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Written by Abby Baumgartner, volunteer for Iron Rose Sister Ministries in Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Lifting my head out of the water, I breathe and open my eyes just in time to hear the questioning cries from the shoreline: “Master Naaman! Are you healed?”
I look down at my arm and see that, for the sixth time now, I’ve gotten my hopes up; the pale, pink spots of leprosy still cover my arm. I turn towards shore, shaking my head as choruses of “That’s ok,” “That was only six. You’re supposed to dip seven times,” and “Seventh time is the charm!” drift back to me from the shore.
But this is ridiculous.
How did I—the commanding general of the Syrian army—end up washing myself in the Jordan river with an audience on the shoreline? Good question.
It all started when I discovered spots of leprosy on my arm. With no cure, this disease decays the skin and is a horrifying death sentence. I immediately began searching for some way to be healed, and no idea was too crazy to try. My wife’s servant, an Israelite girl my army captured in a raid, spoke of a prophet in Israel who could heal leprosy. I decided to seek healing from this prophet, after all, what did I stand to lose?
Armed with a letter of recommendation from the King of Syria and gifts of silver, gold, and fine clothing, I went to Israel and met with the king. I read him the letter and offered the gifts, but instead of answering me, the king declared he could not help me. We were at a standstill, and I started to think I’d wasted my time, until a messenger came before the king saying, “I carry with me a message from Elisha the prophet “Let him come now to me that he may know that there is a prophet in Israel” (2 Kings 5:8, ESV).
So, I packed up again and traveled to meet Elisha, but when I arrived at the prophet’s house, he wouldn’t even come to meet me. Instead, he sent another messenger to say, “Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored, and you shall be clean” (2 Kings 5:10b).
Humiliated and with burning rage, I said, “Behold, I thought he would surely come out to me and stand and call upon the name of the Lord, his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Demascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them and be clean?” (2 Kings 5:11b-12a).
Having said my piece, I turned to go, but one of my servants said, “Do not be angry, but,
My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he tells you, ‘Wash and be cleansed’!” (2 Kings 5:13b, NIV).
I turned and looked back at my servants and the messenger. That same servant spoke again saying, “He’s not asking you do accomplish some super-human feat; he’s just asking you to wash.”
“But it makes no sense!” I replied, “Why—”
“Why not! We’ve all heard of the power of the Israelite God and the miracles worked by His prophets—this may still be your best chance,” he said. “And even if it doesn’t work, the only negative is that you’ll get a little wet.”
So, now I stand here in the Jordan River. I’ve dipped six times with no change in my skin, and I feel like a fool. Just one more time, I tell myself. As I sink into the Jordan a seventh time, a momentary wave of peace washes over me, then all too quickly, I rise from the water again. Before I even open my eyes, I hear calls from the shore, “Master Naaman! Are you healed?”
Fearing the worst, I look down at my arms. My skin is clear again! I jump back to the shore shouting, “The leprosy is gone! It’s all gone! Praise the Lord, God of Israel!”
I run to Elisha’s house, and this time he comes to meet me. With a knowing grin, he asks, “Naaman, have you washed in the Jordan seven times?”
“Yes!” I reply, “Behold, I know that there is no God in all the earth but in Israel; so accept now a present from your servant” and I offer him the gifts of gold, silver, and clothes (2 Kings 5:15b, ESV).
Elisha says, “No. As the Lord lives, before whom I stand, I will receive none” (2 Kings 5:16).
Now I understand. My healing wasn’t something I could manhandle through feats of strength or buy with gold; in fact, I could not earn my healing at all. Nothing I could do would measure up. Washing in the Jordan was so simple, and yet it brought a healing that I couldn’t gain in any other way.
It was ridiculous. It made no sense to me, but maybe that’s part of the point, too. I have to trust that the Lord is greater and stronger than I am, and I have to obey His call, even if it doesn’t make a lot of sense in the moment. Healing only came when I surrendered, let go of my pride, and obeyed.
“Thank you, Elisha. I understand now that I cannot repay you, so I will instead ask one more thing. [P]lease let there be given to your servant two mule loads of earth,” I say (2 Kings 5:17). “Because from now on, I will only worship and offer sacrifices to the Lord, God of Israel. And I ask that even when I have to enter the temples of false gods with my king, that the Lord will forgive me.”
“Go in peace,” Elisha tells me, and I do (2 Kings 5:19).
What seemingly ridiculous thing is God calling you to obey?
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Written by Sabrina Nino de Campos, Brazil Coordinator for Iron Rose Sister Ministries
Just like in every reconstruction story, mine also involves a pain that is still very present. And even when I don’t feel it all the time, and may even forget it sometimes, it is constant.
I’ve been very blessed in my life. I had the opportunity to grow up in a family that loves God, and I remember that many times as a kid, whenever I felt troubled about any situation in life, I would always thank God for the family He gave me. Ever since I was a kid, I felt like I had a very strong relationship with the Father, especially in prayer. Even in the moments when I felt so far from Him, I don’t remember going to sleep without praying. It had been something my parents taught me, and it became a habit. And that habit kept me close to God during many years of frustration and life changes.
When I graduated high school and had a decision to make as to what I wanted for my future, I decided to enter a missions program called AME. I really wanted to make my own path, after so many years admiring the work my parents did with the church. During those years I participated in the mission work in Bolivia, met my husband, moved to Argentina to partner with the church there, etc. God did great things in my life, and even though in some moments, doubt crept into my mind (just like everyone else’s), I felt like my faith grew stronger every day. And the peace that flooded my life made me more and more confident that obstacles didn’t matter if I could put them at Yahweh’s feet.
Well, all of that changed in August 2019. When my mom, who had been my best friend and biggest supporter, suffered a cardiac arrest and had no oxygen for 33 minutes. My husband and I had to move out of Buenos Aires in less than 48 hours, leaving me with no time to say goodbye. Our journey was interrupted.
We stayed in Brazil for 6 months, where I felt like all hope was lost and felt the worse pain of my life. My mom did wake up from her coma, but she wasn’t herself anymore. Because of the lack of oxygen during those 33 minutes, she had suffered major brain damage that hinders her from being able to remember things for more than just a few seconds. She barely remembers the faces around her. And since I had been away from home since 2015, she doesn’t remember me. She knows my name, but doesn’t know who I am.
I don’t feel like God had prepared me for something like this. How could I ever be ready for this situation? I still don’t have an answer to that question. And since that day, and with all the things that came after that, I don’t feel like it gets any easier. I feel like my prayers have, many times, been like this one on Psalm 88 (ESV):
[…]
I am shut in so that I cannot escape;
my eye grows dim through sorrow.
Every day I call upon you, O Lord;
I spread out my hands to you.
[…]
But I, O Lord, cry to you;
in the morning my prayer comes before you.
O Lord, why do you cast my soul away?
Why do you hide your face from me?
[…]
You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me;
my companions have become darkness.
My faith was destroyed in an unexpected way. And that was the first time I felt like the faith I inherited from my parents would no longer be enough to uphold me all my life. I needed to rebuild it. This situation I’m living is not what I wanted, I want a miracle. But that’s not what I’ve received, even though I still wait on Him. What I have received was an invitation to Rebuild my faith. I have learned a lot of new things about God, I have read His Word like I had never done before, with different eyes.
Sometimes I feel like Paul when he was Saul and even though he had good intentions, then Jesus comes and takes his vision away. And whenever he gets his vision back, his perspective is so different. I feel like I’m recovering my vision little by little, and sometimes, honestly, it feels like I’m going blind again. And God once again shows me His light.
The process of rebuilding is painful. It involves rebuilding my relationship with God; it involves my prayer life, the way I think about how God moves, the way I live my faith. But the most important thing I’ve learned is that I don’t need to be on this journey alone. I have brothers and sisters that are also going through this process. And better yet, God wants to accompany me through this process. Just like the psalmist that prays his pain, God also wants to hear my voice even if it’s full of sadness and even anger towards Him. We can’t rebuild a friendship by deciding to ignore the other person. Communication is needed.
Let’s not be afraid of rebuilding our relationship with God. Maybe you had something painful happen to you, something that changed your life story. Or maybe you just want to relearn how to pray, read, or listen to God in a more honest way.
No matter what, Yahweh wants to be by your side, just like He does with me too. And let’s not forget, God knows pain all too well. But just like He promises us pain (John 16:33), he also says, “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:20b, ESV).