He spoke with honesty. Confessing what he can no longer do, describing how his gifts have departed, admitting new fears and weaknesses, his testimony did not proclaim peace. It told of pain, of pressure, of depression.
"Why do I have to take this medicine?" he asked. "I've prayed for many others to be healed, then watched God miraculously change them. He healed them. Not me."
His name is known. His accomplishments have amazed people. Now he struggles to perform tasks that felt so simple before. Doubt and defeat appear housed nearby.
I listened. We cried.
I encouraged him to release those hurts. I have him keeping a journal to avoid denial or despair. He meets with friends who accept the new man as he is.
And he talks to me. Why? Because of my counseling degree or my gift of encouragement? No. My talents or title didn't open his heart. My sickness did. When he heard me speak about a life-changing experience, he felt I would relate.
My new unwanted identity
That's the way it is now. people call ...1