Prayer Therapy
THE TWO CHAPLAINS WHO’D COME to my hospital room meant well. There was no mistaking the concern in their eyes.
“God loves you,” one of the women said. “He’s always there for you.”
I sat up in my bed, grimacing. It felt as if the left side of my face were exploding. For nearly eight years, I’d suffered from a rare neurological disorder. Medications I took three times a day helped mask the pain. There was little hope of a cure. But that wasn’t the reason for this latest hospitalization.
Six screws and a titanium plate had been placed in my neck to stabilize a deteriorating spine—unrelated to my neurological disorder. I was so sick of hurting and feeling miserable. And now these two women of the cloth were reminding me about God’s goodness.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” the other chaplain asked.
“Tell me why God let this happen to me,” I said, my voice
