What is Your Fighting Weight?
“THANK YOU,” I SAID, although I didn’t mean it. I had just returned from the visit with our minister, and all I wanted to do was lie down with my tape recorder of affirmations. I didn't want to hear what this kind man had to say about a mushroom. I got off the phone as soon as I could.
WHEN THEY HEARD OF MY DIAGNOSIS, many well-meaning people came up with bizarre cures and treatments. Things I wasn’t prepared to try. Things that sounded as though the ones offering them had found a way to capitalize on the final illness of a lot of desperate people. I put on my headphones.
THE NEXT MORNING, a friend from Florida called. “What can I do to help you?” she asked. “You need some help. And I’m going to give it to you.”
“WELL,” I SAID, thinking I was being droll, “You can see if you can find the Reishi mushroom cure. That’s the only positive thing I’ve heard this week.”
“YOU’RE ON,” she said and hung up before I had a chance to tell her I was kidding. Three hours later she called back. “I’ve got you an appointment with an oriental practitioner. Call this number. He doesn’t suggest the mushroom cure, but he’ll see you right away.”
HOW HAD MY FRIEND managed to get me an appointment with a doctor in Dallas that very day? Specialists were difficult to see. Later, on the way over to the doctor’s office, I told my husband, “This sounds crazy coming from me. You know I’ve always been very tolerant of other people’s beliefs.”
HE NODDED.
“BUT, THIS TIME I WANT A CHRISTIAN treating me. I’m looking for a miracle. I want someone who would recognize one if they saw it.”
“OKAY,” HE SAID, but I could tell by shrug in his voice he thought I was looking in the wrong place.
THE AROMA OF EXOTIC SPICES filled the doctor’s offices. The man was not much taller than I am—very tidy, his shirt heavily starched, his tie properly rep, his belt buckle lined up exactly with the last button on his shirt. Only his cheerful expression and his sock-and-sandal-shod feet made me realized I was dealing in a dimension that was totally foreign to my Western thinking.
HE SAT VERY ERECT ON A SMALL STOOL and read my history while I waited on a low, padded bench. “This is very serious,” he said, scrutinizing me with eyes the color of smoky tea. “Never cross your legs,” he said, in what seemed a non sequitur. “It’s bad for circulation.” He tapped the report. “Circulation is key for your condition.”
HE GAVE ME A THOUGHTFUL LOOK. “I cannot promise to heal you. Only God can do that.” He seemed to watch for my reaction in a way that made me think he’d had trouble with previous patients in the area of faith.
HE WOULD NOT HAVE TROUBLE WITH ME. His were the words I’d been waiting to hear. “I believe that too.”
“TOGETHER,” HE CONTINUED with a dismissive wave of his hand, “however, we can work to do as much as we can. If you’ll follow my instructions. I cannot promise you’ll live, but I can promise you will feel as well as anyone with your condition can feel—far better than you do now.”
TO FEEL GOOD was as much as I could ask for. I agreed to begin treatments.
FROM HIM I LEARNED a great deal about herbs, nutrition, digestion, organic foods, exercise, clean water, clean air, and massage therapy--Eastern style. I learned that Occidental practitioners were licensed as acupuncturists even if they did not use needles on their patients. A Seventh Day Adventist who took seriously Paul’s admonition that our body is a temple (I Cor 6: 18-20), my doctor had studied for many, many years. He was an herbalist who believed in the power of prayer.
I ACHIEVED MY “FIGHTING WEIGHT”—the ideal weight for my body’s immune system. I lost thirty pounds and was rewarded with more energy than I’d had in decades. Nearly all of the surgical pain left. Ironically, given my diagnosis, I felt better than I had in years.
EVERY CHRISTIAN AFFLICTED WITH CANCER I know who has survived has told me they felt their path to wellness had been directed by God. I was learning what they meant. I, who had hooted at the idea of oriental medicine in the past, now hungered for the knowledge this man fed me, drop by drop. And my body flourished under his care.
I HAD PURSUED A MUSHROOM as a joke and had, instead, found just what I needed—a guide to excellent health habits. What better first step was there for healing?
You’re blessed. Be a blessing!
WHEN THEY HEARD OF MY DIAGNOSIS, many well-meaning people came up with bizarre cures and treatments. Things I wasn’t prepared to try. Things that sounded as though the ones offering them had found a way to capitalize on the final illness of a lot of desperate people. I put on my headphones.
THE NEXT MORNING, a friend from Florida called. “What can I do to help you?” she asked. “You need some help. And I’m going to give it to you.”
“WELL,” I SAID, thinking I was being droll, “You can see if you can find the Reishi mushroom cure. That’s the only positive thing I’ve heard this week.”
“YOU’RE ON,” she said and hung up before I had a chance to tell her I was kidding. Three hours later she called back. “I’ve got you an appointment with an oriental practitioner. Call this number. He doesn’t suggest the mushroom cure, but he’ll see you right away.”
HOW HAD MY FRIEND managed to get me an appointment with a doctor in Dallas that very day? Specialists were difficult to see. Later, on the way over to the doctor’s office, I told my husband, “This sounds crazy coming from me. You know I’ve always been very tolerant of other people’s beliefs.”
HE NODDED.
“BUT, THIS TIME I WANT A CHRISTIAN treating me. I’m looking for a miracle. I want someone who would recognize one if they saw it.”
“OKAY,” HE SAID, but I could tell by shrug in his voice he thought I was looking in the wrong place.
THE AROMA OF EXOTIC SPICES filled the doctor’s offices. The man was not much taller than I am—very tidy, his shirt heavily starched, his tie properly rep, his belt buckle lined up exactly with the last button on his shirt. Only his cheerful expression and his sock-and-sandal-shod feet made me realized I was dealing in a dimension that was totally foreign to my Western thinking.
HE SAT VERY ERECT ON A SMALL STOOL and read my history while I waited on a low, padded bench. “This is very serious,” he said, scrutinizing me with eyes the color of smoky tea. “Never cross your legs,” he said, in what seemed a non sequitur. “It’s bad for circulation.” He tapped the report. “Circulation is key for your condition.”
HE GAVE ME A THOUGHTFUL LOOK. “I cannot promise to heal you. Only God can do that.” He seemed to watch for my reaction in a way that made me think he’d had trouble with previous patients in the area of faith.
HE WOULD NOT HAVE TROUBLE WITH ME. His were the words I’d been waiting to hear. “I believe that too.”
“TOGETHER,” HE CONTINUED with a dismissive wave of his hand, “however, we can work to do as much as we can. If you’ll follow my instructions. I cannot promise you’ll live, but I can promise you will feel as well as anyone with your condition can feel—far better than you do now.”
TO FEEL GOOD was as much as I could ask for. I agreed to begin treatments.
FROM HIM I LEARNED a great deal about herbs, nutrition, digestion, organic foods, exercise, clean water, clean air, and massage therapy--Eastern style. I learned that Occidental practitioners were licensed as acupuncturists even if they did not use needles on their patients. A Seventh Day Adventist who took seriously Paul’s admonition that our body is a temple (I Cor 6: 18-20), my doctor had studied for many, many years. He was an herbalist who believed in the power of prayer.
I ACHIEVED MY “FIGHTING WEIGHT”—the ideal weight for my body’s immune system. I lost thirty pounds and was rewarded with more energy than I’d had in decades. Nearly all of the surgical pain left. Ironically, given my diagnosis, I felt better than I had in years.EVERY CHRISTIAN AFFLICTED WITH CANCER I know who has survived has told me they felt their path to wellness had been directed by God. I was learning what they meant. I, who had hooted at the idea of oriental medicine in the past, now hungered for the knowledge this man fed me, drop by drop. And my body flourished under his care.
I HAD PURSUED A MUSHROOM as a joke and had, instead, found just what I needed—a guide to excellent health habits. What better first step was there for healing?
You’re blessed. Be a blessing!
posted by Chronic Hope at 10:09 AM
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