Does God Want to Heal Me?

 

This has actually become a rather important question to me, though perhaps not for the reasons you might expect.

Some readers will know that I have a rare and incurable neuromuscular condition. While I still have some of my strength on most days, I don't have the endurance I used to have. In my case, however, this lack of endurance is extreme. 

I've learned that almost everything is taxing. Sitting, visiting with others, and driving all consume energy that is quickly depleted. I can manage short distances with a cane, but use a manual or motorized chair when I need to cover greater distances—for shopping or going for walks—or around the house when my muscles are spent.

I now spend most of my time resting.

I wasn't always like this. Before March of 2025, I was very active. I used to go to the gym 5–6 days a week, regularly pushing myself and trying to set personal bests. I thought of myself as fit and strong.

That all began to change in March of 2025 when I ended up in hospital with rhabdomyolysis (rhabdo). In the weeks that followed I had rhabdo two more times and began to notice trouble with my arms and legs. I think that is when we realized there was an underlying condition. In the fall of 2025 my condition suddenly deteriorated further, and while it has since stabilized, I haven’t returned to what I was before that fall.

It's not been easy to adjust. I miss doing the things I used to do—some days more than others. I miss helping around the house. I miss feeling like a provider. I miss being able-bodied and strong. It's hard to learn to be partly dependent on others and sometimes difficult to know what to do in a day.

I share this because the question of whether God wants to heal me is one that I expect many others have wrestled with as well. I hope that what I write here might offer some encouragement to others who have asked the same question.

I would love to be healed. I try not to think about the hikes I wish I could go on with my kids. I try not to think about the gym or playing sports. I try not to dwell on memories of playing pickleball, soccer, or even catch with my family.  

But here’s the thing… I haven’t felt free to ask for healing. That’s the first thing people tell me when they hear about my condition, that they’re praying for healing, but it's not something I’ve ever asked for.*

I’ll come back to that in a moment. But that raises a question. Does God want to heal me?

Maybe you’ve wrestled with that. Perhaps you have an incurable condition or a terminal illness and people around you are praying, and some possibly expecting a miracle. If you’re like me, you’d love the miracle. But is that what God wants?

A few weeks ago I came across a Kathryn Krick video. I saw lines of sick and disabled people waiting for her to lay hands on them. And I noticed that unlike Benny Hinn, she didn’t seem to avoid them. She extended her hands toward each of them, declared healing in Jesus’ name, and then sent them away looking like they did when they came. As far as I could tell not one of them was healed. This didn’t come as a surprise to me. But I felt for those people who had come. I wondered how far they had travelled. I imagined excited conversations with family members on the way. They had come with such hope and longing. Some were parents with children, and it reminded me of the fathers who brought sick children to Jesus. I felt for them because I could see the pain and longing in their eyes. I’m a dad myself and have experienced a taste of what it is to anxiously wait at the bedside of a sick child.

I think most of these people really believed Kathryn could do something… no doubt, they thought God would do the healing, but Kathryn would be the instrument. And so think of the disappointment when they later realized they had come for nothing. Unlike the people who came to Jesus, all without exception left looking as sick or disabled as they came.** And then to make matters worse, how many of them came away thinking the problem was theirs? That if only they had more faith they or their child would be well.

I have been told by well-meaning believers that I am going to be healed. I just need to believe. And when I get into conversations with Christians and my condition comes up, two things are almost always said. First, they are sorry and second, they are praying for my healing.

I have to say I appreciate both sentiments. I am thankful for their sympathy and deeply grateful for their prayers. The fact that they would pray tells me that they genuinely care! But I can’t help but wonder what this reveals about our thinking. Even among those who wouldn’t say that healing should be normal for the believer, there seems to be a tendency to become preoccupied with healing. Almost as if we struggle to believe that this condition or that illness might actually be for our good.

I wonder if you’ve encountered the same thing. We see someone in a wheelchair or with a white cane, for example, and we pity them. Of course we should weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15), and I do believe sympathy is good. But what if they are learning to be content? What if they have seen God working this for good and wouldn't want it any other way? When the blind men cried out to Jesus, He asked them what they would have Him do for them (Matthew 20:30–33; Mark 10:46–52). We assume the sick or disabled want to be well, but what if their deepest longing is actually for something else? 

I haven’t asked for healing because I have felt this deep conviction that what God wants from me is submission and trust. I have no doubt that He can heal me. But instead, I find myself saying, “It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him (1 Samuel 3:18)." Or as Samuel Rutherford put it, "It is good, Lord Jesus, because Thou hast done it." I can say with Job, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him (Job 13:15)." For I know that His ways are higher than my own (Isaiah 55:8–9), that this is for my good (Romans 8:28), and I have been taught to pray first for His kingdom and righteousness (Matthew 6:33).

It hasn’t been easy for me to adjust, but the Lord has reminded me that His grace is sufficient (2 Corinthians 12:9). I find He does make my bed in sickness (Psalm 41:3), that I have more time with Him than I used to, and that instead of feeling frustrated and unhappy I am often able to say as Peter did, “Lord, it is good… to be here (Matthew 17:4)."

Which brings me back to the crowds who came to see Kathryn Krick and others like them who have prayed for healing and hoped for healing and find themselves disappointed, discouraged and possibly even despairing.

I am writing in the hopes that someone like you might just read this. Of course, I can’t know what your experience is. But I do know the Saviour. And I know that if you had come to Him in His earthly ministry you would not have left disappointed. He would not have promised healing only to deny it in the end.

And so I come back to that question: Does God want to heal me? Does He want to heal you?

At the resurrection, yes, you will have a new and glorified body (1 Corinthians 15:42–44; Philippians 3:20–21). But what about now? The truth is, I don’t know. But I do believe it is God’s ordinary way to heal by means of medicine, and where physicians fail, healing—though possible—is not the norm.

So where does that leave you?

So you’re still in that chair, still sick, still confined to a bed. But are you a believer in Jesus? Then you have Him.

Consider for a moment what that means.

First, your name is written in heaven. When the disciples came back rejoicing that they had authority over the demons, Jesus told them to rejoice rather that their names were written in heaven (Luke 10:17–20). He was teaching them not to rejoice in something so fleeting as ministry success, but to rejoice instead in something sure and glorious, that they were citizens of heaven. Isn’t it wonderful to think that even now your name is written in heaven? There is a real sense in which you are already seated there (Ephesians 2:6). And in heaven there will be no more pain or tears or loneliness (Revelation 21:4). There we will join with all the saints and angels giving praise to the Lamb. There we will enjoy heights and depths of love and joy and peace far beyond anything we knew here. In the new heaven and the new earth, I believe we will run again, we will enjoy new bodies, and what we have there in the presence of God will more than make up for what we missed here. 

Second, you belong to Jesus. It isn’t only that you can say “He is mine,” but that you can say “I am my beloved’s and his desire is toward me (Song of Solomon 7:10)." He has prayed for you and even now intercedes on your behalf (Romans 8:34; Hebrews 7:25). And every prayer of His is heard (John 11:41–42). He wants you to appear one day with Him in glory, but in the meantime promises never to leave you or forsake you (Hebrews 13:5). He is with you on that sick bed. And even if He doesn’t heal you, He knows how to turn that hospital room into a place of praise and rejoicing.

Third, you have access to the throne of grace. You can get help from the One who is touched by the feeling of your infirmities (Hebrews 4:15–16). There you can have communion with Him and enjoy the better part Mary found.

I've written about this previously, but I think this is one of the most underestimated privileges of the Christian life: that we can meet with God anywhere. What a glorious truth! We can cast our cares upon Him, for He cares for us. We can worship Him, and we can listen to His voice. Many of us have found that our greatest moments of joy have been those times when He has drawn near. And so the fact that we can meet with Him anywhere is a most precious gift.  

Fourth, you have the promise that this is for your good and the good of others. You have prayed for holiness, for a closer walk with God, that Jesus would receive the reward of His suffering (Isaiah 53:11), and for unsaved loved ones. And perhaps, in ways you cannot yet see, God is giving you the desire of your heart.

You are learning patience, hope, and contentment (Romans 5:3–4). You are learning to find joy in God Himself. You are learning to be still, to sit at the feet of Jesus, and to love His appearing.  

There was a time when, having counted the cost, you joyfully traded all you had to buy the field and gain the treasure (Matthew 13:44). He is yours, and nothing can take Him from you.

Perhaps you have asked Jesus to have mercy on you. And if He were to turn and ask you what you would have Him do, you would tell Him that you long to honour Him and please Him, that you long for a family member to know Him, and that your greatest burden is that He would receive the reward of His suffering. How do you know that, even in the midst of your affliction, He is not using that very affliction to accomplish the things you have asked for?  

The point is that He knows what He is doing. He loves you. And He has promised to work all things together for good.

The modern preoccupation with healing may sound spiritual to some, but I wonder whether we sometimes become so preoccupied with our physical well-being that we lose sight of what matters most. What if we believed something more? What if we believed that we are the clay and God is the potter, and that He has the right to do with the clay whatever He pleases (Isaiah 64:8; Romans 9:20–21)? What if we believed that His kingdom is not of this world and that we really are to seek first His kingdom and righteousness (John 18:36; Matthew 6:33)? What if our treasures were in heaven rather than on earth (Matthew 6:19–21)? And what if our great purpose in this world was that the Lamb who was slain would receive the reward of His suffering and that God would be glorified (Isaiah 53:11)?  

Then we could see every trial as an opportunity to magnify Him, whether by life or by death (Philippians 1:20).  We would learn to love His appearing (2 Timothy 4:8) and to be content in whatever circumstances we find ourselves, whether in plenty or in want (Philippians 4:11–12), knowing that He will never forsake us (Hebrews 13:5), that our names are written in heaven (Luke 10:20), and that one day we shall see Him (1 John 3:2). 

In one of his letters Samuel Rutherford wrote, "Be not cast down: if you saw Him who is standing on the shore, holding out His arms to welcome you on land, you would not only wade through a sea of wrongs, but through hell itself to be at Him."

God may heal you, and He may heal me. And it is not wrong to ask! As I said, I would love the miracle. But I can also see the good God is doing through this trial. I am learning contentment, and I trust Him to do what is best. Either way, let us trust Him to work all things for good, and let us pray that, if this thorn is not removed, God will use it to bring Him praise.

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* That is not to say that I haven't prayed for healing from other ailments or related troubles. I have prayed for relief from the heart episodes I was having, I prayed for a successful surgery, and more recently, I have prayed for relief from back pain.

** I say “all without exception” because everyone I saw leave did so looking as they had when they arrived. That is, those who came in wheelchairs left in wheelchairs.