November 2016
A dear friend gave us a booklet of inspirational messages. We wish to share one of them with you. It does not speak specifically about ALS, but much of what was in these articles is so pertinent to healing.
Believe! Believe!! Believe!!! By Harry De Camp
I am a man who lives today in a state of amazement. For 66 years of my 69 years, I had only a nodding relationship with God; how extraordinary, then, that when I was dying, He would bother to reach down and heal me. And yet he did just that.
Even when I was told I had cancer of the bladder four years ago, my first thought was not that I should pray to God. In fact, I wasn't all that desperate; it didn't seem like the end of the world to me. Actually it was harder on my wife, Bess. Her mother had been a nurse, and Bess had been brought up hearing all the cancer horror stories. But I felt that somehow medicine was going to save me. I had confidence in my doctor, and I followed his instructions.
I eased up. I sold my insurance business to my son-in-law. Although I was in and out of the hospital several times, the cancer moved slowly. Life seemed fairly normal until February 1978 when I went to the hospital for exploratory surgery. When I returned from the recovery room, my doctor was there. "Harry", he said, "I consider myself a competent surgeon, but you need somebody much better than I am". For the first time, I was afraid.
But the doctor went on to say, "We're sending you to the Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York. It's the best in the world." The idea that one of the finest surgeons in the world was going to operate on me gave me hope.
I knew that when I went to New York that my bladder would have to be removed. As terrible as it was, I was prepared to live with the inconvenience of all kind of medical contraptions. I was ready for anything if only I could be rid of the cancer.
But back in the recovery room on the day of the operation, through a haze of pain, I learned the truth. The great surgeon had sewn me up without removing my bladder. I cried in great racking sobs: My cancer is inoperable! That afternoon, one of the surgeon's assistants came to talk to me.
"No lies", I said.
"Well….." he said, his brow furrowed with concentration, "the cancer has spread so extensively to the surrounding tissue that to remove it all would mean….." he trailed off lamely.
"How much time do I have left?" I whispered.
"We can't promise you anything: a year, a month, or even a day."
I swallowed and licked my parched lips, "Where do I go from here?"
"I don't know," he replied.
Now I was facing a reality I hadn't faced before. I was going to die. They gave me some pain killers as big as thumbnails, and a supply of sleeping pills. Bess, bless her, put on a brave show.
"Now, Harry, we'll beat it yet," she said, as she propped me up in my easy chair in our living room. "We'll try the chemotherapy. And there are all sorts of other theories….." Somebody sent us literature from California about cancer patients being injected with massive doses of Vitamin C. Bess pounced on it as if someone had thrown us a life preserver.
But I knew I was dying. Whenever I lay down, I felt a though I were smothering, so most of the time I sat in my easy chair and stared at meaningless images on the TV screen. I wondered if I could commit suicide and, if I did, what would be the best way? The smell of food made me ill. "Harry," Bess fumed. "I don't care if you're not hungry! EAT!" I waved her away. What was the use? I am a big man, but my weight plummeted steadily.
Occasionally, I thought about praying to God, but I really didn't know how. I knew God was there, but He was some mystical Being, far away. It didn't seem right that after I'd ignored Him all these years I should start begging now. The words I said seemed to bounce off the ceiling.
Then two things happened, one right after the other. The first was the card. It didn't seem much different from all the other get-well cards. Yet for some reason, I kept returning to it. A friend had scribbled a message beneath her name "With God all things are possible." (Matthew 19:26)
How I wanted that to be true! Again and again I'd take out the card and look at it. Suppose it were true…..How do you go about making contact with God? ….Isn't it too late in the game to think about going to church?.....Should I pray harder? …….I was so confused I didn't know what to do. Yet the phrase kept coming back to me……."All things are possible with God!"
Then I read an article about another cancer victim. She too, was sent home to die - just like me. But she refused to die. Instead she began to read and reread about the healings of Jesus in the New Testament. She prayed constantly. She went to God determined that He was going to heal her. "Most of the time," she said. "we knock on His door so timidly, and open it just a little crack. We really don't expect God to reply."
Wasn't that what I was doing? Wasn't I knocking timidly? Should I knock more boldly, like the woman in that story?
I also read about a seriously wounded soldier who recovered by creating mental pictures of himself as a healthy, whole individual. The soldier also went to the Lord with utter confidence. He trusted the words of Jesus Christ that "Therefore I say unto you, Whatsoever things you desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall receive them." (Mark 11:24)
For the next three days I spent all my waking hours reading and rereading those two articles. I read them a dozen--three dozen times. I saturated my consciousness until the details of what these two people had done became part of me. The thing that both of them had in common was a simple, childlike trust that God loved them and would heal them. I decided that I was going to believe the same way they did. Right there in our living room, while Bess was clattering about in the kitchen and the TV was blaring with the noise of a game show, I bowed my head.
"Dear Heavenly Father", I said with conviction. "I am knocking on the door. I am here before Thee to say that I know without any doubt in the world that You are going to heal me".
Don't ask me to explain, but in that one incredible moment, the door swung open. For the first time in my life, God was close to me. He was at my elbow, literally. He was there! And for the first time in prayer, I felt as if I was talking to Somebody, not just to myself! A deep joy stirred within me.
"Bess! Bess!" I called out. Bess came running. I wanted to tell her what had happened, but I didn't have the words yet.
"Yes, Harry? What's the matter?" "I'm hungry," I said.
She looked at me peculiarly. "Would you like a glass of juice?"
"No," I said, "I want food." At first she thought I was kidding. I hadn't asked for anything in over four weeks. So she kidded back. "Well, why don't I run out and get you a nice big submarine sandwich?" "Fine", I said with a grin.
And Bess did just that. She ran out and bought a sandwich of ham and cheese and tomato and lettuce and watched in astonishment as I ate every bit of it - with gusto. She was only a bit less surprised when I ate a full breakfast the next morning, after my first full night's sleep in bed in weeks, and then took a walk - just a short one.
For the first two days after I found God, I prayed, not in the old, stilted, self-conscious way, but in my new format FAITH way. I prayed as I walked. I prayed while I sat in my easy chair, and I prayed when I went to bed. I was having a non-stop conversation with God, in Whom I now believed and trusted with all my heart.
On the third day, like the soldier in the story*, I began to picture my healing with images just as clear as if they were coming in our TV screen. I could see an army of white blood cells, led by the Lord, sweeping down from my shoulders into my stomach, swirling around in my bladder, battling their way into my liver, my heart. Regiment after regiment they came, endlessly, the white corpuscles moving relentlessly on the cancer cells, moving in and devouring them! On and on they swept, down into my legs and feet and toes, then to the top of my body, mopping up stray cancer cells as they went, until, at last, the battle was over, and the Lord and I stood in triumph.
Day after day I replayed that battle scene in my mind. It made me feel terrific. I felt full of health. My energy returned dramatically. I walked, drove my car, played 18 holes of golf and walked all the way. I dutifully went through with my chemotherapy treatments, but more to please Bess and my doctor than myself.
Six months later, I went back to my original doctor for an examination. He seemed surprised to see me looking so healthy and well.
I tried to prepare him. "Look, Doc," I said, "You're not going to find a thing. Believe me. I'm all better."
Smiling indulgently he replied. "Well, Harry……let's take a look anyway, shall we?"
He performed several tests and found that the malignant mass behind the bladder had disappeared. Everything seemed to be normal. The doctor was astounded but, nevertheless, cautious.
"Harry", he said, "the only way we can prove conclusively that you're free of cancer is to do another exploratory. But you look so healthy we're not about to do that. We'll keep an eye on you, but it looks very good".
That was over a year ago, and today I feel fit as a fiddle. So I continue to live in a state of amazement. I am amazed at the love of the Lord. I am amazed at His closeness. I'm amazed that it's all so simple, while I've spent my life making it so complicated.
The Lord told us the way to be healed - simply, powerfully, in two words: "………….ONLY BELIEVE".
*There is a reference to the soldier in the above story. It comes from the true story of Lew Miller. The book he wrote is "Your Divine Connection", Celestial Arts Co., Millbrae, California. He tells of how he healed his World War II wounds using mental imaging, after months and months of surgeries and hospitalization.
Then I ran across an article called Your Cells Are Listening from Wake Up World. It explores how our cells listen to our instructions from our brain. So tell your cells that they are going to heal 100,000 time or more if necessary. Here is the link:
https://wakeup-world.com/2015/08/24/your-cells-are-listening-how-talking-to-your-body-can-help-you-heal/?utm_campaign=Wake+Up+World+e-Newsletter&utm_content=Latest+Headlines+inc.+The+Human+Aura+Observed+Through+Digital+Metadata&utm_medium=email&utm_source=getresponse
Kim and I both believe that healing is not just the physical aspect but also the emotional and the spiritual. It is our sincere desire you find the answers you need to heal. We also believe that there is not one answer, that healing ALS is a multi-faceted task as we strive to heal each aspect of our emotional and physical health that is creating problems in our body.
A dear friend gave us a booklet of inspirational messages. We wish to share one of them with you. It does not speak specifically about ALS, but much of what was in these articles is so pertinent to healing.
Believe! Believe!! Believe!!! By Harry De Camp
I am a man who lives today in a state of amazement. For 66 years of my 69 years, I had only a nodding relationship with God; how extraordinary, then, that when I was dying, He would bother to reach down and heal me. And yet he did just that.
Even when I was told I had cancer of the bladder four years ago, my first thought was not that I should pray to God. In fact, I wasn't all that desperate; it didn't seem like the end of the world to me. Actually it was harder on my wife, Bess. Her mother had been a nurse, and Bess had been brought up hearing all the cancer horror stories. But I felt that somehow medicine was going to save me. I had confidence in my doctor, and I followed his instructions.
I eased up. I sold my insurance business to my son-in-law. Although I was in and out of the hospital several times, the cancer moved slowly. Life seemed fairly normal until February 1978 when I went to the hospital for exploratory surgery. When I returned from the recovery room, my doctor was there. "Harry", he said, "I consider myself a competent surgeon, but you need somebody much better than I am". For the first time, I was afraid.
But the doctor went on to say, "We're sending you to the Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York. It's the best in the world." The idea that one of the finest surgeons in the world was going to operate on me gave me hope.
I knew that when I went to New York that my bladder would have to be removed. As terrible as it was, I was prepared to live with the inconvenience of all kind of medical contraptions. I was ready for anything if only I could be rid of the cancer.
But back in the recovery room on the day of the operation, through a haze of pain, I learned the truth. The great surgeon had sewn me up without removing my bladder. I cried in great racking sobs: My cancer is inoperable! That afternoon, one of the surgeon's assistants came to talk to me.
"No lies", I said.
"Well….." he said, his brow furrowed with concentration, "the cancer has spread so extensively to the surrounding tissue that to remove it all would mean….." he trailed off lamely.
"How much time do I have left?" I whispered.
"We can't promise you anything: a year, a month, or even a day."
I swallowed and licked my parched lips, "Where do I go from here?"
"I don't know," he replied.
Now I was facing a reality I hadn't faced before. I was going to die. They gave me some pain killers as big as thumbnails, and a supply of sleeping pills. Bess, bless her, put on a brave show.
"Now, Harry, we'll beat it yet," she said, as she propped me up in my easy chair in our living room. "We'll try the chemotherapy. And there are all sorts of other theories….." Somebody sent us literature from California about cancer patients being injected with massive doses of Vitamin C. Bess pounced on it as if someone had thrown us a life preserver.
But I knew I was dying. Whenever I lay down, I felt a though I were smothering, so most of the time I sat in my easy chair and stared at meaningless images on the TV screen. I wondered if I could commit suicide and, if I did, what would be the best way? The smell of food made me ill. "Harry," Bess fumed. "I don't care if you're not hungry! EAT!" I waved her away. What was the use? I am a big man, but my weight plummeted steadily.
Occasionally, I thought about praying to God, but I really didn't know how. I knew God was there, but He was some mystical Being, far away. It didn't seem right that after I'd ignored Him all these years I should start begging now. The words I said seemed to bounce off the ceiling.
Then two things happened, one right after the other. The first was the card. It didn't seem much different from all the other get-well cards. Yet for some reason, I kept returning to it. A friend had scribbled a message beneath her name "With God all things are possible." (Matthew 19:26)
How I wanted that to be true! Again and again I'd take out the card and look at it. Suppose it were true…..How do you go about making contact with God? ….Isn't it too late in the game to think about going to church?.....Should I pray harder? …….I was so confused I didn't know what to do. Yet the phrase kept coming back to me……."All things are possible with God!"
Then I read an article about another cancer victim. She too, was sent home to die - just like me. But she refused to die. Instead she began to read and reread about the healings of Jesus in the New Testament. She prayed constantly. She went to God determined that He was going to heal her. "Most of the time," she said. "we knock on His door so timidly, and open it just a little crack. We really don't expect God to reply."
Wasn't that what I was doing? Wasn't I knocking timidly? Should I knock more boldly, like the woman in that story?
I also read about a seriously wounded soldier who recovered by creating mental pictures of himself as a healthy, whole individual. The soldier also went to the Lord with utter confidence. He trusted the words of Jesus Christ that "Therefore I say unto you, Whatsoever things you desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall receive them." (Mark 11:24)
For the next three days I spent all my waking hours reading and rereading those two articles. I read them a dozen--three dozen times. I saturated my consciousness until the details of what these two people had done became part of me. The thing that both of them had in common was a simple, childlike trust that God loved them and would heal them. I decided that I was going to believe the same way they did. Right there in our living room, while Bess was clattering about in the kitchen and the TV was blaring with the noise of a game show, I bowed my head.
"Dear Heavenly Father", I said with conviction. "I am knocking on the door. I am here before Thee to say that I know without any doubt in the world that You are going to heal me".
Don't ask me to explain, but in that one incredible moment, the door swung open. For the first time in my life, God was close to me. He was at my elbow, literally. He was there! And for the first time in prayer, I felt as if I was talking to Somebody, not just to myself! A deep joy stirred within me.
"Bess! Bess!" I called out. Bess came running. I wanted to tell her what had happened, but I didn't have the words yet.
"Yes, Harry? What's the matter?" "I'm hungry," I said.
She looked at me peculiarly. "Would you like a glass of juice?"
"No," I said, "I want food." At first she thought I was kidding. I hadn't asked for anything in over four weeks. So she kidded back. "Well, why don't I run out and get you a nice big submarine sandwich?" "Fine", I said with a grin.
And Bess did just that. She ran out and bought a sandwich of ham and cheese and tomato and lettuce and watched in astonishment as I ate every bit of it - with gusto. She was only a bit less surprised when I ate a full breakfast the next morning, after my first full night's sleep in bed in weeks, and then took a walk - just a short one.
For the first two days after I found God, I prayed, not in the old, stilted, self-conscious way, but in my new format FAITH way. I prayed as I walked. I prayed while I sat in my easy chair, and I prayed when I went to bed. I was having a non-stop conversation with God, in Whom I now believed and trusted with all my heart.
On the third day, like the soldier in the story*, I began to picture my healing with images just as clear as if they were coming in our TV screen. I could see an army of white blood cells, led by the Lord, sweeping down from my shoulders into my stomach, swirling around in my bladder, battling their way into my liver, my heart. Regiment after regiment they came, endlessly, the white corpuscles moving relentlessly on the cancer cells, moving in and devouring them! On and on they swept, down into my legs and feet and toes, then to the top of my body, mopping up stray cancer cells as they went, until, at last, the battle was over, and the Lord and I stood in triumph.
Day after day I replayed that battle scene in my mind. It made me feel terrific. I felt full of health. My energy returned dramatically. I walked, drove my car, played 18 holes of golf and walked all the way. I dutifully went through with my chemotherapy treatments, but more to please Bess and my doctor than myself.
Six months later, I went back to my original doctor for an examination. He seemed surprised to see me looking so healthy and well.
I tried to prepare him. "Look, Doc," I said, "You're not going to find a thing. Believe me. I'm all better."
Smiling indulgently he replied. "Well, Harry……let's take a look anyway, shall we?"
He performed several tests and found that the malignant mass behind the bladder had disappeared. Everything seemed to be normal. The doctor was astounded but, nevertheless, cautious.
"Harry", he said, "the only way we can prove conclusively that you're free of cancer is to do another exploratory. But you look so healthy we're not about to do that. We'll keep an eye on you, but it looks very good".
That was over a year ago, and today I feel fit as a fiddle. So I continue to live in a state of amazement. I am amazed at the love of the Lord. I am amazed at His closeness. I'm amazed that it's all so simple, while I've spent my life making it so complicated.
The Lord told us the way to be healed - simply, powerfully, in two words: "………….ONLY BELIEVE".
*There is a reference to the soldier in the above story. It comes from the true story of Lew Miller. The book he wrote is "Your Divine Connection", Celestial Arts Co., Millbrae, California. He tells of how he healed his World War II wounds using mental imaging, after months and months of surgeries and hospitalization.
Then I ran across an article called Your Cells Are Listening from Wake Up World. It explores how our cells listen to our instructions from our brain. So tell your cells that they are going to heal 100,000 time or more if necessary. Here is the link:
https://wakeup-world.com/2015/08/24/your-cells-are-listening-how-talking-to-your-body-can-help-you-heal/?utm_campaign=Wake+Up+World+e-Newsletter&utm_content=Latest+Headlines+inc.+The+Human+Aura+Observed+Through+Digital+Metadata&utm_medium=email&utm_source=getresponse
Kim and I both believe that healing is not just the physical aspect but also the emotional and the spiritual. It is our sincere desire you find the answers you need to heal. We also believe that there is not one answer, that healing ALS is a multi-faceted task as we strive to heal each aspect of our emotional and physical health that is creating problems in our body.