One day while recovering at home, my mother came into my room with a razor and a plastic bin of warm water and soap. She had come to shave my very, hairy legs! It had been a month or more since I had shaved them. Even though I knew she had done this many times to her patients, it was weird to have my mother shave my legs. I was amazed at how she could get my legs wet over the plastic bin, and not get a single drop of water on my bedding. As she smoothed the soapy water over my legs, she mentioned that one of my aunts had asked her if I might come to her home one evening that next week and meet some more people from her church who had been praying for me. These people had heard of my recovery and very much needed to see the result of their prayers and God’s miracle.
Mama said I didn’t have to do anything, and I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to. She left it up to me, and told me she would come along for support if I wanted to go. If I was not comfortable, or if I felt too weak or tired, she would take me home immediately.
I thought about it, and was a little resistant at first. My Aunt is a beautiful woman, very in touch with her spirit and with God. But, her style of prayer was sometimes uncomfortable for me. Still, I loved her dearly, and I knew she had good intentions. While I wasn’t particularly interested in going, I felt obligated. I thought I should probably be there at least to thank these people for their prayers.
After I agreed, Mama thoughtfully enlisted the companionship of one of my teen-age cousins. It was kind of my mother to bring him along so that I had someone my age with me. When we arrived at my aunt’s house, she led us into a den full of middle-aged women who were gawking at me and instantly began praising Jesus. I sat down in a reclining chair and adjusted the cords and wires from the heart monitor I was wearing. The heart monitor kept track of my heart rate those first couple of weeks home from the hospital. Mama and my cousin sat at my sides.
My aunt came over and kissed me on the lips, holding my cheeks tightly in her hands. Her face was beaming with love and the light of God. She always seemed to be in such sweet bliss, which I often envied. Then she said some words to me, but I couldn’t understand her. It was hard to read her lips because her smile was so big that it distorted her words. However, I could always lip-read her saying, “Thank you, Jesus! Praise you Jesus!” And, she said those words often. I just smiled while my cousin rolled his eyes. We exchanged a raised eyebrow or two, showing we had a mutual teen-age understanding of this prayerful weirdness.
Then Auntie asked me a question. Again I couldn’t understand her, but I knew she was asking me a question because her eyebrows were raised and she paused for a response. She smiled and asked me again. I looked blankly at Mama for help. I had begun to lip-read Mama well by now, and noticed I had been depending on her a lot to orally interpret what other people were saying. Mama mouthed, “Auntie wants to know if it would be okay for her and the others to lay their hands on your ears, and to pray for God to heal your hearing loss.” I could see uneasiness in Mama’s eyes, but she kept her thoughts and opinions to herself.
This laying of hands sounded pretty crazy to me. But I asked myself, ‘What if I said no and didn’t let them? Would I hurt their feelings? More importantly, what if I missed out on an important, miraculous transformation?’ I looked at Mama for guidance, and I could see her struggle internally. I know Mama believed in the power of prayer. I know she wanted to believe in such a miracle, too. At the same time, being a nurse, Mama had a medical understanding of my hearing loss. As much as we both wanted to believe in the spontaneous healing of my ears, I don’t think either of us really believed that the laying of hands would restore my hearing. She gently told me it was up to me, and then leaned in close to me and reminded me that if I became uncomfortable or too tired, we could go home at any time. She gave me a way out.
I eventually nodded and my aunt and three other women leapt to their feet and gingerly placed their hands over both my ears in layers, one on top of the other. Then they began to pray and sway, and it looked like one of them were speaking in tongues, but I couldn’t be sure. It was hard to lip-read everyone. It started to get spooky. People were getting all worked up and I began to feel dizzy and sad and afraid. Mama could see this and explained that I was looking a little overwhelmed. She told them that she didn’t want me to get too tired and we would soon need to head for home.
My aunt held my face tightly in her hands once more, while the others continued to press on my ears. She looked at me hypnotically, and then slowly said, “Honey, do you feel anything?” Her intense eyes were full of anticipation and hope, but all I could say was that my ears felt hot. To my surprise, she reeled back, overjoyed, and loudly professed, “Oh Sweetie! The fire of the Holy Spirit is upon you! The heat you feel on your ears is God’s Spirit working in you! Oh, praise you, Jesus! Oh, thank you Jesus!”
I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. As much as I loved my Auntie, and as much as I might have wanted to believe her, it all sounded so hokey to me. My rational self concluded that the heat I was experiencing was from the layers of hands on my ears and nothing more. I looked over at my cousin for his take on this, but he merely shrugged, looking helpless. Mama’s eyebrows scrunched together, and she wrinkled up her nose and pursed her lips into a small smile behind their backs. Then my aunt squeezed my face once more, looked deeply in my eyes, and said with a growing authority, “Honey if you just believe, Jesus will heal you!”
Her seriousness grabbed hold of me once more, and I sat dumbstruck for a moment. “IF YOU JUST BELIEVE, JESUS WILL HEAL YOU!” She said again with great conviction. I had understood what she said the first time. I just didn’t know exactly how to respond or what I was supposed to do. I whimpered as I forced a smile. “BELIEVE! BELIEVE IN THE HEALING POWER OF JESUS!” She expounded.
Truthfully, I really wanted to believe that Jesus would heal me right then and there. Yet, I was full of doubt. I envied my aunt’s faith in the power of God’s miracles. When nothing happened, I started feeling sorry for myself. Then, I quickly felt ashamed. Tears began to well up in my eyes. Suddenly, the room started feeling cult-like as people swayed back and forth with their eyes closed, mumbling strange words I could not hear, and moving their hands over my head, ears, face and shoulders. I felt intense pressure to exclaim, “I CAN HEAR!” But the only thing I could hear was the loud ringing in my ears. By then, my head was spinning and I was flushed from heat and embarrassment. I looked at Mama for help, and as always, she came to my rescue. She politely, but firmly said, “That’s enough!”
I cried on the way home while my mother profusely apologized. She had no idea that was going to happen and wished she had listened to her gut reaction and not brought me in the first place. “Mama, what if I just didn’t believe hard enough,” I cried. “Nothing happened! Maybe I didn’t truly believe,” I sobbed.
But, my mother, in all her gentle wisdom, interrupted me and said, “Honey, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a good thing to pray and to have hope that your hearing might return some day, and if it is God’s will, then so be it. And, if your hearing never comes back, it is probably part of a greater good. You may not be able to see it now, but your hearing loss might be a part of God’s plan, something better for you down the road.”
While Mama’s words were somewhat comforting, I still grieved the loss of my hearing. I still felt guilty, worrying that my faith might not be as strong as it should be. I also felt guilty because I felt angry with God, something I couldn’t express to anyone. I had always believed that my musical talents and my keen hearing were a gift from God. Yet, I had to wonder: ‘Why would God take away this gift from heaven? Why would He take away something so precious and dear to me? Didn’t I use my voice to sing out glory and praise to Him in church and choir? Was I being punished for something? What did I do to deserve such a blow?’
My anger with God would remain unexpressed. I didn’t talk about it with family or friends. I was afraid of judgment and rejection. Nor did I talk about this with God, Himself. I simply squelched my anger, and switched over into survival mode. Rather than mope around angrily, I put my energy into learning how to cope with the everyday challenges my hearing loss would bring.
(Side note: I love my Auntie more than anything. I want to be clear to my readers that she is a beautiful spirit and her faith has inspired me over the years. As I have grown in wisdom and maturity I understand the powerful love she had for me then. Though her ways were different than my own, her faith has always been exemplary and I love her for it. However, I write this blog post to point out a very common experience that deaf people encounter with faith healing. When the miraculous does not occur, our faith can be shaken. Some grow bitter. My aunt’s prayers were answered, but in a way we did not expect. My hearing was not restored, but I was given another healing gift — the ability to listen more deeply. I now listen in new ways, and strive to find meaning in my life-journey. My hearing loss has made me a deeper person. I have since embraced my deafness and have used it for a greater good, as Mama predicted. Prayers of healing were indeed answered and I give thanks to God that I got to live and grow. ~ I love you, Auntie.)
