Meggie and I attended Sunday service like we always do. It was part of a commitment we’d made to build a healthy relationship with our Maker. The service flowed beautifully. I must say, the Praise and Worship session fed my soul in a way that words can’t capture. There’s something about good music that makes it feel easier to strike a deal with heaven.
After the sermon, the host pastor took the mic. It had been nearly three months since he’d stood before us, and now, he was ready to testify.
He began recounting an accident he’d survived in late March. An accident that left him with serious head injuries requiring urgent care. He thanked the young men from the church who had cared for him during his recovery in hospital.
Then, he shared how the bishop visited him at home in mid-April, offering Holy Communion and a healing prayer. That moment, he said, was his miracle. A man scheduled for head surgery, healed by faith and prayer.
And just like that, I drifted.
His story transported me back to the same period, mid-April, 2025, when our friend Mike was in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.
Meggie and I had visited him. We massaged his weary body, sent prayers, and held onto hope. Sometimes we prayed aloud, and sometimes silently that he would come back to us, that we too would one day testify of God’s goodness.
There in the third row, I broke.
Tears welled up as questions flooded my heart.
How could one man stand at the pulpit declaring a miracle, while in the same season, our friend didn’t make it?
I turned to Meggie,
“Didn’t we pray enough? Did our faith fail Mike?”
But she too was lost in her thoughts, eyes heavy with remembrance. We collapsed into each other’s arms that Sunday, mourning all over again.
It had been about seven weeks since Mike passed, but the pain felt as fresh as day one.
The church was rejoicing, I mean, their pastor had been restored. And I was genuinely happy for them. But somewhere deep in my heart, sorrow stirred violently, and I couldn’t hide it.
Why was his assignment still ongoing, but Mike’s was complete?
Didn’t we also deserve a testimony of healing?
We walked out of church with swollen eyes that day.
We had heard a powerful testimony but for us, it reopened a freshly cut wound.
Grief hadn’t left.
It was sitting right there beside us, whispering, “I’m still here.”
Wanja
So moving 🥺