My home growing up never included any talk about God. I remember asking my mother when I was little if there was a god. She was combing her hair and she said that she supposed so. It just did not seem to matter to her. So when I became a Christian in my early teens it surprised me that what did not matter actually became a sore point between me and my parents. However, after a few years my mother gradually became a little more open, but never enough to even attend a single service let alone become a disciple.
Then she suffered a very painful accident. She was thrown from a horse, landed on her back, and ended up in the hospital for a couple of days. When she was released, she arrived home with a metal brace that extended from the top of her torso to the bottom. The doctors said there was a damaged vertebra, she would probably be in pain for the rest of her life, and that her best hope of relief would be to continually wear the brace. She was an active person. The accident proved to be a life changing event.
One night, in incredible pain, she asked me for a back massage. I was afraid of hurting her more so I asked if she would pray with me for healing instead. She said with not a little bit of scorn that she did not believe in things like that. But when she realized that prayer was the best I could do, she acquiesced. And after prayer she hobbled off to bed.
The next morning I was awakened by an excited mother. She was in my room beaming and excitedly saying, “It worked! It really worked! I woke up and all the pain was gone. I moved around and there wasn’t anything!” Then she left my room with a big grin.
So there it was…an unbeliever being instantaneously healed by God from a physical injury from which doctors said there was no hope of ever being normal. She was in church the next service, crying from joy on the front row. For her it was too good to be true. It really worked.
— Sue Yarbrough
Columbia, MO