Article July 23, 2001 Issue

A mother's answered prayer—spiritual healthcare

By Bettie Gray

MY MOTHER SMOOTHED my hair back from my face. She fed me slivers of ice with a spoon. She tried to smile and make me feel better, but her eyes were sad. She was afraid for me.

I was only five. I'd been sick many times, but this was different. I was quarantined with scarlet fever and was visited regularly by a county health nurse and a pediatrician who gave me shots and medicine. My parents loved me and did everything they knew to make me well. The medicine they knew was chemical—pills, drugs, injections. They hoped it would help me.

The health department's quarantine meant I had to be kept in a room by myself for two weeks, or until I'd gone several days without fever. I was lonely. Only my mother was allowed in the room with me because she'd had scarlet fever when she was a little girl. My sister peeked in the door one time because she missed me and wanted to see if I was really in there. From the window by my bed, I watched my sister and brother and cousins as they played outside in the Texas sunshine. Slowly, I did get better. And finally I grew strong enough to join them.

Send a comment to the editors

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE

Article

David learns how God can heal him