I hear your hearts cry. I can feel your desperation. Pain coursing, depression overwhelming, fear drowning. Your diagnosis always on your mind, always there. The team of doctors working your case have worried looks, whispering low toned, they tell you you’ve got only months to live. Words slam into your heart like a mack truck, the breath is sucked right out of your lungs, tears well up, and fall, hot and hard.

Oh sweet sister – oh sweet brother – hold onto your Creator, hold fast to His Words, don’t let go. His Word is final, the Word above all words. His report, the final report. Father isn’t in the business of giving bad news. He is the Creator of the good. And Savior is also Healer. Both gifts given at the same Tree. He, the One who breathed life into your tiny little body, growing in your mothers womb, says you’re healed by the stripes of His Son. He says you’re protected, saved, forgiven, healed. Believe Him.

Above all else, believe Him. Believe in the impossible. Believe you will live!

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