CHRONIC ILLNESS & STRENGTH
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”
―
Chronic illness changes a person—not only their body, but their voice, their spirit, and the way they walk with the Holy One. For more than two decades, my body has been a battlefield: numbness from the waist down, adrenal insufficiency, gastroparesis, surgeries, and long years of steroid use that reshaped both my frame and my life, but I wouldn’t change a minute of the journey. Suffering has been my greatest teacher.
This space is for the ones who live between pain and purpose.
For those who pray for healing yet wake up still hurting.
For those who have become used to pain, but don’t want to become bitter or discouraged.
For the ones who love God deeply while navigating bodies that refuse to cooperate.
Here, you’ll find both spiritual reflection and practical honesty—pieces about what it really feels like to live with chronic illness, the comments that hurt, the moments that heal, and the unseen challenges we face daily.
If you carry an invisible struggle, you are not alone.
Strength isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the courage to keep walking with the Divine through it.
“During the days of Jesus’ earthly life, He offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the One who could save Him from death, and He was heard because of His reverence. Although He was a Son, He learned obedience from what He suffered.”
Hebrews 5:7-8
Blessings,
Tekoa Manning
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Ten Things Not to Say to Sick People and Why
Before diving into the main message, I want to express my belief that Our Father is powerful enough to heal any sickness or disease, and I trust that one day He will! It is essential for us to teach the next generation to care for His amazing creation and the food we cultivate. I believe our children’s children will mourn the effects of plastic, toxins, the methods of food production, chemicals contaminating our water, and the loss of every creature that shares our world— from those that have gone extinct to those yet to be born.
Additionally, I believe that Our Father sometimes allows life to unfold. He lets life live. If the Holy One wished to heal every child currently in a cancer hospital, He certainly could, but this is not what we often witness. I pray that this blog encourages us, myself included, to carefully consider our words before sharing them with those who are suffering.
“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus replied, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him” (John 9:2).
Ten or More Things Not to Say to Sick People and Why:
1. Have you tried organic, free-range, bone broth, essential oils, magnesium, flax seed oil, fasting, juicing, raw foods, apple cider vinegar, castor oil, colon cleansers, yoga, Vitamin D, cutting out sugar and diet cokes, earthing, grounding, and so forth?
2. You need to have faith and accept healing.
3. We need to find some really anointed people to pray for you.
4. Have you been through deliverance because this could be a spiritual condition?
5. If you were serious about your health, you could be healed like I was.
6. Don’t speak it. You are snared by the words of your mouth.
7. Perhaps it’s mental?
8. You need to find a good church.
9. I feel so sorry for you, or I know an excellent doctor.
10. But you look great!
You look terrible!
11. You just need to go for a walk and get some sunlight.
Number #1:
Most people who have a chronic illness or autoimmune disease have done much research, and if they’ve had it for any length of time, as in years, they’ve probably tried multiple things more than once.
We know these people mean well, and sometimes we may want to try the latest vitamin, supplement, protein, cabbage fermented juice, mineral water, alkaline water, acupuncture, biofeedback, chiropractic, yoga, kinesiology, homeopathy, aromatherapy iridology, massage, and other forms of bodywork, meditation and visualization, nutritional therapy, and so on. How a person words it can be helpful, so let’s watch our words.
Number #2:
Most sick people have faith, faith as in trusting in Our Father. Faith is not some mental word that we practice until we believe it. Faith requires action. Most people who have an illness cry out for healing, and they probably are way past the name it and claim it gig. Even the Apostle Paul only asked three times for the thorn in his flesh to be removed.
“Because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, for this reason, to keep me from exalting myself, there was given me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me—to keep me from exalting myself! Concerning this, I implored the Lord three times that it might leave me.
And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong” (2nd Corinthians 12:7-10 NASB).
Several people in the Bible may not have had faith/trust, but their mother, father, or even their master did. Some of them, like the servant girl below and a young daughter vexed with demons, did not even have anyone touch them. They were healed in that very hour.
“When Jesus heard this, he was amazed at him and, turning, said to the crowd following him, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith. When the messengers returned to the house, they found the slave in good health” (Luke 7:9-10).
Number # 3:
Yes, prayer is powerful. But again, if a person has been sick for a decade or more, they’ve probably had many people who were ‘anointed’ pray for them and with them. One of the most anointed people in the Bible died of his disease–a man who raised the dead. ” Now Elisha was fallen sick of his sickness whereof he died” (2nd Kings 13:14). Also, be careful with the word ‘anointed,’ as it may not mean what you were taught it did.
Number # 4:
Yes, deliverance is needed many times for not just the sick but those who are strong. Some of the most vexed with issues have more strength than King Kong. Ask a police officer who has had a hard time even handcuffing a ninety-pound lady because of this. If a person has been sick for any length of time, and they love the Father, more than likely they have been through ‘deliverance’ or fasted for a length of time and had prayer for this issue. Again, be careful how you word things. If we are walking the path of righteousness, we should be getting delivered of waste and our flesh daily, if not weekly, and indeed during the days of fasting and inner searching.
Number #5:
This is usually a plea for someone to stop eating bad food, drinking, not exercising, and making sure the person understands that if they would only drink purified water and food that is alive, they could be healed. Many times in my own life, it has appeared that I eat way too much due to medications or being pumped with steroids to regain strength. Other times, due to gastroparesis, a stomach condition where the muscles do not work correctly, I cannot eat fiber or raw vegatables. I’ve been to the hospital before for eating grapes. Most of the time, what I eat when I am invited to a party or family function is not what I eat at home. Still, occasionally, you have to enjoy something—my philosophy, not necessarily yours.
Number #6:
The name it and claim it prophesies. Blab it and grab it– Self-forecasting magical potion. All we have to do is proclaim our healing in the name of Jesus Yeshua and bingo-presto. Where does this come from? “You have been snared with the words of your mouth…” (Proverbs 6:2). But what does it say before this verse and after?
“My son, if you guarantee a loan for your neighbor or pledge yourself for a stranger with a handshake, you are trapped by the words of your own mouth, caught by your own promise. Do the following things, my son, so that you may free yourself because you have fallen into your neighbor’s hands: Humble yourself, and pester your neighbor” (Proverbs 8:1-3 GWT). Yes, life and death are in the power of the tongue, but we can push this too far.
The Berean research had this to say,
“Fred Price may proclaim “we don’t allow sickness in our home,” but his wife still has cancer. Kenneth Hagin brags that he has not had a headache, the flu, or even “one sick day” in nearly 60 years, but he has had four cardiovascular crises. Paul Crouch (prayers) may have healed Oral Roberts of chest pains on a TBN Broadcast, but it didn’t stop Oral from having a heart attack a few hours later (Christianity in Crisis, pp. 237-238). How are these things explained away? Predictably, by blaming them on the devil. Sickness in the Word-Faith camp is usually seen as satanic attacks that must be repelled by words of faith (i.e., “positive confession”).”
Number #7:
Mental health and physical health, as well as spiritual health, go together. We are one complete person. We are not separated. “Beloved, I pray that in every way you may prosper and enjoy good health, as your soul also prospers.”3rd John 1:2. This verse says to prosper in all ways. He is praying that these folks are complete—whole and in good health, even in their spiritual walk.
When you look at what defines mental health, you may be surprised by what is on the list. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)– Anxiety/Panic Disorder–Bipolar Disorder—Depression–and even alcohol abuse is listed as a mental disorder. This is why we need to be careful with our words. I say ‘we,’ as I fail in this area as well.
If you have never been depressed, not even after childbirth or the death of a loved one, you may need to rethink your antidepressant. Our bodies are equipped with emotions. Numb people can’t feel anything. They are like walking dead. Mental illness comes in many different colors and also deserves all the empathy and compassion any other illness, such as Cancer, gets.
Number #8:
Many times, people, especially the older generation, think of wholeness being attained by how often you sit in a pew or place an amount of money in an offering plate. But the ‘church’ and even the word ‘church’ has been misconstrued in our Bibles. It was translated from the word assembly. We are to gather and, yes, not forsake gathering together, but what were they gathering together for?
In Acts, it was a Feast day—Shavuot/ Pentecost. Three of these Feast are called foot festivals. They gathered together throughout the whole Bible for Feast days. He is returning on a Feast day. As a matter of fact, they were gathering at times in houses and other places of interest like hillsides and fishing boats.
Number #9:
Sick people don’t want pity. They used to juggle one, if not two, jobs, school, homeschooling, single parents, possibly the CEO of a large company, and more. Many of them were and are fighters. They want empathy and compassion, but unless you have experienced debilitating physical illnesses, you may struggle with this one. Again, most people who have been chronically ill for a long time have had several doctors. Some, even like myself, have been to the Mayo Clinic or other research hospitals. Unless the person asked you directly for advice on finding a new doctor, select your words carefully.
Number #10:
This one is by far the trickiest. Telling someone they look great shouldn’t be a problem, right? My mother had Parkinson’s disease, Hashimoto, and later on colon cancer, but most of the time, she looked great even while shaking and in great pain. Sometimes, this comment conveys that the person must be fine and feel okay if they look good. I know many people in wheelchairs who look good but feel like death. The opposite of this is being told you look awful or horrible. Neither of these is the right approach for someone suffering. I know that may sound confusing, but trust me, it’s not helpful. Looks are often misleading.
I hope this list has been helpful, and if you or a loved one is dealing with chronic pain today, my heart goes out to you and them. I pray that He completely restores you, and I know one day, if not now, He will!
For more on this teaching, you can listen to my podcast on Lamb Messianic Radio via the BEKY Book show with a wonderful host and author, Dr. Robin Gould.
Program starts at the 8:47 timestamp.
The Battle to Live, Part I
The battle to live at times is hard. The battle to want to live, even in a healthy body can be harder.
There’s a small slit on my bottom lip where it chapped, cracked, and finally ripped in the hospital. I bite at the gaping place between my teeth, softening it with my tongue so it never fully heals. My mouth is full of thrush sores—tiny blisters, loose skin hanging from my inner cheeks. Every swallow reminds me that my immune system is too compromised to keep up.
I’ve been on thrush medication for weeks now. The steroids—my “roids,” my “incredible hulk juice”—are both my saving grace and my tormentors. They rescue my life and wreck my body. The latest gift they’ve handed me is steroid-induced Addison’s disease… adrenal crisis.
My left arm is bruised from IV ports, it’s nearly as battered as my chest and abdomen where the woman performing my heart ultrasound pressed harder and harder, as if force would reveal something my body didn’t want to give up.
I’m panting with HMPV (human meta-pneumovirus). Oxygen and breathing treatments have become a daily dance. The coughing has inflamed the hernia behind my colostomy; I clutch my side with my right hand and brace my ribs with my left. Each violent cough releases urine into an adult diaper—the kind made in China modeled by a slim woman with sculpted thighs on the packaging.
“All men are liars,” I mutter, quoting Psalm 116. Humor keeps me going. In the Valley of the Shadow of Death, The Holy One Leans Close.
The antibiotics are so strong they’ve triggered bleeding from my gut. Colostomy bags hold waste, but I quickly learn that they don’t hold blood very well.
I feel warmth running down my leg, oozing beneath my equipment. It is day five—or six; time has blurred—and as I catch my reflection in the sink mirror, I freeze. The door is still ajar from the nurse’s last visit. Panic sets in.
“Chief!” I call out in my best Scarlett O’Hara voice. I want my husband. I want safety. But he’s home sick with the same virus and can’t be here until later.
Shift change has just happened. Staff rush down the hallway, pushing charting machines, barely glancing in. A new nurse and an aide, both strangers to me, appear in the doorway. If it had been one of the nurses I’d grown attached to this week, it would have felt less traumatic, But I have never seen these new staff members before. I stand at the mirror as Blood seeps and splatters the floor, then, for good measure, liquid poo plops on my open sandal.
My equipment is starting to fall off, and soon my raw, inflamed side will be visible. If you’ve never seen a stoma, brace yourself—they aren’t pretty. I want to hide.
Due to the waste and blood, and me wheezing frantically, my PTSD kicks in. With the added heavy dose of Solumedrol steroids pumping through my veins, I wobble with cane to the bathroom commode with a handful of baby wipes pressed over my side. The nurse walks in.
I’m bleeding,” I say from the commode.
The wipes in my left hand bloom red. I wipe my leg and shoe as best I can with surgical gloves on.
“Okay,” she replies gently.
“Where are you bleeding from? How can I help?”
“I need my ostomy scissors!” I speak. “I need to cut a new flange and ring. I have a colostomy.”
It’s now become a horror picture show I can’t escape from. How am I here again? I want to evaporate in the air.
In the Mirror Nothing Hides–Not the Body, Not the Fear, Not the Truth.
I want to evaporate in the air. “I need a shower chair,” I belt. I need. I’m needy. I’m sorry,” I whisper through tears.
“Don’t be sorry,” she answers softly. “Let’s get you taken care of.” She calls the ostomy nurse while I explain between sobs that I have Gastroparesis and the antibiotics have torn up my side, and I forgot my extra adhesive strips. I show her photos of the supplies I need. She screenshots everything like it’s a mission and tells me it’s going to be okay.
She has a compassionate smile and is calm, and reassuring. Somehow, we reapply the equipment. I hold my side and pray the bleeding stops. “I need my ulcer meds,” I say. “My gut is swelling.” I show her the picture of the medication bottle I keep on my phone for emergencies. Then finally—warm water. Showers of blessings. Fresh bedding. Clean shoes.
Nurses gathering like earthly angels.
In twenty years of hospitals, they are the some of the most kind-hearted I’ve encountered. Afterwards, A lady with blonde hair and a kind smiles who has my mothers name says, “Hello, I’m Vicky, the Ostomy nurse. I’m here to help you.”
How fitting. Abba has thought of everything.
When all is settled, I breathe the ancient words:
“Death, where is your sting?”
But, Sting is a catchy rock-star name—not a reference to death. “O death, where is thy sting?” is neither in the Septuagint nor the Hebrew of Hosea. It reads,
“From the power of the grave I ransom them, from death I redeem them. Where is your plague, O Death? Where is your destruction, O Grave?”
It is Adonai who has ransomed me again from the plague and death.
Many people are suffering far worse than I do. I don’t tell these stories for pity. I tell them because countless hide their suffering behind silent doors. I pray my words help them heal or begin to use what they have left and find joy in the small things. With great crushing comes great oil.
I began trauma counseling three weeks before this hospital stay, specifically to address the medical trauma woven through the last twenty years of my life—especially the ICU in January, and I am not ashamed, nor have I ever felt weak to seek counsel.
Sickness is an epidemic of destruction. It beats the breasts, covers the mirrors. No one sits shiva with the suffering; they sit with the family after the spirit of their loved one takes flight. Now, in my late fifties, I finally understand why my mother, with Parkinson’s, often said, “No one calls. No one understands my suffering.”
People avoid suffering or discussing it because it exposes them. It makes them vulnerable. It forces them to see their own shadows.
One of my sons recently said, “Everyone’s going to die sometime.” True. But who will sit with the suffering before death arrives? That is the highest calling. Someone had to carry our Master’s cross that he could not bear. Who is blessed to carry the cross for someone unable to bear it in their final moments?
Suffering comes in many hues. It’s not just physical sickness. It can be a sickness of the soul. It can be a tumor. A cancerous spiritual malady. It can be pride that reeks like gangrene and we unaware that we are rotting, with decay within our very souls.
Suffering can be a wound so deep, we’ve run out of gauze and tape to patch it, so we bleed all over the floor as we walk. It can be a mommy issue, a daddy issue, a spouse, or a child who grieves us. Sickness obscures reflections. Yet, rarely does one mourn for those who suffer to the point that they offer myrrh. Pure unadulterated myrrh.
Jennifer, if you are reading this, thank you for being such a loving nurse and bringing alloys of medicine.
Despite the suffering I’ve endured, my journey has been incredibly rewarding and fruitful. Many may not have accomplished what I have since becoming fully disabled at 40. My struggles have transformed me into an author and a researcher. After a decade of persistence, I can now confidently declare myself a successful author, independent of my followers or book sales. I have come to realize that I am blessed with words, words bring me joy, and the world of research is a source of fascination for me. Although, my numb, rubber elephant feeling legs may not run out to shop or jog on the beach, my fingers on my keyboard SING.
Gratitude is a powerful force. If you lose something, make the most of what remains. I cannot help but ponder how my journey of suffering has shaped my voice as a writer. At home, as the steroids diminish, my legs tremble, hormones fluctuate, and my hair feels like burnt hay, the sensations are overwhelming. My mind bends and twists, yet I find balance in the smallest treasures. You can too; it simply requires slowing down and breathing. Listening to His still small Voice. Allowing those with myrrh to come and anoint your broken body, to help carry your cross, and to wait with expectation for resurrection morning!
- “From the power of the grave I ransom them, from death I redeem them. Where is your plague, O Death? Where is your destruction, O Grave?”
Part II Coming soon. Blessings,
Tekoa Manning
The Battle to Live, Part II
A short recap:
After returning home from the hospital, the steroids began to taper off. Then comes the storm after the storm—my legs wobble, my hormones rage like tidal waves, my hair falls out in dry, straw-like handfuls, and my thoughts twist and bend in ways I don’t recognize.
And yet… even in this turmoil, I find treasure. As Rebecca Solnit said,
“The future is dark, with a darkness as much of the womb as the grave.”
― Rebecca Solnit
Morning coffee makes me smile. I shuffle with a walker to the back patio doors. My palm trees greets me. A Monarch butterfly floats past, and White seagulls gawk, passing overhead.
My backyard is my sanctuary, and sometimes stories unfold from there like this one.
I glance next door. Earlier this year, I photographed the beautiful flowering trees and plants blooming on the other side of the concrete wall that surrounds my backyard. We learned recently that a realtor or investor is flipping the abandoned house. They discovered that the pool was full of frogs and tadpoles. This can serve as metaphors for the plagues of Egypt, but frogs are incredibly brilliant as everything our Creator made is. Some of us are in a season like the wood frogs:
Wood frogs get through the coldest parts of the winter by freezing solid.
“Their heartbeat and breathing stop entirely….but they’re not dead. They’re just waiting out the cold, their cell walls protected by natural antifreeze that they manufacture for the express purpose of making it through the winter. When spring comes, they simply thaw out and hop back to life.”
I kept asking my husband what the loud noises were in the back yard this spring, seems it might have been a spring peeper or some other type of frog. Add a whole pool of them and you have a chorus.
“Adult peepers are only about an inch long, but they have vocal sacs in their chins that expand with every “peep,” amplifying the intensity of each call. Groups of spring peepers, peeping together in chorus, have been measured at 120 decibels, as loud as a rock concert and louder than a jackhammer!”
The new owners find giant palmetto roaches in the shed and haul them away—more lessons. Besides being a food source for other animals, Palmetto roaches are beneficial for the ecosystem as they act as decomposers, breaking down decaying organic matter and returning nutrients to the soil.
Often we only see the dark side of things. We only see creatures and people with stink eyes. We forget how important life is all around us.
The new owners discover that the massive tree, which blocks the sun from blinding me during my morning coffee, was growing into the house and must come down, more knowledge.
They mow the yard and cut down the tree piece by piece. It takes days to destroy the tree. I surmise from my 1950s bungalow that the tree is well over 70 years old. I’m sad for the tree. The tree could have possibly survived if it had been trimmed and pruned.
“I am the true vine, and My Father is the keeper of the vineyard. He cuts off every branch in Me that bears no fruit, and every branch that does bear fruit, He prunes to make it even more fruitful.”
John 15:1-2.
Days later, the plumbers arrive, their faces grim yet determined. They inform my husband that there are rats in the sewer—clever, resourceful creatures that have developed cunning methods to evade danger. This revelation adds another layer to our understanding of the unseen world beneath our neighbor’s home. Sometimes loving our neighbor as ourselves involves getting to know them and what they are going through regardless of their nationality, skin color, or religious background.
When we moved in, we had taken every precaution to rat-proof our home. As for insects, I’ve only encountered one, an unfortunate wanderer that surfaced during the dismantling of the neighbor’s old shed. It flew under the back of my blouse and I realized I still could dance under certain circumstances, but it looked more like this.
In the background, a constant fire crackles in the yard, its flames consuming sticks, insects, and perhaps even the frogs. The air carries a mix of smoke and the earthy scent of charred wood, a reminder of the relentless cycle of life and decay that plays out just beyond our walls and during this season leading into winter.
I study my lovely pool area, with its clean water, and my Aloe Vera plants growing in pots on tables subsequent to my new patio furniture, and reflect on what was hidden behind my concrete wall.
Frogs, pestilence, roaches, a tree giving life became too large, too unkempt to the point it was destroying the home because those in charge did nothing.
How many of you have rats in your life? Rats live in sewage and abandoned dwellings. Rats carry disease. Rat metaphors often carry negative connotations of deceit, betrayal, and a lack of integrity like “dirty rat, I smell a rat,” and so on. However, rats are highly intelligent, capable of learning complex tasks, solving puzzles, and navigating mazes with impressive memory retention. Certain rats, like the African giant pouched rat, are trained to detect explosives, landmines, and diseases.
Of course most of us know that we need trees. In Jumping for Joy in the Midst of sorrow devotional, I discuss how trees talk to their young and protect them from predators. Here is a portion from Derek Markham:
Derek Markham’s recent blog titled Trees Talk to Each Other and Recognize Their Offspring is quite eye-opening.
Now, we know we all favor our own children, and I wondered, could Douglas fir recognize its own kin, like mama grizzly and her cub? So we set about an experiment, and we grew mother trees with kin and stranger’s seedlings. And it turns out they do recognize their kin. Mother trees colonize their kin with bigger mycorrhizal networks. They send them more carbon below ground. They even reduce their root competition to make elbow room for their kids. When mother trees are injured or dying, they also send messages of wisdom on to the next generation of seedlings. So we’ve used isotope tracing to trace carbon moving from an injured mother tree down her trunk into the mycorrhizal network and into her neighboring seedlings, not only carbon but also defense signals. And these two compounds have increased the resistance of those seedlings to future stresses. So trees talk.”
Metaphorically, like the tree that had to be removed, some have encountered a large person who is destroying their home. Maybe they are not large, but they seem to tower, threaten, control and keep the person walking on eggshells or living in poverty, or fear.
Sometimes, we have to uproot ourselves and replant. Sometimes we pray that the person will humbly allow the Father to prune.
Still, I’m in shock over the condition of the house because from the outside, it does not look that bad. Sure it needed some things. I vaguely remember one of our neighbors, a young woman on a riding lawn mower. I remember their plants and the gorgeous flowers in their flower beds. An older couple and a young man lived there with the woman. Suddenly, they left.
What did the owners take with them on their flight? From the appearance of things, the bare necessities. All their furniture was placed in the street. Their large kidney-shaped pool was a mess of green screaming frogs.
They made daily choices to allow things into their life. First, it was one thing. Some bugs. No money to fill the pool. No money for an exterminator possibly. Plumbing issues. Rats. On and on, until their home was infested. Perhaps, they were too ashamed to ask for help. Possibly, too depressed to remove the frogs or fight the bugs. Things became so bad, so unlivable, that all they could do was flee in the night. Darkness that can be felt. Possibly the older couple raised their children in the house. Planted the tree many moons ago?
Eventually, new neighbors will move in. Everything will be torn out and redone. Pristine. They will have no idea what was in the house or outside unless they are told, and they will never know the stories of the people who dwelt there.
The unlivable condition will become another persons salvation. With death comes resurrection and new birth. We are born anew. All things are new. We walk away from death and stagnant waste and enter sparkling newness.
It happens in our spirit. Our mind. Our very soul. Our words speak life concerning others. We learn to not speak words like: “Those filthy trashy no good neighbors.” Instead, we wish them well. We pray that they have the finances to meet their needs and the wisdom to make good decisions. We ask that the elderly are cared for.
We enter our new home, and the sun is unobstructed. We swim in clean waters and eat from a bountiful table. We sing. We dance. We notice creation.
It’s a new day.
With each death I encounter, I begin anew. Like a baby, I cling to a walker. I wobble. I need help with food, drink, and bathing for a season.
I require extra sleep and time alone.
I’m not always ready to discuss the horror show—the blood, the gasping for air, the messiness, the scars, and battle wounds. Sometimes, I want to feel normal. I want to hear other people’s stories. I want to reflect on how my grandmother, Nola, showed up to help me move my IV, and is the name of my new doctor. How all my nurses carried the names of my family members and were there to cheer me on, reminding me that I am flesh and bones, dust—a vapor. And so are you.
In the meantime, to borrow the words of Mary Oliver, “What will you do with this one crazy life you’ve been given under the sun?”
We cannot stay in death.
I walk through the valley like everyone else, but I don’t pitch a tent there, and neither should you.
Healing is awakening.
It is the quiet:
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- the morning coffee
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- The palm tree bowing like an old friend
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- the butterfly drifting through winter
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- The white seagulls crying above the sanctuary of my yard
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- The reminder that my body may be broken, but my soul is not diseased
Sometimes, healing is sleeping for days with your ringer off.
Sometimes, healing is choosing silence instead of explanation.
Sometimes, healing is letting your spirit breathe without the noise of other people’s opinions pressing on your chest.
The tiniest treasures become lifelines.
When going through the valley of the shadow of death:
Who will sit with you when you suffer?
And who will you be brave enough to sit with in theirs?
Because suffering, when honored, becomes oil, and lamps show the way for others still trying to find their footing in the dark, but darkness also lives in the womb.
Blessings,
Tekoa Manning
Joy & Sorrow
Vulnerability, A Means of Healing
Vulnerability, a means of healing…
We must learn vulnerability to heal and bring healing to the Body of the Messiah. Too many people, especially in leadership, are walking wounded. They remain silent because they feel the need to appear perfect in public. However, throughout Biblical history, every family faced challenges, including murder, suffering, disease, and heartbreak. For example, Aaron’s first sons, who held esteemed positions, ended up being consumed by fire while wearing their priestly garments. The lives of David, Eli, and Jacob’s families were also filled with turmoil.
Today, we witness divorce, messy custody battles, and children struggling with issues such as drug use and pornography. These struggles occur within the community of Believers, often hidden away due to a fear of judgment. Just ask King David, who faced the trauma of his daughter being raped by his son stayed silent at a time when his voice was needed.
Many people wear masks, hiding the chaos of their lives behind closed doors. They fear that expressing their struggles will only invite shame or be dismissed with the attitude of “It’s just the Devil.” The devil has been given too much credit; a simple look in the mirror could reveal the truth (Pick up a copy of Satan Unmasked). HERE
Embracing vulnerability leads to personal growth. It is time to remove the mask and fully embrace who we are and what we are experiencing, but can we find a safe place among our neighbors? Jennifer Caspari Ph.D states,
“Humans have a strong instinct for self-protection, to avoid pain and hurt. However, being vulnerable is part of being human. Being vulnerable requires us to let our guard down and be seen for who we authentically are. This is difficult, and a key part of enhancing self-acceptance and genuine confidence, building relationships, and strengthening quality of life is allowing ourselves to be seen by ourselves and others.” HERE.
Having lived with a disability since my late thirties, I have often been wounded and surprised by the views of Believers regarding sickness, mental illness, and disease. I also find myself in the position where leaders confide in me about their secret health and family issues. Why? Because they fear ostracism or judgment from others. These leaders are concerned that people will attribute their health problems to not following commandments, poor eating habits, or various other reasons, such as generational curses, demonic strongholds, unforgiveness, fear, or trauma. And the worst, being labeled a hypochondriac or someone lacking faith.
Of course, we know that the daughter who was vexed with demons was spared because her mother cried out for her with faith, and the lame man was lowered through the roof by four friends who carried him to the Healer.
I could recount stories of illness from the earliest accounts recorded in the Bible to more recent times. My research on this topic began twenty years ago when my mother was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. I could reference every depressed prophet who longed for death or list the many holy men who were beheaded, stoned, crucified, or who suffered greatly in various ways. I could detail how every demon and swine fled at the command of the greatest voice to ever declare, “Go!”—and they went! There was no binding and loosing, decreeing and declaring or misinterpreting scriptures to free a person.
Some of the most liberated individuals I’ve ever encountered were those who were seriously ill or nearing the end of their lives. I have witnessed friends who faced deep pain caused by Believers while dealing with conditions such as ALS, cancer, multiple sclerosis, tumors, spinal issues, autism, heart conditions, and gastrointestinal problems. At times, it is not us but our children who suffer. Many of us have endured these challenges in silence due to the harsh judgments from Job’s friends.
I have witnessed people going off their medications and ending up in the hospital, and even one person faced lockdown because others claimed their pharmaceutical treatments were witchcraft. While some medications may indeed be questionable, doctors have saved many lives. On the other hand, marijuana, a plant known for its healing properties for seizures, is often labeled as demonic, just like other natural herbs.
I’ve been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) twice, only to have the diagnosis removed. Once, after a spinal tap and a full MRI workup, someone told me that I needed deliverance from demons and unforgiveness—that’s why I had MS. About a year later, that same person contacted me, apologized, and humbly confessed, “I now have MS.”
I would never wish such suffering on anyone, but I can honestly say that suffering has been my greatest teacher, and I am not the healer. We often forget that we are not living in the Garden of Eden. The conditions here, such as our water and food sources, have changed significantly, but despite that, He has numbered our days.
I am writing this because I believe it’s time for humility and freedom to be part of our journey, and that begins with being vulnerable. Remember who attended the Great Supper? It wasn’t the wealthy and healthy; it was the lame, blind, crippled, and homeless—those from the hedges, highways, and byways. Could it be that they needed a Savior the most?
What of the broken, wounded souls?
“But Jesus replied, “A certain man prepared a great banquet and invited many guests. When it was time for the banquet, he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’
But one after another they all began to make excuses. The first one said, ‘I have bought a field, and I need to go see it. Please excuse me.’
Another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I am going to try them out. Please excuse me.’
Still another said, ‘I have married a wife, so I cannot come.’
The servant returned and reported all this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and said to his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the city, and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame.
‘Sir,’ the servant replied, ‘what you ordered has been done, and there is still room.’
So the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the highways and hedges and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full. For I tell you, not one of those men who were invited will taste my banquet.’”
Luke 14
In Luke the people make excuses due to new spouses, properties, and sports cars, in Matthew those mentioned, don’t give a rats A%#:
“But not caring, they went away, one to his own field and one to his trading.” (Aw, stock market) Matthew 22:5…
Not caring… having no thought or concern… seeking worldly pleasures. I have observed that those who have experienced the greatest suffering in life often tend to be the ones who give to the poor, widows, orphans, and those in need of healing. It’s important to remove the mask and be vulnerable; this is how you can discover who your true friends are, and how to allow others a voice to share their greatest tragedies safely. We must walk in the power to confront darkness, expose lies, and bring everything to light so that all can see and address it.
As Babylon falls—and it is indeed falling as I type this—everyone will come to realize that it was never as grand as it seemed, nor was it better than the marriage supper of the Lamb, who, by the way, longs to share a meal with us and not just once a year.
It’s time to draw near to Him, as He faithfully promises to draw near to us! I’m going to sit with the Lamb for a bit and talk to Him about my day. I hope you will too.
If You want to learn more about sickness, disease, mental health issues, demons, and healing, Spirits Unveiled can be a great resource. You can purchase it here on my shop or in many venues, Kindle, Paperback & Audio, HERE.
Blessings,
Tekoa Manning
It’s Good to Dine at the King’s Table, Mephibosheth
Saul’s grandson, the son of Jonathan, named Mephibosheth, was crippled as a child. When he was five years old, a report came that Saul and Jonathan had been killed in battle, and when the boy’s nurse heard the news, she picked him up and fled. But as she hurried away, the nurse dropped Mephibosheth, and he became crippled (II Samuel 4).
Oh, the tragedy, of it all! We don’t hear much more about this boy again until II Samuel. David decides to bless anyone left of Saul’s house, the greatest enemy he ever had. David approaches Mephibosheth, now a young man, and Mephibosheth says, “What is your servant that you take an interest in a dead dog like me?” How ironic that the name “Mephibosheth” means destroyer of shame. Yet his crippled-up legs had brought him just that–shame.
Have you ever felt crippled or worthless, perhaps even like a “dead dog”? Maybe not to that extreme, but perhaps you can relate to another biblical figure, a woman named Ruth.
In the story of Ruth, the wealthy landowner Boaz notices her while she is gathering leftover crops and grains. Boaz then speaks to her.
(Ruth 2: 8-10) “Listen, my daughter. Stay right here with us when you gather grain; don’t go to any other fields. Stay right behind the young women working in my field. See which part of the field they are harvesting, and then follow them. And when you are thirsty, help yourself to the water they have drawn from the well.’ Ruth fell at his feet and thanked him warmly. ‘What have I done to deserve such kindness?’ she asked. ‘I am only a foreigner.'”
Ruth wonders why she is receiving kindness.
Have you ever felt like a stranger by people you know and have known all your life?
I can relate to these two people, Ruth and Mephibosheth. Maybe you aren’t crippled in your legs or feel like a foreigner, but you feel disabled in some other way? Perhaps it’s drug addiction that has crippled you, cancer, abuse, depression, or a nasty divorce. Whatever your illness is, I know one place you can go where all the hurt and pain disappears–The King’s Table.
Back in II Samuel, when Mephibosheth walked into a room, he was noticed, not for his beauty or even his heritage as the grandson of a king and the son of a mighty warrior. No, that is not what people noticed; they noticed his hobbling bent up legs.
When David searched for Jonathan’s son, and brought him to the palace, and placed him at his table, the King’s table covered his twisted legs that wouldn’t work right. The king’s table hid all his infirmities. He was under the shade of that table, and he was fed delicacies. One day, Mephibosheth went from thinking he was a dead dog to eating at the king’s table. What a remarkable thing David did. He was showing kindness to the seed of his enemy!
I hope that if you feel like a dead dog right now, you can see this disabled man hobbling, needing help up into a chair at the King’s Table.
At times, we may need help climbing up to that Table dripping with myrrh. We need a David to come and say, “Mephibosheth, you shall eat bread always at my table,” (II Samuel 9:10).
We must remember that our Father is a King and that we have worth. We are worthy of love, and our Father cherishes us.
Perhaps you relate more to Ruth. She felt crippled, too, but in a different sense. She was a foreigner, a poor woman picking up the leftover scraps of barley. My mother named me Ruth, my middle name and she used to compare Ruth;s barley to my waitress tips.
Things end well for Mephibosheth and Ruth. Though they had afflictions, they were eventually able to climb up to the Table and drink the sweet wine Abba Daddy had poured out for them. They were able to eat bread at His Table. They were hidden by His banner, under the shade of His Right Hand, and favor was given to them.
I pray that whoever is reading this that your latter years will be greater than your former and that you eat at the King’s Table. I pray that you know that Yahweh has a plan for your life, a plan not to harm you but to give you hope and a future. I pray that you realize you are not a dog but a child of the greatest King, Yeshua the risen King.
Do you know how important you are to our Father?
Climb up to the King’s Table and sit awhile, sup with Him and taste and see that the Lord is good!
“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings, you will find refuge. His truth is your shield and armor,” (Psalm 91:4).
Blessings,
Tekoa Manning
How can we be wholly illuminated?
How can we be wholly illuminated on our job, in our marriage, and with our families and friends?
This week while scrolling through social media I read a meme that described my week or parts of my whole existence. It said something like, “My greatest accomplishment thus far is I survived.”
The meme, along with the raw words written by a friend, pierced me. Her vulnerability at that moment ministered to me. It went to a place in my soul that needed a bandage. It helped me cry.
How can we truly illuminate our work, our marriages, and our relationships with family and friends?
This week, while scrolling through social media, I came across a meme that resonated deeply with me. It stated something like, “My greatest accomplishment thus far is that I survived.” This meme, along with some heartfelt words shared by a friend, struck a chord within me. Her vulnerability at that moment was healing; it reached a part of my soul that needed comfort and helped me release my emotions. I believe there is rainwater from heaven in every droplet of our tears. Feelings are meant to be experienced fully.
Many of us have specific moments etched in our minds—a point on a map, a date on the calendar, or a note in our daybooks. We can recall the exact moment of a car accident, a life-changing diagnosis, or the loss of a child who never had a chance to speak or even take a breath. There are moments when we look back at the shattered pieces of our lives: the addiction, the prison bars, the chemotherapy, the foreclosure, the divorce papers, the bruises, the trauma, the experience with welfare, the mental breakdown, or the facade of being composed when, in reality, we were just one button away from falling apart. Feelings are meant to be felt.
Some of us have a point on a map, a calendar, a datebook locked in our brain, and we can tell you the exact moment of the car wreck, the diagnosis, or our child that died before it ever learned to talk or even before it exited the womb. There is a moment in time where we look back at the shattered glass, the addiction, the iron bars, the chemo, the foreclosure, the divorce papers, the bruises, the rape, the welfare department, the mental break down, or the charade of pretending to be put together when we were one button shy of falling apart!
Yes, we all have our moments, and some of us have another type of trauma.
In World War II, with gunfire and bullets whipping around his head, my uncle, wading in freezing waters, stopped and threw his hands in the air and cried, “The war is over!” Of course, it wasn’t. He just had wishful thinking. He had seen too many bodies stacked in piles– stripped of all dignity— He had seen and smelled enough death.
However, some of us don’t possess a single vivid memory or a noticeable scar. Instead of one childhood adventure filled with nightmares, we face a series of unfortunate events. Sometimes, it’s an everyday battle just to make it through the day.
We wonder how we can take another step—breathe– trust again–go back out into the world and try and be a candle burning for someone else. We, too, cry and throw our arms to heaven, exclaiming, “The war is over!” I’m exhausted, Father. Take the pain, sorrow, shame, guilt, confusion, debt, unbelief, sickness, and trauma and take my weapons of fear. Take the bars I have built to protect me. Take the suffering.
Job took broken pottery and scraped his sores. He reached a point where he was at peace with the idea of death; in fact, he welcomed it. He acknowledged that the thing he feared the most had come upon him, but what exactly was that fear?
He begins at the start of chapter three, lamenting the day of his birth. Job expresses his desire to have never been born, as his pain runs so deep. He explains that those in the grave are at rest (Job 3:16-17).
“Why is light given to the miserable, and life to the bitter of soul, who long for death that does not come and search for it like hidden treasure, who rejoice and greatly exult when they can find the grave?” (Job 3:20-22, BSB).
One morning, in the midst of some of the worst pain I had ever felt, I woke up terrified at the thought of having to endure another day of suffering. I prayed to die and quoted Job verbatim. Then, I heard an echo: “Do you not value the life I’ve given you? Do you not hope for better days?”
Job feared a death that would not come to relieve him of his suffering. He was afraid he would not escape such misery. He had lost his children, cattle, oxen, and servants, and he was in severe pain. Yet, he was not a man consumed by fear. He was a righteous man longing for rest. I remember relating to his words, thinking, “Just take me, Abba! I’m finished here. What good am I to anyone while I am suffering? I have nothing left to do!” But I was greatly mistaken. I hadn’t even begun to experience what the Holy One had in store for me.
What does it look like when we use all our experiences and healing to help another heal? What does it look like when we embody Him and are a light? A candle. A burning flame that can’t be hidden because His light outshines all the darkness we’ve been through?
What if The Father of Glory wanted to come and spend an evening with you? What would that look like? What did Pentecost/Shavuot and the tongues of fire sound like (Acts 2)?
We often imagine what it would have been like to walk with Yeshua/ Jesus. To intently listen to Him tell parables, but what about as we go through our repetitious life? A typical workday or weekend. What would that look like to meet the risen Savior face to face? I’m talking about something fragrant. Something memorable. Something hard to even articulate.
I don’t like being in the hospital without my husband. On our first night back, he slept on the couch beside me. By the second evening, he was ready to go home for some rest. Before leaving, he prayed for my protection and for compassionate caregivers. What a precious husband I have.
After he left, I felt exhausted and a bit anxious but hoped to rest until his return. Hospital stays are tough with pain, constant nurse visits, and noisy equipment. Upon my second stay, I met some incredible nurses, especially one I’ll call Daffodil.
One night around 8 pm, she entered my room with a bright smile and a graceful presence. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Manning; I’ll note you’re an early sleeper,” she said.
“Oh, I’m not! Just dozing from the medicine.” We soon found ourselves deep in conversation about cooking shows, specifically The Great British Bake Off, discussing Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood.
“Did you know that Mary contracted polio at 13 and had a weaker arm because of it?”
“No, I did not know that.”
“And did you know Paul would help her with baking?”
“Really?” I asked, trying to sit up more.
“I think Paul looks like the guy from American Idol.”
“Oh, Simon! Yes! Ha-ha!”
We laughed and then dove into our next cooking adventure. Daffodil shared her aspirations for fabulous food, recounting stories of her family’s baking. I mentioned my mom’s homemade carrot cake, while she described her grandmother’s delicate Italian cream cake. Our conversation then shifted to World War II shows on Netflix, reliving Foyle’s War and Call the Midwives.
Before long, we were discussing our favorite books. Daffodil lit up, exclaiming, “I love books! I love the smell of books!”
“YES!” I responded, filled with nostalgia. We giggled like school girls until her phone buzzed, and she had to step away. I felt renewed; she was my kindred spirit for the next three days. We discovered we lived near each other, just down the road from Barnes and Noble. I mentioned my new grandson.
“Oh, I bet you just want to eat him up!”
She began to tell me about her nephew, who had truly captured her heart. “Even if I’ve worked all night and need to clean, do laundry, and catch up on things, one call from him—’Aunt Daffodil, can we go out?’—and I’m like, ‘Baby, yes, we can!‘”
Suddenly, we both laughed, and I had to hold my side, which was still very sore, to release the joy I felt. She made me forget my pain and my fear that my husband wouldn’t be back until morning.
Since the surgery, I’ve met two stoma nurses, both of whom are kind and skilled in their profession. Their job is to prepare patients to change and empty a colostomy bag. For me, it was overwhelming and quite frightening to grasp. It was a humbling experience, where you start to notice things, smells, and the level of care.
Since I had been back in the hospital with my wound, no one had helped me one-on-one, but Daffodil did. She took me into the bathroom, provided me with gloves, and offered tips for spraying, cleaning, and deodorizing the room. She did it all with the most compassion I’ve ever felt from anyone. I didn’t feel embarrassed, humiliated, or scared to accept her help. This woman kept coming into my room, learning that I was a writer of fiction and devotionals, and she wanted to know how to order my books.
She never told me about her religious beliefs, never preached to me, nor quoted any scriptures. There were no discussions of politics, no pushing or pulling; yet, her words carried LIFE—her tongue bore FRUIT.
Daffodil walked into my room like a candle burning brightly—like a flower pouring out its fragrance. She bowed graciously. My husband witnessed her with other patients as he walked down the hall and remarked, “She is that bright no matter where she goes.” That BRIGHT. Like a candle on a lampstand. Oh, Saints, we can be those candles! We can be the hope of glory!
CCR, Creedence Clearwater Revival, has a song called “Long as I Can See the Light.” John Fogerty calls for us to put a candle in the window.
“If therefore your whole body is full of light, with no dark part in it, it will be wholly illumined, as when the lamp illumines you with its rays.” Luke 11:36.
What does Yeshua tell us before this? “No one, after lighting a lamp, puts it away in a cellar nor under a basket, but on the lampstand, so that those who enter may see the light.”
Thank you, Daffodil, for being a light in my life, and thank you, Abba Father, for hearing my husband’s prayer and bringing light into my room.
We can heal from all trauma by shining our lights on those in need—by listening, by praying, by offering sound counsel, and by measuring our words. Even in our darkest moments and profound misery, we have LIGHT.
Blessings, friends. SHINE!
Retribution
I am seeing an ostomy nurse who specializes in caring for patients with both acute and chronic wounds.
Interestingly, aspects of our physical experience often reflect our spiritual journeys. Wounds and pain can be complex. They have layers, varying smells, and degrees of infection and discharge. While we may try to cover up our sores with a Band-Aid or apply ointment, if they continue to get infected, they will never heal completely and form scars. This raises the question: how do we confront the people, situations, and traumas that have hurt us to the extent that we need an ostomy nurse?
Everyone I know carries pain—a story, a wound, a past. We often attempt to take matters into our own hands, trying to fix the sources of our suffering. We harbor secret desires to punish our adversaries or those who treat us with disrespect, contempt, isolation, jealousy, or hatred. We wish for our Father to expose their wrongdoing while covering our own.
During challenging times, we often find ourselves facing storms so powerful that the dust stings our eyes, shattering our peace. In these moments of difficulty, we may cry out, “Abba, look at what they are doing to me! Listen to what they are saying about me! See how they have treated me in this relationship, this family, or at work. And after all I have done for them!”
We tend to keep track of others’ wrongs while justifying our own rights.
We want a God in those moments who looks a tad different than the God we want when we realize we have used our words to tarnish others. In our weakest moments, we want a compassionate Father who overlooks our flaws—those times when we have used our words to hurt others or treated them selfishly instead of with a servant’s heart. We seek forgiveness when we steal our brother’s birthright or hide our father’s idols for our own benefit. However, when we are wounded, we want a warrior to stand up and fight for us.
My first night home from the hospital was challenging. I was swollen and in pain, with a bag attached to me that reminded me of an old vacuum cleaner bag connected to a circular tube. My stomach looked bruised, and this foreign object swinging from my abdomen frightened me. I wasn’t accustomed to this contraption that made noises and felt heavy against my thigh. I felt overwhelmed by the boxes that had come home with me—filled with gloves, odor drops, disinfectants, wipes for my Velcro tab, and sweeper bags. A million thoughts raced through my mind, mostly wondering if I would ever feel human again or reclaim a vibrant sense of self.
I am not second-guessing the surgery itself or the fact that the surgeon found scar tissue where my colon and intestines had fused together due to a procedure in 2004. I recall referring to myself as “the woman with the issue of blood.” Endometrial ablation is a procedure that surgically destroys the lining of the uterus using various methods, such as extreme cold, heated fluids, microwave energy, or high-energy radio frequencies.
No amount of juicing, fasting, or cutting out sugars and carbs could have undone the complications the surgeon encountered. But let’s return to the themes of wounds and adversaries.
After spending four nights in the hospital and one night at home with my new colostomy bag, I woke up one morning feeling certain that the bag needed to come off. This feeling didn’t make logical sense, but I was sure the Holy Spirit wanted my husband to help me remove the bag and examine my stoma. As we uncovered it, we noticed that it was separating and had a significant gaping area, possibly due to the vomiting I experienced the day after surgery.
We took pictures and sent them to the doctor’s office, which contacted a home health care nurse. She came to patch and change the bag and scheduled an appointment for me to see the ostomy nurse. However, by that evening, my stoma wasn’t functioning, and my stomach was as red and swollen as a watermelon. It looked like they might need to rush me back to the operating room.
Meanwhile, my husband and I were dealing with painful issues involving our loved ones. A sense of separation seemed to be happening in more ways than one, and the wounds we felt were deeply painful. No amount of patching could resolve the underlying issues. What was occurring in the physical realm mirrored what was happening in the spiritual realm. The waste wasn’t being expelled to facilitate healing, as there was a lack of communication.
When we arrived at the emergency room, it was a bustling Saturday—an environment we least wanted to be in. This ER is located in an area of town plagued by drugs, crime, and poverty. Nevertheless, this hospital is known for having some of the best doctors in the world and is renowned for performing the first fully self-contained artificial heart transplant and the first successful hand transplantation.
We waited for over an hour, and my pain was unbearable. I cried, prayed, and looked around the room at many who seemed to be in need of freedom from addiction, demons, and agony. Finally, I approached the lady at the front desk and asked how many patients were in front of me. She replied that there were five ahead of me, then said she would check with the supervisor.
Suddenly, a lady comes out and says, “Mrs. Manning, we are not sure how this happened, but our system shows that you are already in a bed in the ER. Obviously, that isn’t you, but since you’re already in our system and have just had surgery, I’m going to get you a room. Hold still.” Praise Abba! He hears; He sees.
We sit back down, and another lady comes out to draw my blood. She looks at my husband and says, “I’ll bring her right back.” I tell her I want my husband to come with me. She exhales roughly and replies, “There’s no reason for that, ma’am. You’re just getting blood drawn, and I’ll bring you back out in five minutes, tops.”
I look at her again and silently communicate that I’m familiar with the routine—this isn’t my first rodeo. She seems quite annoyed now. I plead and explain that hospitals trigger my PTSD, and she finally says, “Okay, come on, but this is ridiculous. He’s just going to walk back out here in a second.” I can feel her lack of compassion, and it makes my heart hurt.
Both my arms are bruised from the IVs used before and after surgery. It seems my left arm has become hard as a rock, so they switched to my right arm. The phlebotomist eventually finds a spot on my right wrist. She places the tourniquet on tightly, and I grimace with an “ouch!” She then jabs the needle into my vein roughly.
I look down, and the whole area blows up like a balloon, turning greenish-purple. It doesn’t really hurt, though, as the pain from my wound has overwhelmed any other pain in my body, making it minimal.
I secretly wonder if she has done this on purpose, but I can’t be sure. I ask for a Kleenex as more tears begin to flow. She harshly responds, “We don’t have any back here.” Suddenly, a woman just a couple of feet away picks up a whole box and hands it to my husband, saying, “She can have the whole box.” The phlebotomist ignores this, continuing to label vials and rummage through supplies. Then she stands up and mentions something about getting us back out to the waiting room.
I look at my husband, who is glancing between my arm, a box of tissues, and then back at Nurse Cullen from Twilight. He has a way of telling people off without them realizing it until much later. I can sense that he is gearing up to confront this lady. I say, “Don’t do it, Chief. It’s not worth it.” He looks at me and then back at her. I reply, “It’s Shabbat, Just let it go.”
I see the wheels turning in his mind, and just as his lips part to say something, a male RN at the desk across from the blood station interrupts the tension by saying, “I will take them now.” He quickly glances at the photo of my stoma on my husband’s phone. As he examines my stomach, I notice the phlebotomist looking over, catching a glimpse of my colostomy bag and wondering what the picture my husband is showing the RN might depict. Had she overheard him mention that I might need surgery?
Next thing I know, I find myself in a bed in the hallway of the ER. Doctors and nurses rush by, and suddenly the nurse who drew my blood swoops in, saying, “Oh, I’m so glad they got you a bed.” Upon closer inspection, I realize she is much older than I am, and she looks uncomfortable. I glance at her quizzically, wondering, “who are you?” Why this sudden act of kindness?
She looks at my husband and says, “Let me get you a chair.” She leaves and returns with a black office chair. I can’t tell if this gesture is genuine or if she’s worried we might file a complaint against her. She even offers to bring him water. Five minutes later, she comes back with a heated blanket, smiling exhaustively. I can see it now—the look that says, I was wrong about you. I thought you were a wimp who couldn’t handle getting poked without your husband by your side.
Through her actions, she silently communicates her apologies, and my husband notices it too.
We’ve all heard this Torah verse quoted in a gathering or an old western movie, but what does it really look like in practice?
“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord; I will repay.” – Deuteronomy 32:35
“Never repay evil for evil to anyone. Respect what is right in the sight of all men. If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men. Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, ‘VENGEANCE IS MINE, I WILL REPAY,’ says the Lord.” – Romans 12:17-19
Many times we feel the urge to retaliate. My husband had the opportunity to make that nurse feel small; he could have called her out, reported her, or even expressed his frustration. But would that have achieved the same result? Would she have then brought him a chair in the ER or offered a warm blanket? Doubtful. If we could just step back and allow God to handle the situation, He would take care of it in His own way. His way would likely have a more significant impact than anything we could do ourselves.
1 Peter 3:9 says, “Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.”
Some people are so wounded that it doesn’t matter what we do or say; they will take offense. Often, they simply don’t know us well enough and misinterpret our words, actions, and even our intentions. Like that nurse who didn’t realize that I had undergone more than 100 vials of blood drawn in one sitting. I’m not afraid of needles; I just wanted my husband by my side. I pleaded for him to be there with me, and thankfully, he was—both my earthly husband and my heavenly one. What occurs in the physical reflects what happens in the spiritual.
Don’t let others treat you like a doormat, but also exercise discretion in allowing God to step in and take care of things. He will fight for you and is working in the background, even if you can’t see it or aren’t aware of it. Trust me, He sees you! He also noticed that nurse and had compassion for her.
Being a nurse or a servant can be a challenging job, and sometimes we can react more harshly than necessary because we haven’t taken the time to refill our empty vessels. We all have been in the position of Nurse Cullen at some point, unintentionally hurting others and overlooking the resources around us. Hopefully, we can demonstrate the grace and humility to offer a chair, a drink of water, or a warm blanket of love to those who come seeking comfort, even when we, ourselves, feel as empty as the foolish virgins’ lamps.
Blessings,
Tekoa Manning
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Healing for the Soul
We may profess that we would never harm anyone, but if a stranger were to grab our child, we might not know how we would react in that moment. This thought process is similar to coveting; after enduring verbal, physical, and mental abuse for years, one might find themselves coveting their neighbor’s spouse. We claim to honor our parents, but some parents are abusive, and our forgiveness and love may not lead to their change.
People often make grand declarations. During times of desperation, like the Dust Bowl or the Great Depression, people resorted to extreme measures—such as eating their horses when food was scarce or, in biblical accounts, even resorting to cannibalism. My grandmother once killed a crow to eat during the Great Depression. It’s easy to say, “I would never do that.”
But before dire times arrive, many people talk a big game. Consider Peter, who emphatically declared he would never deny Jesus, even if it meant facing death. The Scriptures reflect this commitment:
ESV: Peter said to him, “Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you!” And all the disciples said the same.
NIV: But Peter declared, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you.”In the end, it often comes down to the ultimate test: death. And death is not just when we close our eyes and take our last breath.
What do we discuss? Poop. Health issues. Surviving.
I regularly meet with grown men and women, some of whom have had colostomies since infancy or childhood. Can you imagine dealing with that in a school bathroom? In my high school, there was not much privacy. The stall doors were short with large slats, and the children could be cruel.
Accidents happen, and I can only imagine how challenging dating as a teenager would be while managing a colostomy bag. Despite these challenges, these individuals are fighters and survivors. They strive to find the good in each day and, at times, they humbly ask for prayer. They don’t boast about their knowledge of the Bible or over post on natural remedies, but they are quick to rally around someone who has just had surgery, is feeling depressed or suicidal, or has experienced a colostomy bag malfunction in public. They comfort those who wake up with poop on them or who have been throwing up all day due to gastroparesis, as well as those whose stomachs swell as if they were pregnant.
Many of these people have great faith, and they actively seek out natural remedies for healing. They share what works for them, including licorice, mint, probiotics, juicing recipes, and easily digestible foods when stomach muscles are paralyzed.
What I’ve discovered in my own life and in the lives of some of these individuals is a unique form of healing that most people don’t discuss. It involves gratitude for small things that often go unnoticed by others, such as belching, passing gas, having a regular bowel movement, and experiencing a calm gut for a few hours.
“Physician, heal thyself,” they shouted to a man who was bleeding and beaten on a cross. “You healed others,” they taunted, “but can you heal yourself?”
In the same way, the chief priests, scribes, and elders mocked Him, saying, “He saved others, but He cannot save Himself. He is the King of Israel! Let Him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in Him. He trusts in God. Let God deliver Him now if He wants Him, for He said, ‘I am the Son of God.’” (Matthew 27:41-43).
Yes, the sick in our group do heal others with their words and their love—through empathy. At times, I counsel people who are far healthier than I am. From the experience of suffering, I have learned lessons I would have never gained from any other teacher.
Soon, a large group of Messianic believers will observe the fall feasts related to Yeshua/ Jesus and the Day of Atonement. Some will stand, beat their breasts, cry out, and recite some of the most powerful prayers ever written by Ezra and Nehemiah, only to look in the mirror afterward and forget what they saw.
As James said, “Anyone who hears the word but does not carry it out is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror, and after observing himself goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like” (James 1:23-24).
Like pigs, we can wash ourselves only to return to the mud and slop, pointing fingers and searching for the flaws in others.
Why does a dog return to its vomit?
We just can’t help ourselves, Peter. We just can’t help ourselves, Samson. We just can’t help ourselves, Saul. We just can’t help ourselves, David. We just can’t help ourselves, Cain. We just can’t help ourselves, Esau. We just can’t help ourselves, Jacob.
The truth is, we can and we will change, but it won’t look the same for everyone. One thing I know for certain is how we all want to be treated when we find ourselves in a crappy situation that feels overwhelming. This reminds me of a personal story.
Shortly after my surgery, I had a tear, and my side swelled like a watermelon. When I got out of the hospital, I was weak and had to learn how to change colostomy bags, using gloves, wipes, and doggie bags. After two weeks of using a cane to walk, I experienced a heartbreaking moment of disdain from someone who yelled and screamed at me, offering no comfort.
A few weeks later, my oldest son and his wife invited us over for a home-cooked meal. After dinner, while we were outside on the deck, my bag malfunctioned. Suddenly poop was running down my leg and squishing in my sandals. The horror. The smell. The humiliation.
To my relief, my family acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Here, let me get you a towel and some baby wipes. Do you need to shower? Don’t get upset. It’s okay. “Poop happens,” they said. My husband went to get more supplies and fresh clothes from the car. I kept apologizing, but my daughter-in-law said, “Stop apologizing. It’s okay. Just take care of yourself.” I love her!
When we find ourselves wallowing in difficult situations—yearning for comfort in unhealthy ways, or returning to past anger and pride—it’s time to return home. We need to allow the Father to welcome us with open arms, to wash us clean, and to provide us with new clothes and fresh shoes. We shouldn’t go back to the mess we were in.
Paul reminds us that we are consigned to death for Yeshua, and these physical bodies, whether strong or weak, are wasting away. “Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, yet our inner self is being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
Our afflictions produce eternal glory. “Although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered.” (Hebrews 5:8).
Suffering isn’t limited to the physical; it manifests in many ways.
If you find yourself in a difficult situation, I pray that those in your corner are gentle and loving, helping you wash away the pain.
Blessings,
Tekoa Manning
For more on suffering check out my devotionals HERE
For more on introspection, pick up a copy of my award-winning book The Spirit of Leviathan, Jezebel, and Athaliah HERE
