, and she knew his routine. He always paused to quiz the attendant, to find out how many teasthingys of broth Nita had taken, how many times she had vomited or fainted or choked for air. Then he walked on into Nita's room, and she expected to hear the usual opening question: "How are you today?" But Colton had been talking to his Father, and He had heard something.
"What did God tell you?" he asked Nita pointedly.
Nita was taken aback. But she answered him cunningly with a question of her own.
"What about?"
Colton looked through her.
"What did God tell you?" he said again, with demand. Nita had not even hinted to Colton or Suzanne about the voice, nor its message, nor the confirmation she had received in Colton's church. But somehow Colton had sensed the turning of the tide. She grinned at him. She knew she was about to see a spectacle of jubilation; it was Colton's way.
"God told me He is going to heal me on the eleventh of
February at 3:30 in the afternoon."
But Colton did not exult as she expected. Instead, he stood there, mesmerized, humbled and quiet, taking in the full import of what she was saying, realizing that God was already in the process of doing something so miraculous that he could not completely grasp it.
"What do you want me to do about it?" he finally asked softly.
Nita began to share the thoughts and inclinations that God had given her. She wanted people present for the miracle, to witness what God was going to do. She wanted no unbelief in the vicinity when her Saviour came to her - only the company of true believers.
"No doubting Thomases while the Great Physician is at work," she said emphatically.
She wanted her mother close by. And medical experts who could document the authenticity of the healing.
But she made it clear, wagging an imaginary finger in Colton's face: he was not to tell anyone what was going to happen. She did not want anyone around to talk disbelievingly. No one was to know about the miracle in advance. God had sealed her lips. Much later she would realize why God had silenced her. He didn't want anyone talking her out of her miracle.
The preacher and the patient agreed together and prayed together, then Colton left. Nita lay awake after he had gone, unable to calm the fomenting excitement she was feeling.
As far as she was concerned, she was already healed. She had already begun to exist in the future, her mind and body as free as they had ever been. She was already living beyond February 11th. She rejoiced constantly, brimming with anticipation. She was convinced her miracle was en route. Later, those closest to her would recall the change in her personality even before the healing.
She laughed when she thought of this happening to her - of all people! Nita had always been the most sceptical Spirit-filled Christian she knew. She called herself "doubting Thomas's oldest daughter." She had never easily swallowed the miracle stories. The fantastic tales of God's unusual workings were fine for others - but now she was caught in the middle of one!
The agony was not in believing it, but in not being able to tell her precious mother or her grieving brother. She looked at them, worn with anguish, their faces creased with months of worry, and she begged her Father to let her ease their burden. But no release came. Nita had learned the hard way to obey the Lord, and she knew God wanted her to hold her peace.
But even this peculiar sadness couldn't quench her emotions and she never looked back. She was continuously bursting with excitement, as if the miracle had actually occurred.
Colton's guest, Syvelle Phillips, was still in town. He was one of the greatest believers in supernatural healing that Colton knew. Syvelle's own mother had been miraculously healed when he was a teenager. Colton asked Nita if she would allow him to bring his guest to the apartment to pray for her. She agreed. It was an honour.
Syvelle sat and looked at her with pity in his eyes. Besides her own deformities, she had attached deformities as well. She was surrounded by sandbags and wearing her hulking metal calipers, which ran the full length of her legs and kept them from shrinking to different sizes as her hands already had.
Syvelle ministered to her with bravado, then prayed for her.
Colton smiled a broad smile.
"I believe God is going to heal Nita," he said to Syvelle as the prayer came to an end.
Syvelle nodded pleasantly and smiled in general agreement, just as so many others had nodded and smiled so many times over the months, each time Colton had spoken in the fullness of faith.
Nita looked at the visitor and a little green light blinked on inside her. She knew she should tell this American preacher about the miracle. She related her story matter of factly.
Syvelle continued his nodding, but he couldn't hold the smile. He looked toward Colton, to see if he had accepted the whole story. It was clear that he had.
"Have you been reading Betty Baxter's story?" Syvelle asked her. Betty Baxter, had been healed dramatically years before in the United States and had also declared the date of her healing in advance.
"Yes, I have her tapes," Nita responded.
That was enough for Syvelle. He felt Nita had probably made herself believe her own story after dwelling on somebody else's.
Outside the apartment, the American preacher quizzed Colton. How could he go along with this datesetting business? Syvelle could accept the fact of Nita's eventual healing - but the audible voice, the date and the hour, were a little extreme. It probably was the subtle suggestion of the Baxter tapes combined with so many months of despair. It just couldn't be!
Colton was adamant. He would not be shaken from his position. Nita had heard God's voice and she would be well again at 3:30 on February 11.
Syvelle gave up with Colton and attached himself to Suzanne, Colton's wife. He talked to her pointedly about facing reality. He was concerned for his friend's health. Colton had been working feverishly on the new church building, and Syvelle was afraid that he would be shattered if the miracle failed to occur.
But there was nothing to be done. Colton could not be persuaded otherwise.
Finally Syvelle made Suzanne a final last-ditch offer.
"If the miracle doesn't happen, and it's too much for Colton to take, call me," the preacher said with genuine compassion. "I'll come back here to Sri Lanka and take him home with me to the States for a while. The rest might do him good."
Syvelle headed back to America alone, deeply concerned about the future of his friend Colton. This Asian girl could be the death of his dearest friend.
Nita would bring one more person into the elite sacred circle.
Brother Andrew, immortalized as "God's Smuggler," had been scheduled to speak at Colton's church on the ninth and tenth of February. Hundreds of people who never normally attended would show up to hear the renowned man of God who had carried thousands of Bibles behind the Iron Curtain. Nita had never met him, but she wanted to hear him, so on the first evening of his visit Colton's boys carried her up to the balcony of the church and put her in her obscure corner to avoid the limelight.
Throughout the sermon Nita felt Andrew's beautiful piercing blue eyes on her, as if he were scanning her brain. It made her again self-conscious about her physical condition - and embarrassed. Afterwards Colton brought Andrew up to the balcony and introduced them to each other.
Nita knew in a moment that this man should also bear the sacred trust. Quietly, with Colton interpreting her noiseless words, Nita shared the great sacred secret with Brother Andrew.
He exploded in praise to God. Probably more than any of them, Brother Andrew was accustomed to the miraculous. Among other things, he had seen God close the eyes of communist border guards as he smuggled Bibles and other illegal religious tracts behind the Iron Curtain. But the news about Nita turned his spiritual motor on, and he poured out thanks to God in a bubbly unknown language.
In the sacred circle of trust there were four believers and one sceptic.
17
HAIL AND FAREWELL
The next day was a hard one. The time had come for Ted to go back to England, and for all Nita's petitioning before the Throne of Grace, she still had no freedom to tell him about the miracle she knew would occur in only twentyfour hours. He was broken. It killed him to leave her, and yet he knew it was pointless to stay.
"Man, I've got to get back," she overheard him wearily telling a cousin. "I have only one day before I have to be back on the job. I've got to get myself together."
Nita longed to make him stay, to say, "Hey, big brother, be here, stay at home." Instead, she kept silent.
Inside, she ached for him to be there at the most fantastic moment of her life. The three other men she had been able to tell - Colton, Syvelle, Andrew - Nita would have gladly exchanged for the privilege of telling Ted. But the release never came.
She wanted to see him off to England, but he refused. He didn't want his sister to be a spectacle at the airport, and he knew that the trip, short as it was by normal standards, would exhaust her. He knew they would both break down, and he knew how dangerous that could be for Nita's failing heart.
Suzanne came by and took her to her mother's home, to bid him farewell. She did not get out of the car - the ritual would have taken too long - so Ted walked down to the gate and said his good-byes. He held her hand, the same crooked little hand that he had so desperately flexed on that first day in Sri Lanka. He bent down and kissed her again and again, grieved but trying to keep cool, biting back the tears. She knew by his face that he thought he was seeing her for the last time. Nita hated it. She loved him.
Now he was gone.
Mrs. Edwards drove Ted to the airport. Colton and his family would be going to church again, and they didn't want Nita to be alone in her apartment after the ordeal, so they insisted on taking her with them for Brother Andrew's second service.
It was late. The main floor was already packed. The balcony was full. People were standing in the stairways, in the rear of the sanctuary, in the foyer, anywhere there was a square foot of space. Nita was petrified. For every person in the swarming church, there were two gawking eyes.
It had already been an emotionally devastating day. She was at the edge, ready to break.
"If I can't get into the balcony," Nita pleaded with soundless lips, "I want to go home!"
Suzanne comforted her patiently. "It will be all right. I'll stay right with you. I won't leave you for a moment."
And she began pushing Nita's wheelchair to the only available place in the entire building: directly in front of the pulpit.
The service had already begun: Colton was at the pulpit, motioning to Suzanne to come on, come on, it's okay.
Nita felt her numb face growing hot with shame as the people turned and squirmed to stare, row by row, as she rolled down the aisle. It was the Roman Forum, the circus, with the spectators packing the galleries to stare at the freak. An international delegation occupied the front row. The military adviser to the nation's president sat a few seats away. All the big shots had turned out for Brother Andrew ... and here she sat, strapped like a bizarre rag doll to a metal chair, her head slumped down to one side on the end of a neck made of rubber, and absurdly - wearing sunglasses because of the constant tearing and the sensitivity she had developed to direct light.
Who among the hundreds of people could help but stare at the misshapen little creature in front of the pulpit, her bony legs encased in metal braces, her fingers misjointed, as if she had been assembled by a demented toymaker?
Nita was decimated. Already today she had watched her brother walk away in despair, and now this debacle. She had been out from under the public microscope for so long ... she had successfully avoided the limelight for so many weeks ... and now she was front and centre.
The service ended and bedlam descended on the helpless girl. The rabid attention of well-meaning masses had always embarrassed her, and now she was engulfed in it. A thousand people pressed in to pat her on the head and say, "God bless you, we're praying for you." Several of the foreigners wrote her name down to carry back the exotic prayer request. But Nita suspected they only came by out of morbid curiosity to look on her misshapen body. She was itching to tell them all to lay off with the sobbing and start rejoicing.
"Hey, brothers and sisters!" she wanted to shout. "Tomorrow at this hour, by the grace of God, I'll be walking!"
But she could no more tell her secret to these nameless throngs than she could tell her precious, troubled brother. Or mother. Instead, she was reduced to smiling blandly for the onlookers, secretly resenting their intrusion on her privacy.
If only she could have held them off one more day.
But God's hand had arranged the bizarre exhibition! More people saw Nita's deformed body in that single evening than had seen her in all the months of her captivity. Tonight she was an obituary - tomorrow she would be Page One.
After the service, Colton led his family and Brother Andrew and Nita to a late dinner on the lawn of the Fountain Café. Michaele played with Nita, rubbing soup on her lips and goofing around. He thought he saw Dr. Pieris, the cynical Buddhist neurophysician, at another table on the lawn.
"He's staring at you," Michaele insisted.
But the lights were too dim for Nita to see him. Michaele impishly wheeled her past the man: he averted his eyes as they went by. Yes, it was Pieris.
How ironic, Nita thought, that he would be among the last to see her in this condition. If only Ted could be here instead, she thought grimly, still pining over her brother's sad departure.
Brother Andrew, on the other hand, was soaring, gobbling his dinner and laughing and talking about Nita's impending miracle as if he were receiving the healing himself. Suddenly he pushed away from the table and leaned over to Colton.
"Is it all right if I hug that girl?"
"Of course, go right ahead!"
Brother Andrew bounded toward her, squeezed her tight, and burst forth in tongues, praising God and weeping with joy. He was going to fly out of Sri Lanka tonight, only hours before the miracle, but he knew it would happen, and he was gleeful.
Nita watched Andrew clapping his hands and praising his Father, and she was tickled by the happy demonstration. She sensed that God had given her this beautiful little encounter to lift her spirits at the end of her final trying day. Even in the slightest things, she knew, her Heavenly Father was still caring for her.
"The joy of the Lord is my strength," she often recited from Nehemiah 8:10. On this last night of captivity, with its particular sadness, the Lord was strengthening her with this expression of divine joy.
Still, it felt good to know that this was the last time she would have to watch someone else express what she was feeling. She was thankful already that very soon she would be able to reach out and touch these dear people just as they had reached out and touched her ... to show love as freely as she felt it ... and as freely as she had received it.
Nita sighed softly and closed her eyes. She longed for the perfect, gentle face of tomorrow.
18
THE DIVINE TOUCH
Nita had lived that week as one continuous day, hardly able to sleep for the excitement and anticipation. She began counting off the hours some four days before the event, urging the clock to hurry, hurry. She wanted time to speed away, so her Jesus could touch her.
She could see it already in her mind's eye. She could see the gnarled fingers and toes straightening. She could see her hands growing strong and healthy. She could see these miserable skinny legs filling out and straightening. She could see the bloated stomach shrinking to its normal size. She could hear her voice returning. She could see her vision coming back. She could see movement. She could see herself walking.
She could see herself whole.
It was no problem to see it all. It required no imagination, no mental talent. She was very sure.
Thursday night was a waste as far as sleep was concerned. The sun may as well have never set. Nita checked the clock every few minutes, and filled the time in between with prayer and praises to her Lord. But the night lingered on like an unwanted guest and would not go away. Finally she could wait no longer. As the hour hand of the clock crawled toward five, she buzzed her sleepy attendant and had her turn on Radio Sri Lanka. She also wanted her big wristhingych set precisely. She wanted to be ready for her appointment. She trusted that God had given her the promise in Sri Lanka time!
As she lay there, the tension of anticipation steadily mounted. Again and again she looked at the time and each hour she reminded herself of the promise.
At ten o'clock: "In five and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed."
At eleven o'clock: "In four and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed."
At noon: "In three and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed. Glory to God!"
Nita asked the attendant to place her slippers next to her bed. They had rarely been worn in the past year. The attendant laughed.
"Oh, you're planning to take a walk, eh?" she asked as she put them in place.
Obviously she had forgotten the piece of paper hidden somewhere in her bedroom, and Nita kept quiet. She would see soon enough what her Jesus was going to do.
The woman gave Nita her morning sponge bath on schedule, but her patient requested the afternoon ritual to be a bit early -perhaps 12:30? She wanted to be sure she was ready in plenty of time for her appointment with the gracious Great Physician.
At 12:30 Nita watched the attendant's hands rubbing the sponge across her lifeless flesh as she had for so very many days. She could see movement through her weakened eyes, but she could not feel the sponge.
Just three more hours, she said to herself, and I'm going to be totally healed. The confidence was absolute. She knew she would feel again in three hours, totally restored by God. Even the simple sensation of a sponge bath would be wonderful.
But maybe, Nita thought, since God's power is so great. .. maybe I'm already a little healed right now. The attendant finished her work and reached under Nita's body with both arms to roll her over. It had always been like lifting a sack of potatoes before. Nita decided to jack her head up off the pillow, to see how healed she was.
The muscles were as dead as ever. She couldn't move the first inch. She tried each mental lever in succession, but all the connections were still unplugged: no voice, no vision, no muscular control - nothing.
Still, her faith was solid. The oldest daughter of Doubting Thomas was vanquished. The faithless, scoffing university student had died, and in her place was a new creature, full of faith. It didn't occur to this new Nita to think, Hey, it might not happen; I might not be healed. God had short-circuited her doubting apparatus. The old Nita would have analysed and fretted over such a leap from cripple to conqueror. But the new Nita was not trying to help God do His work at all. She could still recall the calm, authoritative voice that had given her the promise: "Nita, I'm going to raise you up to be a witness to Asia. I'm going to heal you on Friday the eleventh of February."
How she would ever take the gospel to Asia she had no idea. But of her healing, of the date and the hour, she was utterly sure. God had given her the supernatural gift of faith. For the new Nita, the healing had already happened. All that remained was the gathering of the evidence!
In the past the afternoon sponging had always led to the same thing: the attendant would dress her in clean bedclothes. Today Nita stopped her.
"Bring me my slacks."
She had planned it all, days in advance. She knew just what she would be wearing when Jesus came in: a simple light green shirt, and the same pair of black-and-white checked slacks that she had been wearing as she bumped down the stairs of St. Bede's.
The attendant looked at her hesitantly, sceptically. Nita had not worn slacks at all in nearly a year. She would have to remove the heavy metal calipers from her legs.
"Go ahead!" Nita said decisively. "And take those rotten sandbags as well."
After months of gross weight loss, the slacks hung on her like shower curtains. But Nita was content. To walk again wearing these same slacks would satisfy her sense of dramatic irony.
When the attendant had carefully lain her back down on the bed, fully dressed, her eyes immediately locked in again, magnet-like, on her wristhingych. Gradually, prayerfully, Nita's eyes closed for longer stretches, as she began to be enveloped in the awesome presence of God.
She was beautifully calm, resting on a cloud of assurance, lost in the love of her Heavenly Father. Again she was floating out into the beautiful Indian Ocean, resting happily on her daddy's shoulders, confident of his strength, sure of his love. There were no doubts to disturb the moment, no questions to interrupt the tranquillity. The Father was there. Her Father was in firm and loving control.
As Nita slipped ever nearer to the heart of God, the chosen few who would witness the miracle began to assemble reverently around her.
At two o'clock, Colton and Suzanne arrived, solemn and quiet. They knew this would soon be holy ground. It was clear from the glow of Nita's face that the transformation would soon begin. They didn't talk to her at all, but sat down and began to pray quietly.
Colton's secretary Beryl had interceded in prayer for Nita with unmatched fervour during her illness. Colton felt she should be present. She arrived and joined the graceful travail.
Two women doctors, stepped into the room. They were medical professors who loved the Lord and who had examined and treated Nita during parts of her long ordeal. They had no hint of what was going to happen here; Colton had only invited them to a special time of prayer. They were honoured. They knew Nita Edwards was in seclusion and only a select few had ever been behind these doors.
Colton's youngest son Michaele arrived without his brother. He sat outside Nita's bedroom door to make room for the others. After a while he got thirsty and, with no idea of what he would miss, left to get a milkshake.
At three o'clock, Colton read a passage of Scripture. Even today, no one who was in the room remembers what passage he read. The presence of God was already so overwhelming that everything else was thoroughly submerged.
Then Colton knelt beside the bed to pray, and the others followed his lead - except for Dr. Sudo, who because of her pregnancy sat in a chair.
Nita's mother knelt to her daughter's left, closest to her. Colton and Suzanne were on the right, toward the foot of the bed. Days before, Nita had teased them about keeping their distance. "You never know what the Lord's going to do." It would turn out to be wise advice.
The room was filled with prayer and a sense of awe, and the supernatural transformation began. At 3:20 Nita looked at her watch for the last time. She knew beyond any shred of doubt that her days as a paralytic cripple were fast coming to an end. In that moment, by faith, she crossed the chasm between earth's time and God's time. And she was suddenly living in a capsule of eternity. Minutes and seconds became meaningless as the Holy Spirit bathed her in supernatural life, making her more alive than she had ever been.
Nita felt her spirit being lifted, and she soared with it. Her paralysed throat was gurgling and rasping praises to God. She was unable to stop bursting with praise.
Colton opened his eyes, amazed to hear it. In all his months of fiery ministry to her, and remembering all the people who had stood by her bed prophesying and speaking in tongues, he had never seen Nita open up in her worship. She had never even led in prayer. She had wept, she had entered into prayer, but her Episcopalian propriety had always prevailed . . . she had always been careful not to engage in that "raucous behaviour."
Until now. Even without a voice, she was crying out, before the Throne, without regard to the people around her . . . in keen anticipation of what God was about to do for her.
The power of God invaded the room, from the right side of her bed, like a ball of fire. The glory of God burst in, flooding that tiny space with such intensity that the inhabitants were swept up in it, and overcome by it. It was like looking directly at the noonday sun, and only being able to take in a tiny fraction of the radiance.
The air was charged with a fantastic burst of electricity.
Nita's bed began to vibrate with the energy of God's presence, and she felt a million volts of power coursing through her body. Every cell, every fibre, every tissue of her body pulsed with it. Wave after wave rolled through the full length of her. She was oblivious to her surroundings, to the others. She was longing to see Jesus.
Just at 3:30, He came into the room with blinding glory, phenomenal brilliance, impossible radiance. Nita gazed into His face, and everything within her struggled to reach out to Him, to draw even one bit closer to Him. Her healing was no more a factor. She was unaware of her own physical condition. Her physical realm had evaporated. She only longed to touch Him ... to connect somehow with that fabulous source of light and love.
In later years, when Nita tried to talk about it, she was never able to satisfy herself with words. Nothing ever came close to capturing the majesty of those moments. But as she struggled to describe the encounter, her arms often ached with the tension of that beautiful longing.
As she looked at Him, He moved toward her. She was suspended in time and space, filled beyond capacity by the unfathomable love of God. He came to the foot of her bed, and then He reached out with a nail-scarred hand.
And He touched her.
One time.
(CONTINUED IN NEXT POST )