Twilight and Dawn - Kathryn Kuhlman (1976) (SEARCHABLE) [1 ed.] 0871235579

Table of contents :
1. Throbbing Pain
2. “Oh God, Don’t Let Them Hear Me Cry”
3. A Rare Type of Bone Cancer
4, Cobalt Treatments
5. “When God Speaks, He Does Not Go Back on His Word"
6. The Holy Spirit Was There
7. “I’ve Been Healed of Bone Cancer!”
8. The Beginning of a New Life
9. “You Are Indeed a Miracle!”

Citation preview

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wilight and awn

KathrynKuhiman

DIMENSION BOOKS Minneapolis, Minnesota

Sunset and eveningstar, And one clear call for me! And maythere be no moaning of the bar When put out to sea,

Twilight and Dawn by Kathryn Kuhlman Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 76-17726

ISBN 0-87123-557-9 Copyright © 1976 Kathryn Kuhlman Foundation All Rights Reserved DIMENSION BOOKS Published by Bethany Fellowship, Inc. 6820 Auto Club Road Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438 Printed in the United States of America

Twilight and evening bell, Andafter that the dark! And maythere be no sadness of farewell, When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When have crossed the bar.

Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Contents . Throbbing Pain 2. ‘““Oh God, Don’t Let Them Hear Me Cry”’ oe eee awe ewe eoee 3. A Rare Type of Bone Cancer 4, Cobalt Treatments ........ 5. ‘““‘When God Speaks, He Does Not Go Back on His Word’’. . The Holy Spirit Was There .. “T’ve Been Healed of Bone Cancer!”’.-----+.--. The Beginning of a New Life . “You Are Indeed a Miracle!”’

1 Throbbing Pain In summer, the fishing boats from the Reedsport area make their way through the inlet near the mouth of the Umpqua River, and out into the chilly waters of the gray Pacific off the Oregon shore. They return homelate in the evening, following the beam of the lighthouse which stands on a hill above the ever-changing sand dunes. In those early days, when wefirst moved to the Oregon coast, I enjoyed walking on the beach. I loved the sting of the salt spray on myface, the cold wind whipping through my hair. It helped ease the homesickness for my family and friends back in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. The sand dunes and piles of white driftwood, 9

|@sermeri were my companions.

Bern 2 mountain girl, I had never been Rey from home until I married Ray. Thimes weren’t as easy as I dreamed they would be, although I was accustomed to ard work. It seemed I was ““expecting’’ or caring for a new baby all the time— five in seven years. Ray was working hard at the International Paper Mill in Gardiner and I was cooped up in the house all day with the children. My only escape came

during my early morning walks along the

beach. Wegradually settled into the community and joined the little Highland Baptist

Church, which, like old Mount Zion Baptist

back in Canton, North Carolina, was a con-

gregation of Southern Baptist. people. The children wereactive in school. I, too, adapted to my surroundings, but my health began

to fail. Eventually the walks on the beach, sometimes. shared .with. ladies from the

church, grew less. frequent. ceased completely. .

and finally

I was tired all the time. A nagging bladder. and kidney infection, which no amount

of medication. seemed -to clear up, was a drain on mystrength. After the fifth baby 10

came, my doctor recommended a hysterectomy and later the same year I went through surgery on both legs for varicose veins. It seemed I was doomedto a sentence of poor health. Even more than the pain and discomfort, it was the depression that wasreally choking the life out of me. At first Ray blamed it on homesickness. I finally concluded, however, that Iwas going through what the mountain folks back home used to call ‘‘a nervous breakdown.”’ Only those who have lived through the impenetrable darkness of mental depression know the feeling of hopelessness. I would awaken in the morning crying. After Ray left for work and I was able to get the children off to school, the tears would come again. Housework was impossible. I often spent the entire day on the sofa, curtains drawn,staring into the gloom. This, coupled with the intense pain and constant infection, drove me time and again to the

brink of despair. I went from doctor to doc-

tor, seeing specialists in nearby Coos Bay and as far away as Eugene, ninety miles inland. A dark cloud had settled upon me. Sickness and its constant companion, melancholy, became myway oflife. 11

Ray, on the other hand, was the picture of health. An avid sportsman, he loved the woods and was always planning hunting trips for big game in the dense Oregon forests. Even though I neverfelt well, in the tradition of mountain women,I believed it was my duty to be with him. It was on such a trip, into the snow-covered mountains of eastern Oregon, that I realized that my sickness was not psychosomatic, as some of my friends and doctors had suggested. It was genuine. Now it was October and the weather report predicted heavy snow for the Cascade Mountains. We loaded the jeep and trailer with camping equipment. Dave, 17, and Jerry, who had recently turned 13,

jeep, I could see that my left arm was swollen and the veins puffed out. Tremors of pain raced up my arm and into myelbow. I felt the chill of fear and closed my eyes, hoping the pain and swelling would go away. But they didn’t. The next day, after Ray and the boys returned from trekking in the woods,I told Ray about my arm. “The bones don’t feel right,” I said. He looked at it and said it was probably caused by the bumpy ride across the mountains in the jeep. ‘Get a good night’s rest,’ he said. “You'll feel

with the three girls. We left Reedsport about 5:00 p.m. anddroveall night to reach the campsite by mid-morningthe next day. Before we left I had packed a lunch in a Tupperware box. Some time during the night I reached over to pick up the box. I could not close my hand. Each time I tried, the slick plastic container slipped from my fingers. In the dim light of the full moon, whichreflected off the glistening rock palisades as we bounced along in the

better in the morning.” But there was nosleep that night. Pain, more intense than anything I had ever experienced, ran up and down myarm. Outside the tent it was a beautiful night. The moon wasfull, bathing the quiet snowcovered forest in silver light. Soft shadows of the great hemlocks with their frosted branches fell across the snowyhillside. Inside the tent, I had no peace. I tossed in my sleeping bag, trying to get comfortable. No matter what position I took, my arm felt as if it were on fire. Finally, careful not to awaken the others who were sleeping on the ground beside me, I made

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sat in the back. Ray’s mother stayed home

my way through the flap of the tent and walked up and down in the snow around the campfire, moaning softly. I tried to pray, for God always seemed so close in the high mountains. But there was noresponse—only the throbbing pain. It was almost dawn before I was able to slip back into the sleeping bag and drop into a troubled sleep. The next day I stuffed myself with aspirins, but they did not dull the sharp edge of the pain. Twice I accompanied the men in the jeep, hunting along the roads, but most of the time I stayed back at camp— cooking, cleaning the pans andcrying softly. “It feels as if the boneis trying to poke out of my elbow,’ I finally told Ray. He offered to break camp and return to Reedsport, but, reluctant to spoil their hunting trip, I dug down into myreserve and told him I intendedto ‘‘toughit out.”’

ent, or had set her own broken bones after an accident. I had movedall the way across the nation, but I still clung to that tough tradition of being able to stick to a job no matter how miserable I felt. No, I had lived with pain and misery all these years,

and I wasn’t going to give in now and ask

the menfolk to give up their camping trip just because my arm hurt. Knowing Ray loved me, and knowing he was concerned —in his own quiet way—gave me strength to go on. Eventually, the pain lessened to some degree.

Back in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, women were known as a “tough”’ lot. In the rural areas many of them did a man’s workin thefields—plowing, chopping wood and even loading heavy crates of apples and vegetables onto the trucks. Many a mountain womanhad given birth to her child with only a midwife pres14

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2 “‘Oh God, Don’t Let Them Hear Me Cry” A month later, while attending a wedding reception at the local country club, the same problem returned. We were going through the hors d’oeuure line and I picked up a plate of sandwiches. To my embarrassment, it slipped from my hand and tumbled to the floor. Ray picked it up, replaced the sandwiches and handed it back to me. Onceagain I dropped it. “It’s my arm,” I said. ‘“Something’s wrong with my elbow and I can’t hold anything with my hand.”’ I dreaded going back to the doctor. I had been to so many doctors for so many problems but Ray insisted and finally in 16

March, with the pain racing through my elbow like a searing fire, I agreed to see oneof the local physicians. “It appears to be arthritis,’ the doctor said after a brief examination. ‘I’m going to give you a shot of cortisone and I want you to keep heat on your arm.If it doesn’t get better, come back.”’ The cortisone relieved the pain and I reached the dreary conclusion that I would simply have to add arthritis to my long list of ailments. Again, in my mind, I thought of some of the women in the Blue Ridge Mountains, sitting out under the trees in their front yards...a yard composed of packed dirt which was swept every morning with a straw broom. I could picture them sitting there, rocking and half singing to themselves, trying to outlive the pain and misery of their condition. A lot of mountain women had arthritis. It deformed their hands, twisted knuckles, crippled backs and hips and knees until they had to walk with a cane or couldn’t walkat all. Some couldonlysit and rock. Little did I know, however,that arthritis, as horrible and painful as it is, would have been better than whatI really had. Two months later, following a Wom17

en’s Missionary Union meeting at the church, I sat in the back of the assembly room visiting with a friend, Vera Willis. We were talking about my brother, Don, a Southern Baptist missionary in Nigeria. “Don’s home on furlough,” I told her. ‘‘Next Sunday will be ‘Don Reece Day’ at the Mount Zion Baptist Church back in Canton, North Carolina.’”’ I sat silent for a moment and then added, ‘“‘I wish I could be there.”’ ‘Why not?” Vera asked. “Oh, I’m just talking,” I shrugged. “I do it sometimes. After all these years I’m still homesick for the Blue Ridge, but it’s impossible for me to makethe trip.” Vera gave me straight look. “Think about it, Gwen. What’s preventing you from going? Patti has finished high school and can take care of the younger children. I think you oughtto go.”’ I felt my heart begin to beat faster. Could it be, after all these years, that I might have a chance to return home? It wasn't until supper was over and Ray and I were sitting alone at the table that I dared asked him aboutit. Ray is a quiet, deliberate man. He never wastes words and I knew that what18

ever his decision, it would be final. He sat for a long time, thinking. Then hesaid, “I guess you could go.” His face was expressionless. ‘‘But you’ll have to ride the bus,”’ he added. I could hardly believe my ears. What difference did it make that I would have to ride the bus all the way across the country? Ray had said I could go! “T’ll get my ticket tomorrow and leave Monday morning,’ I almost shouted. Ray smiled and reached over to squeeze my arm. He drew back, however, when he saw me wince with pain from the gentle pressure of his hand. ‘But if that arm gets to acting up again,” he added, “you'll

have to stay home.” I slept very little Sunday night. It wasn’t just the excitement of making the trip. The pain in my arm had returned and I was afraid to tell Ray. I knew he meant what he said about staying home if I was sick. I was determined to go no matter what, so early Monday morning when Ray asked me how felt, I avoided answering

him directly. The trip east took five miserable, painracked days. I swallowed as many aspirins as I dared, believing if I could ever get 19

off the bouncing bus and safe in my mother’s house,I would feel better. I wasn’t better. Despite the fact I was back homefor the first time in many years and had people I wanted to see and places to visit, I was useless and spent most of my timesitting around the house, too much in pain to leave. Mom used liniment, a heating pad and hot towels to try to ease the pain. All were in vain. I so wanted to enjoy being with Don before he started out visiting other places around the nation while home on furlough. By the endof the third week, my arm was not only painful but swollen. Don said good-by with a heavy heart, promising to pray for me andto ask other missionaries to pray also. Mom and Dad agreed to drive me back to Oregon. They knew, and I knew,I could not stand another busride. Ray took one look at me when I got back to Oregon—haggard, my face pinched with pain—andinsisted I go to the doctor. My regular doctor was on vacation, so Ray had to make an appointment for me at the Reedsport MedicalClinic. Reedsport is a lumber town. There is a cheese factory at one end of Main Street, then the dry goods store, bank, post office 20

and coffee shop. In the evening dusk the fragrance of burning sawdust and fresh cut lumber hangs over the village. Above where we lived, in the inland mountains, the giant Douglas fir is king, reigning over a mountain court of towering spruce, hemlock and cedar. It was a beautiful, peaceful place to live with the green of the mountain forests coming down to touch the edge of the blue Pacific. But the morning I entered the little clinic for another examination, it seemed as if I were living in hell. The pain was so intense I could hardly breathe. It felt as if some sadistic torturer was pushing white hot knitting needles through my elbow and downinto my arm. At last I was called from the waiting room. ‘“‘Will.you take X-rays today andfind out what’s wrong?’’ I asked the doctor. He was an older man and I could tell he was tired. ‘‘Yes, Mrs. Lanning,” he said. ‘‘We’ll be ready in a few minutes.” He made two sets of X-rays for comparison, one of my paining left arm and one of the right arm. Minutes later he reappeared in the examination room, holding bothsets of negatives still dripping wet. “T am referring you to a bonespecialist 21

in North Bend,” he said seriously, ‘and I will make arrangements for him to see you immediately.”’ I stood to my feet to ask questions, but he turned and went quickly to his office to telephone the orthopedic physician in North Bend, a larger town twenty-seven miles down the coast. After finishing his conversation, he returned to the examination room. “‘The doctor will see you tomorrow morning,”’ he said almost tenderly. “I had hoped he could take you today, but...’’ He let the words trail off as he slipped the X-rays into the large, brown envelope and handed them to me. ‘‘Carry these with you to the doctor. He’ll know whatto do with them.”’

Then, almost as an afterthought, he

reached out and put his hand gently on my shoulder. I could see he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He nodded slightly, then dropped his gaze. ‘‘Good-by, Mrs. Lanning.”’ I turned toward the door and once again the chill of fear swept over me, like an icy gust of wind off the gray Pacific. He sounded so... so final. By evening the pain had increased until it was almost unbearable. The children 22

were in bed and Ray sat up and talked with my parents, who were still with us, while I went to undress for bed. I had put on my gown and was starting to brush my teeth when I broke down. I didn’t even have time to get the toothbrush out of my mouth before the sobs came, almost convulsive sobs, as the pain seemed to consume my body. I sat on the edge of the tub, my body shaking with the sobs, my tears mixing with the foam from the toothpaste which smearedacross mychin. “Oh, God, don’t let them hear mecry,” I prayed inwardly. Long, torturous minuteslater I was able to pull myself back to my feet, rinse out my mouth and wash myface. Slipping into my robe, I went to the bedroom. Mom and Dad had already gone to their room and

Ray was standing beside the dresser peering intently at the big black X-ray negative he was holding up against the lamp. He looked up as I came in. Thelittle laugh lines around his eyes were gone. His face wassober andexpressionless. ‘It looks like something has eaten into the bone,’ he said. I didn’t want to hear it. I sat on the side of the bed and slipped off my robe. 23

‘““Are you ready to turn out the light?” I

sighed. ‘“‘I’m sotired.”’ Ray started to say something more but instead he dropped the negatives back into the heavy brown envelope and looped the string around the metal fastener. Lay-

ing the envelope on the dresser, he quickly got out of his clothes and into bed. Without saying another word he reached up and flipped off the light. I was already under the sheet andfelt the weight of his body as he lay down on the bed next to me. The house wassilent. I wanted to pray. From a Baptist viewpoint, we were a praying family. I had been reared believing in a “family altar,” a time whenall the family came together to read the Bible and pray. It was the precepts learned at the family altar that sent my brother Don to Nigeria as a missionary. These same precepts had been carried over into my own family. Our children had been taught to believe in family prayer too. Ray, though he was a quiet man, often led the prayer time. It was sometimes stiff and rigid but it was prayer. Tonight, though, I needed more than a goodnight prayer. I wanted Ray to pray 24

like my father had prayed for me when

I was a little girl. I needed to feel his protective covering over me, for him to stand and fight off the evil forces which seemed to be tearing at my life. I remembered a time as a child when I had hurt myfoot. That night my dad had prayed and the pain had gone away. Now I wanted Rayto pray, and somehow, in that deep place where a wife’s spirit communes with the spirit of her husband, I sensed that Ray really wanted to pray for me also. My heartfelt as if it were beating against the bars of my rib cage, screaming out in voiceless

desperation for help, help which I somehow sensed would have to come as an answer to prayer. But that night there was none. I felt. Ray shift his weight and heard his soft whisper in the darkness of the room.‘‘Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”’ I didn’t answer. I didn’t want him to know I wascrying.

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gift. The orthopedic specialist in North Bend did. From the moment I walked into his office I realized I was in the presence of a man who walked with God. It was a comfortingfeeling.

Ray called the paper mill the next morning and told them he needed the day off to take me to the doctor. Then he and my dad drove me to North Bend to the doctor’s office. After having gone to so many doctors, I learned to look for one particular quality more than anything else aside from his medical skill—gentleness. All doctors have a measure of efficiency. They have this because they are highly trained. But gentle,ness is a character trait and I had come to realize that it was not something learned in medical school or even developed through experience. Gentleness is a gift from God and not all doctors possess that

Ray remainedin the waiting room while I was examined. The doctor, a distinguished looking man with graying hair and tender eyes, examined the X-ray negatives and then said, ‘‘Mrs. Lanning, I want to examine youfor lumps.”’ I allowed the nurse to help me with my clothes and then submitted myself to the probing handsof the doctor. ‘(Do I have cancer?’ I asked him. It was such a stark question I was surprised with my frankness, but deep down inside I think I already suspected the answer. ‘“There are indications of a malignancy, but I want to do a biopsy before I answer your question. I want you to check into the hospital early Monday morning and we’ll do a little minor surgery and see what we find.” I sat beside Rayin the front seat of the car as we drove back along the ocean highway to MReedsport. His eyes were glued to the road but I could see they were red and moist.

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3 A Rare Type of Bone Cancer

I guess I’ve always feared that I would have cancer someday. I can remember as a little girl, after several members of our family died of cancer, thinking that one day maybe I’d have it too. Only I never dreamed I’d have it in my arm.I just felt that sooner or later, like Job, that which I feared would come upon me. Ray wassilent as he continued to drive. I saw the tears slip down his face. Dad, my dear old dad, was sitting in the back. He reached out his hand and gently put it on my shoulder. Like Ray, he didn’t know what to say. It was as if I was at the mercy of the devil himself and all of us were powerless against him. The next day was Saturday and the pain reached a new intensity. I spent the day in a chair in the front room, my arm resting on a cushion, whimpering with every breath I took. The doctor had prescribed some pain pills which seemed to help some, but by Sundaynight I had taken all of them. I was not to take anything by mouth after ten o’clock in preparation for the hospital tests in the morning. By bedtime the pain was sweeping over me like the mountain forest fires that hit the tops of the giant trees and race along at

incredible speeds consuming everything in their paths. Mom put meto bed that night. ‘““Gwen, what are we going to do for the pain? The doctor said nothingelse orally.”’ ‘‘Mama, I don’t know. I’ve got to have something.”’ ‘‘Well, Gwen, we'll just have to ask the Lord to take that pain away.’’ Then she prayed. I closed my eyes and I wasa child again, back in thelittle house in the Blue Ridge Mountains, listening to the sound of the crickets, bob-whites and screech owls, feeling the close presence of a loving heavenly Father. As Mom prayed, I drifted off to sleep and knew nothinguntil I awakened the next morning. It was just one of those little special gifts from God, given at a time when He knew I could go no further in my own strength. It was the first of many such ‘‘end of the rope’’ gifts, little favors when I reached the limit of human endurance, that allowed me to take still anotherstep into the future. After the initial examinations at the hospital, the doctor ordered heavy sedation and I was given pain-killing drugs until I left for home following the bone biopsy on Tuesday.“It will be about eight

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days before we get the pathologist’s report,” the doctor said. “The pain will probably come and go. When it gets unbearable, take some ofthese pills.”’ The pain did subside. In fact, I felt so muchbetter that I decided to go walking on the beach. Dad and the children wanted to go along and we drove the two miles to South Beach near the lighthouse at Dunes Park. For the first time in a long while, I felt the sting of the salt spray on myface and the wind whipping through my hair. Maybe it’s all just a bad dream, I thought hopefully. Maybe everything will turn outall right. It wasn’t a dream. When we got home Mom met me at the door. ‘The doctor called,’ she said, trying not to show any emotion—and failing badly. ‘‘He said he wants you in his office tomorrow. He has the pathologist’s report.”’ Ray drove me back to North Bend the next morning. As before, he waited in the outer office while I went into the examination room with the nurse. She excused herself and left me alone to wait for the doctor. I walked to a small window overlooking the parking lot. The summer sun was peek-

ing through a large cloud bank, sending golden shafts down at slanted angles. ‘Lord, whatever this is, I’ll accept it. If it’s your will for me to die, then I’m ready. Help me to be strong for Ray’s sake and the children’s.”’ It wasn’t much of a prayer, I admit. There was so much I didn’t know about God or prayer. Then again, I knew God does far more than listen to our words. He looks on ourhearts. In that instant, for just a brief second, I sensed the smile of God. I was His—He knew it and so did I. I remembered a verse I had learned in childhood in that little Sunday school at Mount Zion Baptist. It was a cold Sunday morning when we huddled around a tiny heater for warmth and our teacher told us about Job. God had allowed Satan to torment Job to test his depth of commitment. He allowed Satan to take away everything Job had, except his life. Yet through it all Job said, ‘“Though he slay me, yet will I trust him.’’ Thirty years later, the words were still fresh and alive. In my heart I echoed, ‘‘Metoo, Lord, me too.”’ I turned and the doctor was standing in the doorway. ‘‘Mrs. Lanning, I’m afraid it is what we thought it was.”’

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“‘How much longer do I haveto live?” It was a question I dreaded to ask but I had to know the answer. ““That’s not a fair question,’’ the doctor said gently. ‘“Only God knows that answer. All I can give you are the scientific facts. You’ve probably had this for at least three years. Now it is in the advanced stages. Seventy-five percent of the bone in your arm is already gone. Regardless of the type treatment, I doubt seriously if you’ll ever use your arm. However, we do have a fifty-fifty chance of saving yourlife.’’ I walked over and sat down in a small chair beside the examination table. The doctor, still standing near the door, said, ““Let me get your husband. I want to talk to both of you in myoffice.”’

I appreciated his gentle manner and the fact that in this critical period of my life he took time to explain. For almost thirty minutes he wentinto detail about the treatment he planned, answering our questions as best he could. “In most cases like this we would amputate the arm,” he said. “But I want to try something different. We’ll start with radiation treatments and see what happens.” Westood to leave and the doctor said, “This is a slow growing type of cancer, but you’ve had it for several years. Sadly, statistics point out it is nearly always fatal shortly after it is discovered. So, we have no time to waste and beginning tomorrow morning and for the next five weeks, you'll be cominginto the hospitalfor treatment.”’ It’s hard to think positive thoughts when your body is dying of cancer. I tried, however, for the sake of the family. Mom and Dad agreed to stay on as long as I needed them. Since they were such firm believers in prayer, they contacted people all over the world asking them to begin praying. Because of the war in Biafra, Don’s return to Nigeria had been postponed. He passed the word to manyof his foreign missionary

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‘‘What’s the name of it?’’ was all I could think to ask. “It’s a very rare type of bone cancer called reticulum cell sarcoma,” he said. I felt that time had stopped for me. Our words were floating back and forth across an endless void in space. Even my questions seemed to have been formed eons ago and were now just being put into words, words that had been there for-

ever, waiting for me to speak them.

friends with the Southern Baptist Convention—both abroad and at home. Thelittle church back in Canton, North Carolina, began to pray for me on regular basis. Our own church in Reedsportstarted praying. I knew that even while I was traveling back and forth to North Bend for the radiation treatment, somewhere, someone wascalling my namebefore God. Mom and Dad stayed eleven months. During that time, I had a call from a woman I had met at church. Her name was Delphia Hein, a local school teacher. She had heard I was a cancer victim and brought a book for me to read: I Believe in Miracles by Kathryn Kuhlman. “IT spent a lot of time praying before I came,”’ she said kindly. ‘‘I want you to read this book and then I want you to think about letting me take you to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to attend one of Miss Kuhlman ’s miracle services.”’ I thought she was crazy. She stood at the door, spoke her little speech, handed me the book and then left. Her husband was waiting in the car as they were obviously late for some kind of engagement. I came back into the living room and 34

sat on the sofa, looking at the book with Miss Kuhlman’s picture on the cover. “I know she meanswell,’”’ I said to Mom and Dad who were sitting very quietly on the other side of the room. ‘‘Everybody means well. But nobody can help.’ I looked at the title of the book and threw it on thesofa. “Tt really will take a miracle to save me!”’ Mom and Dad weren’t as skeptical as I. They both read the book. One afternoon, a week or so later, Dad cameintothe living room. I was sitting in the white recliner chair with my leg elevated. ‘Gwen, I’ve finished reading this book by Kathryn Kuhlman. I think you should go to Pittsburgh and attend one of these miracle services. In fact, I want to take you myself.”’

I found myself getting angry. Couldn’t they see it was too late? I had suffered too much already; now they wanted to take me on a cross-country trip that would probably kill me before we arrived. ‘‘Dad, if God is going to heal me, He can heal me right here!”’ I saw Dad’s face fall, but he knew it would be useless to drag me against my will. “Gwen, God would heal you right here, if you would let Him.” 35

I turned my head away. I didn’t want to hear any more aboutit. But Mom and Dad wouldn’t let the subject drop. They kept bringing it up, time and time again. “If God is moving in these miracle services in Pittsburgh, then it would be worth a trip across the country just to be healed.”’ “I can’t go like this,”’ I cried. “I can’t even get out of the house.”’ “God would help you if you set out in faith.”’

orders and hobbled up thestairs to Mom’s room. The letter was in the wastebasket, the wadded up but unopened.I walked to ly edge of the bed and sat down; then slow I ripped open the envelope.

“God could help me right here if He

wantedto,” I argued. They gradually stopped talking aboutit, but I knew Mon,in particular, had not given up. One day I checked the mail in our box and founda letter in my mother’s

handwriting, addressed to Kathryn Kuhl-

man, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It had been returned marked “insufficient address.”’ I was tempted to open it, but something kept me from doingso.I left it on the table and watched as Mom picked up the mail. She stared at the letter for a long time, and then went upthestairs to her room. That afternoon, after Mom and Dad left for the store, I disobeyed the doctor’s 36

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It seemed so odd to see it on paper— “dying of cancer.’’ Yet I knew it was so.

Did they believe the prayers of one woman amounted to that much? And if God was in this, why had the letter been returned marked “insufficient address’’? According to the book and from what Del Hein had said, everybody in Pittsburgh

I sat for a long time on the bed, my mind a great mixture of feelings. I was angry at Mom. Why couldn’t she just leave things alone? Then I thought how much she loved me, enoughto write a perfect stranger and ask her to pray for me.

knew who Kathryn Kuhlman was. Maybe a new postman had handled the mail that day. Or maybe God didn’t want Miss Kuhlman praying for me. Maybe He wanted me to die. I sat for a long time, thinking, and then put the letter back in the envelope and dropped it into the wastebasket. I felt hurt for Mother. She was trying so hard, grasping for straws on the surface of the lake of death, but nothing helped. Even God, it seemed, wassilent. Things did seem to improve, however, and before Mom and Dadreturned to their home in North Carolina they heard my doctor say, ‘Mrs. Lanning, the bone in your arm now looks normal. There is no reason you should not resume your regular wayoflife.”’ It was late spring before I was able to leave the house. Because of the intensive radiation treatment the doctor had warned

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4 Cobalt Treatments Dear Miss Kuhlman:

Would youplease pray for my daugh-

ter, Gwen Lanning? She has five children. She’s expecting her first grand-

child and she wants to see that baby so bad. But she has cancer and the wayshe’s

going I’m afraid she won’t even live to see that first grandchild. Will you pray and

ask the Lordif it is His will that He will

heal her? Thank you very much.

Her mother

me to stay out of the sunshine. However, this was a cool, overcast day and I decided to do a little work in the yard. I was out only a short time and the exercise felt so good. Even though I felt some of the old pain after I went to bed that night, I still rejoiced over being able to get outside once more. This night Ray prayed out loud before we went to sleep and I forgot about the nagging ache in the elbow. It was different the next morning. My arm was a deep, flaming red and was covered with huge blisters. Panic gripped me while Ray called the doctor who ordered me to his office immediately. At first I thought it was just a reaction to the sun, but the doctor, after a quick examination, found an enlarged lymph node. I shuddered. I went to the hospital for another bone biopsy, taken from bone just above the elbow. I prayed desperately that the cancer had not returned. Two days later the doctor walked into my room and said,

We've examined this biopsy and can find nothing.”

For the next year I did my best to follow his directions but it was impossible. Every stiff muscle, every aching joint sent waves of fear through my heart. The dark spectre of cancer was hovering behind every

sore

throat,

every

swollen

gland.

I was sure that sooner or later the cancer would return and whenit did, I would die. One year later my left leg began to swell and ache. The pain was almost identical to that which I had experienced in my elbow. I tried my best to think positively, to pretend it wasn’t there, but there was no denying the swelling. I finally gave

dication of further cancer. Go home and relax and take care of your family. You had cancer but you do not have it now.

in and called the doctor. He took X-rays and then sat down to talk with mein hisoffice. ‘“The X-rays don’t show athing,” he said patiently. “But the aching is just like the pain in my arm,”’ I complained. “Gwen, you had cancer. You don't have it any more. If it returns I'll tell you, for it would probably be fatal. As of now, you are a normal woman.”’ He sounded so sure and I really wanted to believe him. Yet the pain and swelling persisted. I was determined not to return

40

41

“Your report is negative. There is no in-

to the doctor until I could bear the suffering no longer. As the days stretched into weeks, the pain grew more intense. Sometimes it was so severe I could not leave the house. Myleg felt more like a log than a member of my body. Finally I could stand it no longer and returned to the orthopedic specialist. This time he took a whole series of X-rays, starting with mychest, then the pelvic region andfinally theleg. “Gwen, I believe there is something there,” he concluded. ‘“‘There is a dark shadow just above the knee. We will need to do a bone scan.”’ I turned my face to the wall. I knew it. I was going to die of cancer. A radioactive material was injected into the bloodstream and the bone scan was madein the hospital. I watched the expression on the face of the young radiologist as the scanner passed over the sensitive place in my leg. I could tell by the way he bit his lip there was something wrong. The doctor confirmed my suspicions. There was a large tumor just above the knee. “It’s worse than the condition you had in your arm,” he said, shaking his head. “Just one slight twist of your knee 42

and your leg may snap. I’m going to send you to Emmanuel Hospital in Portland for cobalt treatments. There is no time to lose.”’

The trip to Portland was a journey of pain. My appointment was for three o’clock, so we left at nine in the morning. Under ordinary circumstances I would have enjoyed the beautiful ride up the winding highway which follows the twisting bed of the mighty Umpqua River. This

time the fear of death was a silent, unwanted passengerin thecar. Tall Douglas firs spanned the craggy sides of the mountains, stretching up into the heavy fog which shrouded the mountains in dreary gray. As we crossed the narrow bridge over Elk Creek, the sun suddenly burst through the mist which hung in the tops of the towering trees. It was a magnificent sight as the golden rays turned the forest into sparkling green. I had a great surge of hope. Then, just as suddenly, we disappeared into a tunnel through the rocky mountain and once again 43

I was engulfed in darkness. I cried most of the rest of the way to Portland.

with your leg, Mrs. Lanning. A twist of the

The radiologist took one look at my

steps. After you get home, your leg must

planned on giving you a treatment today,

time you are to walk is when you have to go to the bathroom.”

huge, swollen leg and said, ‘I had not but I don’t think we should waste any time.”” He was expressing the same urgency my doctor in North Bend had voiced.

I was helpless and could do nothing but submit to the treatment. Ray located an apartment near the hospital where I could live. It was to be

my home for three lonely weeks while he

returned to Reedsport to go to work. Daily I received treatment at the hospital as an outpatient. The swelling and pain in myleg gradually eased but my depression grew deeper. At the same time myright shoulder began

knee and the bone could snaplike a twig.

I don’t want you going up or down any

be elevated whenever possible. The only

I lived through the next six months on

an hourly basis. The pain never abated. Mydays were spent in bed or in the living room lying on the burnished gold-tufted sofa with green pillows. I memorized every stitch in the sofa, the location of every button. I was intimate with every

crack in the ceiling. The church communi-

ty came to my rescue, bringing in food for

dinner, helping with the laundry, or stopping by to talk and pray.

to ache. The doctors took more X-rays but could find nothing in the shoulder. The pain intensified until I could not sleep at night and it was impossible to hold even

my tray when I went through the line at the hospitalcafeteria. The doctors concentrated on my leg. Finally I was dismissed and the specialist

said,

“‘You

must

be 44

extremely

careful 45

“‘Can you come in tomorrow for another bone scan?”’ ‘‘Why? What’s wrong now?” “Your doctor has called in a specialist in internal medicine and there is some confusion. Because of the heavy dosages of radiation you’ve received, they want to try another scan without the injection of

radioactive iodine.”’ I consented, but the second bone scan,

5 ““When God Speaks, He Does Not Go Back on His Word” By September, my body wasswelling all

over. A trip to the doctor brought a gentle rebuke. “You're getting fat.”’ “I know,’’ I answered with a crooked smile, ‘“‘and I don’t know why.”’ ““Maybe we need to run some more tests,’’ he suggested casually. I went back to the hospital for another exhausting bone scan. Theradiologist told me the doctor would get in touch when the results were complete. Eleven days later the telephone rang. I was on the sofa,

moaning in pain.It was the radiologist. 46

so close to the first one, seemed to aggravate my condition. They sent me home again to await the results. The pain was so intense I screamed with every bump and jar and every little movement was agonizing. The doctors all agreed that I should return to Portland for further treatment, this time for intense chemotherapy. What followed is so hazy I rememberonly bits and pieces. I can recall the doctor in Portland saying, ‘It is definitely reticulum cell sar-

coma.” The bone in myleg had a two-inch deterioration, an area which had been eaten awayby the cancer. There were bone marrow tests, so painful all I could do waslie Notre Dame Convocation Center, South Bend, Indiana. Photo by Doug Grandstaff.

AT

on the table and moan as they bored into my hip. Finally the doctor discussed my condition with Ray and me.

“Mr. Lanning, your wife has cancer in

all the long bones of her body. She has a mass in herleft side which we expect will get larger. The cancer has already reached her spinal column, liver and spleen. We cannot treat her right shoulder because the cancer has spread too far. We are going to start her on anti-cancerous drugs by injection, but she’s going to have to be watched every minute the rest of herlife. I’m deeply sorry, Mr. Lanning, but we have done all we can.”’ Then he added,“Frankly,

it’s just too late for us to do any more.” Bythis time death, rather than a specter to be feared, had become almost a welcome comfort. My faith in heaven was unshak-

able. As with Job, I would continueto trust

God even though I did not understand Him. The frustration came in knowing that Christ had promised His followers not only eternal life, but also power over every foe. I knew the cancer was not from God, yet no one seemed to have power over it—not Ray or I or even the people at the church who werepraying so diligently.

This same frustration was shared by 50

some of those who had been praying for me. One of them was a medical doctor, a Southern Baptist missionary. Don had written him of my condition. The doctor’s letter reached me in the hospital in Portland, telling me he was praying for me but it was something else he said in theletter that started me thinking: For years the ministry Jesus had in healing has bothered me—or in some way drawn meagain andagain to study His ministry which had healing right at the center. I’ve pondered this but have not gotten very far. My world was the world of surgical training and I had very little contact with the outside. After this I had a year at Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville where I heard inklings of these things happening in unusual ways but had no time to investigate. I was busy getting ready to come to Nigeria as a medical missionary. This has continued to bother me, however, for we in this hospital—though the work has been blessed by the mercy of God —don’t really become a channel for the Spirit to heal. We are the best in the area but we get the praise too much and too often. Right at this moment I am waiting to operate on a woman with a tubal pregnancy. She was in the government hospital four days and was told she had

51

nothing wrong with her. Her case is obvious to any trained medical personnel, so I’m afraid we are the best because we havevery little competition. Yet this woman needs more than physical healing. She needsspiritual healing. She needs to know she can call on God for healing at any time, not seek it just through the doctors. We are the same. With all our powerto heal, westill need something more. ...

It was the first time I had heard that phrase, ‘‘we need something more.” It stuck in my mind, ringing little bells of recognition that had hung dormant all my life. That’s what I needed. Not just the assurance of heaven after death. I needed

the power to overcome death here on earth. If the missionaries in Nigeria needed it, how much more I neededit here in Oregon. Something else happened while I was in the hospital. One Sunday morning I asked the nurse to turn on the television set in my room to try to take my mind off my pain. Even before the picture appeared on

the screen I heard a woman’s voice say, “I believe in miracles.’ I looked up and there was the woman whose face appeared

on the cover of the book Del Hein had given to me. It was Kathryn Kuhlman. 52

I said aloud to myself, ‘“‘Well, it’s going to take a miracle to get me out of this!”’ From my bed I watched while Kathryn Kuhlman interviewed a man and his wife who both claimed they had been healed of cancer by the powerof God. The following Sunday I watched again. This time Ray, who wasvisiting me in the hospital, watched with me. I was intrigued. Here were people who seemedto beas ‘normal’ as everyoneelse, testifying that they

had been on the receiving end of a miracle. I felt this could never happen to me, but it was interesting to hear about others

who had somehow, some way, touched the heart of God. Two weekslater the doctors allowed me to return home where I lay on the sofa surrounded by pillows. They admitted I had become addicted to the pain-killing drugs, but said, “‘At this stage it doesn’t make any difference.”’

I took turns seeing the bonespecialist, the gynecologist and the internist. Finally, on oneof mytrips to the orthopedic specialist in North Bend, he said, ‘‘We’re taking you off the anti-cancer injections. They are destroying the rest of your body. From now

on we'll keep youfilled with pain relievers. 53

It’s the best we can do just now.”’ But I knew in myheart that I was sent hometodie.

One of the things that grieved me most was the incredible amount of money Ray

had spent just to keep me alive. Our oldest son, Dave, had been studying musicat college, but because of lack of finances he

was forced to drop out. This didn’t bother him as much as it bothered me. Over the

They were praying for me. One morning, immediately after they had finished praying, Don told Jerry, ‘‘While you were pray-

ing, I felt I must call Gwen Lanning.”’

It was a morning never to be forgotten, May17. I awakenedin intense pain that day, but struggled out of bed to help Ray get off -to work. After closing the door behind him,

I hobbled back to bed where I fell ex-

last year Dave had entered into a relationship with God which included getting involved in a small prayer group. One of the men in this group was Don Puerling, a former Southern Baptist pastor. He had moved to Reedsport and gone into business with

hausted.

another Christian—waiting for some kind

see if she can makeit.”’

of ministry to open up. In the meantime he had becomeactive in the Highland Baptist Church working with the young people. In fact, it was through Don Puerling and Jerry Willard that Dave had recommitted

his life to the Lord. Dave knew I was dying of cancer, and since the men in the prayer group believed God still healed, he asked them if they would pray for me. Don and his business partner, Jerry, met in their little TV ap-

I was dimly aware of the phoneringing. I could hear my daughter’s voice in the distance, ‘I’m sorry, Mother’s awfully sick. She can’t cometo the telephone.”’ Then I heard her say, “All right. I’ll Moments later, Karen was standing at

the door of the bedroom. ‘“‘Mom, there’s a man on the telephone. He says he has an important message for you.” I started

to object, but for some reason slowly swung my feet over the side of the bed and walked to the telephonein the living room.

pliance shop each morning for prayer.

“Mrs. Lanning? My nameis Don Puerling. My business partner and I have prayer each morningbefore we open the shop. This morning we were praying for you and I suddenly felt impelled to call you. We be-

54

55

lieve that God is going to heal you, that He is not going to take you home for a long time. You are not to worry.” “T’m not worried,”’ I said with a weak voice. “I know I'll go home to be with Him whenthe time comes.” ‘No, Mrs. Lanning, you do not understand what I am saying. God is not going

to take you homefor a long time. We both know that when you die you are going to

hemorrhage at any time and die. I can’t even move through the house without hold-

ing onto something. My doctors have given up and I have given up. So, even though

you havegreatfaith, it’s too late.” “God is a God of the impossible,” his cheery voice came through the phone.

“When God speaks, Mrs. Lanning, He does not go back on His word.”’

be with Him, but you are not going to die

for along time!”’ I didn’t say anything. I thought he was a little strange. I listened, however, as he kept on talking. “TI know that the Lord heals,” he said.

‘‘He healed me of rheumatoid arthritis after the doctors at Mayo Clinic said they couldn’t do anything for me.’ He also told me about a very young baby who was

healed of double pneumonia. “‘I know about it personally as I was her parents’ pastor,”

he said. I finally interrupted him. “‘Mr. Puerling,

I appreciate your call and I wantto believe you. But if you could see me right now, you wouldn’t be so enthusiastic. I am just existing on medication. The doctors say my blood platelets are so low I could begin to 56

57

if I could talk to your mother for a moment. It’s very important.” Anita brought her in to where we sat

in the living room and then stood in the

doorway while Del, who was almost breathless, told me why she had come.

“This morning on the way to school, I

heard over the radio that Kathryn Kuhlman is going to be in Portland tomorrow. I

don’t know where or when the meetingwill be held. I’m on my wayto find out. But

6 The Holy Spirit Was There After

our

conversation,

so

many

thoughts raced through my mind.Is it possible that God could heal me? I shook my head and walked slowly back to the bed-

room, leaning heavily on Karen’s arm.

Eleven days later, May 28, there was a knock at my door. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. A goodfriend, Violet Mysinger, a nurse and a member of our church, was visiting me. She looked up at Anita, my youngest daughter, who hadjust

when I get back, I want an answer from you. Will you go with me?”’ She excused herself and was gone. Before I could speak, Violet reached out and put her hand on myarm. “Gwen, please go. This may be the an-

swer for you. I’m going home right now andpray that God will tell you to go.” Violet left and soon Ray walked in and

sat down in his favorite chair. I wasstill

sitting on the edge of the sofa where Violet had propped the pillows behind my back. “Ray,” I said, looking straight into his

comein from school. ‘“Answer the door for your mother,” she said. ‘‘“She doesn’t feel much like moving around today.”’ I could hear Del Hein’s voice. “I wonder

service in Portland.” ‘Honey, that is something that I’m go-

58

59

face. “I want to go to the Kathryn Kuhlman

ing to leave up to you.” Wesat and talked, discussing the prob-

lems of my making such a longtrip. It was two hundred miles to Portland. Even the short rides down to the clinic at North Bend tired me so much I had to stay in bed for days afterward. How was I ever going to makethe long trip to Portland?

I sat there thinking of the manydifficult situations which seemed to stem from my illness. I could see that some of the children were drifting and getting away from

the church. I still was troubled by the fact that our son Dave, so talented in music, could not continue his studies because of lack of finances. I had gotten to the point where I begged God to take me home. I could see where the money being spent on me could go into many avenues which would help the family. It was 6:00 p.m. when Del Hein knocked

at the door. Ray let her in and she walked directly to where I was stretched out on the recliner. I looked up andtried to smile. “You are going with us, Gwen, aren’t

you?”’ she asked. I had no thoughts for a miracle for myself and I only said ‘‘yes’’ because she had a look on her face (a look of faith I know now) that kept me from saying ‘“‘no”’ to her. 60

I saw her eyes fill with tears but she was too wise to stay and talk. ‘‘The meeting will be at the Civic Auditorium.It begins at one o’clock and we need to be there by ten. That means we must leave at seven in the morning.”’ Delleft immediately and I called Violet on the telephoneto tell her that I had decided to go to the meeting. She was very happyandsaid, “‘I’ll be praying.” Ray’s face was somber when he heard my decision. He turned to me andsaid, “If you’re going, I want you to take your pain pills and sleeping pills.right now and go to bed. You will need all the rest you

can get before thetrip.”’

I obeyed Ray and took mypills and went to bed. That night the Lord gave me the best night’s rest that I had had in months. Del Hein wasat the house a few minutes before seven. Ray helped me into the car, kissed me good-by and left to go to work as we pulled out of the driveway. I had three pillows in the car with me to help make the trip more comfortable. I really had no thoughts of being healed as weleft.

My mind wasjust kind of blank—I suppose

becauseof all the medication I was taking.

‘““‘We’re going to have a passenger,’ Del 61

said as we turned the corner toward Main Street. ‘‘I wanted my husband to go along, but he couldn’t, so I asked my pastor’s wife

to go with us.”

I knew Del’s pastor and his wife only slightly. He was the minister of the First Baptist Church and, I was to learn in the next couple of hours, that both of them believed in miracles. Mrs. Engebretsen was waiting at the parsonage. She sat beside Del in the front seat of the car. We started on our way, driving out of town, past the cheese factory and up the winding road beside the Umpqua. Del had never driven to Portland but I had

been there for therapy, so I helpedto direct her.

“TI know Godheals,’’ Mrs. Engebretsen

was saying. ‘I have seen many healings in my husband’s ministry—God healed me too.’’ She began to tell of the miracles that she had seen in Norway.I had little difficulty understanding all she was saying

cles, healings and the power of the Holy

Spirit.

The drive up theriver is one of the most beautiful in the world. We had late spring that year and it was cold and foggy as we eased our way along theriver. The apple trees were just losing their blooms and from my vantage point lying in the back seat, I could see the towering spruce, hemlock and fir trees reaching high above the road. To my left was a mountainside that had been cut, stripped of trees. The lumbermen

had left only the bare earth, covered by

slash—brown and dead. Yet in the middle stood a single, giant fir, left by the lumbermen to spread its seed over the barren earth so it would “bring forth and bud.” It extended upward,like a giant “‘one way” sign, the finger of nature pointing toward heaven. I lay back andtried to relax. The cool, crisp air fairly crackled when I breathed. It was quiet in the car, occasionally one of the ladies would share a testimony. Fi-

nally, I heard Del say, ‘‘We’re here. As

because of her Norwegian accent, but it was obvious she had no doubt about the powerof Godto heal sick bodies. After a while I lay back in the seat and let the conversation swirl on around me. There was so much talk about God, mira-

It was misting rain and cold. Carrying our camp stools and pillows, we made our

62

63

soon as I find a parking space we’ll make our way around to the front of the auditorium.

99

way to the front steps of the auditorium. A large crowd had already gathered, even though it was still three hours before the doors were to open. We were barely able to get under the overhanging eave of the building and escape the heaviest of the rain. I was wrapped in a sweater and a coat, sat on one pillow, and held the other in my lap to rest my arm. The crowd grew thicker and the cold mist seemed to seep all the wayinto mybones. I began to shake. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?” Del asked. ‘Yes, but not that much,” I said.

‘‘Whereis the thermos?” Del asked.

I shook my head. ‘‘Weleft it in the car along with the lunch, I guess. But we’d never be able to get it now. The crowd is too big.”’ “T’m going after that water so you can take a pain pill,” Del said. ‘‘No, please,” I said. ‘‘I’ll be all right.” But she had gone, elbowing her way through the thousands of people who were jammed around the front doors of the big Civic Auditorium. It seemed only moments before I heard her returning. ‘““Excuse me, I’ve got to get this water to a sick lady...excuse me, 64

ma’m...excuse me, sir...I’m coming through.’’ And there she was. She poured me some water and I took a couple of pain

pills. Gradually they began to take effect

and I wasable to look around me. I had never seen anything like this. There must have been crowdslike this that gathered to see Jesus as He passed by—the sick, the lame, the blind, the dying, the

sinners. They were all there. In wheelchairs. On crutches and canes. Some on stretchers. And they wereall singing. “He touched me, He touched me, And oh, the joy that floods mysoul.. .”’ They sang a little chorus I recognized as one of the Psalms:

“Thy lovingkindness is better than life, I will lift up my hands in thy name...’’ As they sang they lifted their hands. All around me, there in that drizzling rain, were the sick of the world, lifting up their hands in the name of the Lord. It was so

beautiful.

Suddenly a man was shouting something. He was standingin front of the door on a chair. ‘“‘Weare going to open the doors fifteen minutes early because of the rain,”

he shouted. ‘“‘Please don’t push or shove, 65

there are manysick people present.”’ The two ladies from Reedsport huddled around me.I saw the doors swing open and felt the surge of the crowd behind me, like the mightyrip tide as it pushed against the jagged Pacific cliffs. I knew I was going down, and if I went down, I would never get up. What folly, I thought, as my legs gave way under me, to come all this distance and then be trampled to death by

the crowd! Then I felt strong arms under mine. The two ladies, one on each side, were holding me up. I heard Mrs. Engebretsen say in her heavy Norwegian accent, ‘“‘God let us get this far; surely He’ll get us through those doors.”’ Wewerebeing pushed aheadofthetide, like driftwood on the beach. I looked up

and it seemed we would be slammed right into the front edge of the stage. Then, sud-

to ease the pain. I never have understood that, but suffering has a way of building in your mind like the steam underthe lid of a pressure cooker and if you release the pressure by weeping or even moaning, the pain does ease. For some reason, however, I didn’t cry out or even groan. There was an unusualspirit in that place, a sweet spirit. I felt that I was in the presence of God himself, and I could not think about my pain or discomfort as I came face to face with God. All I wanted to do was praise Him. I wanted to sing. I wanted to cry, not in pain, but in joy. I looked around and the people had already begun to sing. Some were raising their hands. Some were weeping. It was an hour before the meeting was scheduled to begin, yet it had already begun. We didn’t need to wait for Kathryn Kuhlman to arrive—the Holy Spirit was there!

denly, there were three seats. Del pulled my arm and we were seated, close to the front, just four rows back. It was a miracle —the first of many to happen that after-

noon. Sitting there my back ached with intense pain and I wanted to moan andto cry.It’s strange, but making noise seems to help 66

67

7 “I’ve Been Healed of Bone Cancer!” Suddenly Miss Kuhlmanstood before us on the stage and the expectancy that charged the air became an almost tangible

substance. Even in her mannerisms and speech she seemedto be guided by the hand

of the Lord. The singing was beautiful and then Miss Kuhlman began to speak in almost a whisper.

“If you people think you’ve come here

The service continued. Miss Kuhlman brought a message from the Bible. Everything was proper and in order, nothing to offend my Baptist orientation; yet my mind kept wandering andall I could think about was my condition. If God is who He says He is, if the Word of God is applicable for today, if the gift of healing is still in existence after all these years, then why shouldn’t God heal me? I was arguing with myself. A young lady cameto the platform and testified that she had been healed of a rare blood disease. She wasthe picture of health, radiant and so happy. I had wantedto believe but found it difficult until I heard

Judy’s testimony. Then, as she was about finished, she turned.andsaid, ‘‘If you don’t believe what I am saying, ask my doctor. He is here andwill verify all I have said.”’ She pointed out into the auditorium and a distinguished looking manroseto his feet,

nodding his head. She was not lying. It was

for me to heal you, you are mistaken. My hands are only human hands. They have no supernatural powers. Only God canheal, and Heis here wanting to help you. All you have to do is ask and believe. He will answer and supply your every need.”’

the truth. She had brought her doctor along to prove it. I looked down at my bloated body—stomach swollen, arms and_ legs puffy and misshapen. I was sitting on one pillow, the other was in my lap to rest my arm. Yet, if God could heal a woman of

68

69

a rare blood disease, why couldn’t He heal another eaten up with cancer? So I prayed,

“God, if you can heal Judy, you can heal me, and heal meto glorify your name.”’

It was after I prayed this prayer that God touched my body and instantly healed me! I began to feel it—a sensation of warmthfilling my entire being. The cancer

just vanished: no pain, no swelling—all of it was gone! I was like a cold teacup being slowly filled with warm liquid. Every part of my body was coming alive, tingling. The warmth increased rapidly to an intense heat. I removed my sweater. I turned and looked at Mrs. Engebretsen whowassitting next to me. She wasstaring

ing had been so remote I had not even considered what I would do if it happened to me. Now it had. I was on myfeet, standing unassisted. I stared down at my body, only moments before swollen and distended, now completely normal. The bulge in my abdomen was gone. The horrible swelling in my arms and legs... gone. And the pain, my constant torturer for the last four years... completely gone! Then I was running! Gwen Lanning, running! The stiffness in my leg had dis-

touched by the mighty hand of the God of

appeared! A man stopped me at the foot of the stairs that led to the platform. ‘‘Wait a minute,” he said. It was obvious he’d never been to a meeting like this either and didn’t know what to do with a woman running downthe aisle, her face covered with tears and smiles. ‘‘Have you been healed?”’ I just blurted out my answer. “I’ve been healed of bone cancer throughout my whole

mercy!

body!”’

at me, her eyes overflowing with tears. I looked at Del Hein. Her eyes were wide, she was smiling a strange, almost knowing kind of smile. It was so. God had heard my prayer. He had answered. I had been

I heard Mrs. Engebretsen’s voice. ‘“‘Shall we go up to the platform?’ I knew from

the conversations I heard outside the build-

ing that when people were healed in the meetings they often went to the platform

to testify. But then the very thoughtof heal70

‘‘Bone cancer!?’’ he exclaimed. ‘Praise

the Lord!”’

He took my arm firmly and hurriedly led me up the steps to the platform. I thought of the excruciating pain such an

action would have caused just minutes bea

fore. Now there was notrace of pain. Suddenly I was standing before Kathryn

Kuhlmanat the microphone.

‘““‘Where are you from, honey?’ she beamed. ‘“Reedsport,’’ I stammered. ‘“Where do you go to church?”’ “Highland Baptist,” I said. I heard Miss Kuhlmanlaughing. ‘‘When we Baptists get together, something’s just got to happen.”’ *“You’re a Baptist!’’ I exclaimed. Before I realized what I was doing, I threw my arms around her neck. Miss Kuhlman stepped back. I was beginning to shakeall over again. She turned to the huge congregation. ‘The power of God is going throughthis woman’s body.”’ I couldn’t stop my crying and shaking. Then she touched me. Or at least she reached out in my direction. I don’t remember whether she actually touched me

through my body. Before, sitting there in the audience, it was like coming in contact with a high voltage wire. This time my whole being was flooded with the essence of peace. I wilted in sheerjoy.

Somehow I managed to get back on my

feet. There was no sensation of falling to the floor, but I knew I had been there just the same. Miss Kuhlmanwassmiling. ‘“‘Bend your knees! Raise yourfeet! Bend over! Touch your toes! Let’s see you run back and forth across this stage. Faster!

Run faster!” I was doing it, doing everything she asked. And more! I was kicking my feet high in the air like a small child cavorting in a field.

She

asked

about

my

family,

then

chuckled. ‘‘Your children and that husband of yours are really in for a surprise when you come hometonight.”’

Then she touched me again. My knees

had ever had. I didn’t faint. I knew everything that was going on, but everything in me just relaxed as the power of God flowed

buckled and I felt myself falling softly, gently to the floor. Yet even as I floated down, as if caught in a slow motion movie, I heard myself praising the Lord, the Great I Am...God of holiness, power and Lord... Omnipotent majesty... Eternal Creator... Magnificent Vine... Wonder-

ce:

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or not; all I remember was drifting back-

wards into what I knew were the arms of

God. It was a sensation like none other I

ful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Ever-

Hepointed the way. ‘“‘All the way to the lobby, cross over, and down the other

I began to praise that name whichis above all names, ‘Jesus, O precious Jesus... I love you so.”’ Never before had I been able to praise God with all my being. Something or someone was bringing the praise out of me, as if the Holy Spirit himself had uncapped a well deep within me, a well that had been there all along but had nevergiven off more than a trickle. Now,flowing out of my innermost being came streams of living water— gushing out praise to the Most High God, my Creator, my Savior, my Healer. I could not contain myself. I heard Miss

side.”’ I started the long walk, but from every other row, someone leaped up to hug me, to clasp my hand, or just to stand beside me for amomentand weep. A woman said, ‘We prayed for you. Your friend at the door was asking all who knew how to pray, to pray for you. Hun-

lasting Father, the Prince of Peace. Then

Kuhlman’s voice from the dim outsidesay-

ing, ‘‘Go!”’ She was not wanting meto leave, she knew I must leave. I had much to do. Muchtotell. Muchtolive for now! I ran across the platform and down the steps. I was halfway down the aisle, my eyes still blinded by tears of joy and happiness, when I realized I didn’t know where my seat was. People were reaching out, touching me, grasping my hand,their faces bathed in smiles andtears. I finally turned to an usher.

“Howwill I get back to my seat?’’ 74

dreds of us who had never seen you before have been praying.”’ It took several minutes before I finally reached myseat. “TI won’t need those pillows,’ I said to

Del as I crawled over her. She nodded,still too overcome with joy to risk an audible

answer.

The rest of the meeting was a series of miracles. My attention was glued to the platform. I forgot all about myself, praying that everyone in that huge auditorium would have the same experience of healing and receive the same touch of the Holy Spirit as I had received. My hands were lifted high over my head far more than they were in my lap as I praised the Lord vocally for each miracle. Several times it seemed Miss Kuhlman 75

was ready to close the meeting, then something else would happen. There would be another healing. Anotherseries of healings. The platform was lined with people waiting to testify. Others were standing in theaisles trying to get to the stage to tell of their healings. At one point Miss Kuhlman turned to the large number of pastors who were seated on the stage behind her. ‘Pastors, go back to your churches and notonlytell your people about Jesus but demonstrate the power of the Holy Spirit. I pray that what you have witnessed today will be manifested in your congregations next Sunday.”’ The people responded with a great roar of applause. How hungry they were for the power of God—for the demonstration of

God’s miraculous healing in their own

churches. Then Miss Kuhlman wasstandingquietly, one hand extended upward, the other resting gently on the shoulderof an elderly white-haired woman, stooped from the cares of many years. ‘“‘This precious little lady has just told me she wants to be born again.” A holy hushsettled over the auditorium. “The healing of a body is so wonderful,” 76

Miss Kuhlman whispered. ‘‘But the greatest of all the miracles is the healing of a soul. Nothing is more important than being born again into the Kingdom of God.”’ Then she was crying. And praying. “‘Oh, God, for some reason I just couldn’t wait to get to Portland. The people are so hungry for you.” I had never seen anything like it. I felt I was with Moses before the burning bush.

I wanted to take off my shoes, for I knew this was holy ground. This woman was standing in front of us crying. Her heart was broken for the multitude who did not know Jesusas their Savior. She finally blotted her tears with her fingertips. I could almost hear the silence in that great auditorium. The rustling of paper, shuffling of feet, movement of bodies, coughing—all were gone. There was no sound except that woman’s sobs. Then Miss Kuhlmanspoke again, so softly I had to lean forward to hear. ‘‘T must wait on the Holy Spirit. Without the Holy Spirit I am nothing. Nothing.” Every eye, every nerve end, focused sharply and intently on that solitary figure

‘on center stage who dared represent Al-

mighty God to acity. 77

‘“‘How many of you want to be born again?’’ she said reverently, her words

coming slowly yet with great authority.

“Jesus said you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven unless you are born again. The only way to God is through Jesus Christ. How many want...”’ Kathryn Kuhlman’s words were interrupted by a strange sound, starting as a low distant growl, increasing to a roar. Startled, I turned in myseat. I thought the building was crumbling. Instead, I realized

it was the sound of people behind me who

were rising to their feet, coming forward to accept Christ. The aisles were clogged as they came toward the platform. It was like the Umpqua River in times past when the lumber crews clogged it with mighty logs until not even the surface of the water was visible. Down the aisles they came, crushing up against the edge of the platform. I feared

The entire row behind me was empty. Miss Kuhlmanprayed for the hundreds who had come forward. Then Jimmie McDonald, the baritone soloist, was back at the microphone and very softly he began

to sing. My spirit soared with his voice... Mysin—oh,thebliss of this glorious thought My sin—notin part, but the whole Is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more, Praise the Lord,praise the Lord, O mysoul!

I had sung it a hundred times, several hundred times, in our church, but never had I sung it as I did when I joined in that afternoon.

for Miss Kuhlman’s safety, but she never moved, standing there on the stage, one hand raised, eyes upward, calling the people to Christ. The open spaceat the bottom of the platform was packed. Every aisle was jammed. 78

79

I could tell Ray was utterly confused. He had become anxious since we were so late getting back—fearing the very worst had happened. Then my exuberance startled him. ‘*I’m healed,” I repeated. A smile played across his features. “Well, that’s what you went for, wasn’t

8 The Beginning of a New Life We pulled into Reedsport at ten o’clock that night. I had thrown the pillows into the back seat and rode up front with the

other two women. There wasabsolutely no

trace of pain or discomfort in my body. It was as though I had neverbeensick. Weparked the car on thestreet in front of the house since our driveway was being repaired. Ray had torn out the front steps and there was a two-foot step from the ground to the doorstep. I opened the front door and with a handon eitherside of the door frame, I pulled myself up into the

it?’’ he asked. He stood and nodded, looking at me. “Twenty years younger. You look twenty years younger.”’ I wanted to call Mom and Dad but by then it was 11:30 p.m., which meant it was 2:30 a.m. in North Carolina. Ray convinced me to wait until morning. I went to bed without taking a sleeping

pill or pain pill for the first time in several

months. At 4:30 a.m. I was wide awake. It’s 7:30 a.m. in Canton, North Carolina, I thought. I slipped out of bed and went into the living room to find Mom’s number.

I rememberedonly part of it and as I looked through the numbers in the back of the

house. Ray was in the front room and I

ran across to him shouting, “I’m healed! I’m healed!’’

book, I saw my brother Don’s. Don had not been able to return to Nigeria because of the fierce fighting in the civil war there. He was in Alabama so I dialed his number.

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81

“Gwen? What’s happened?” he asked when I came on theline. I just bubbled, telling him the entire story. Over and overI heard his exclamations: ‘Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, praise the Lord.”’ Wetalked at least thirty minutes. Next I phoned Mom and Dad. Dad answered and after our first few minutes of excited conversation he said, ‘“‘That’s the end of Mama’s prayer.”’ ‘What do you mean?”’ I asked. Mom cameon the phone. She was crying with joy. ‘‘Gwen, all day yesterday I felt like something was happening to you. So I prayed throughout the day, ‘Lord, I’m lifting Gwen up to you just one moretime.’ I thought maybe you were dying.” “Not dying, Mom,” I cried, ‘‘just being made new.” I couldn’t go back to sleep. I awakened the children and told them. Then around dawn, I started calling friends. I called Violet Mysinger. She had just gotten home

had been prayingfor mefor so long. Ray had to work, so Anita accompanied me to the Highland Baptist Church that morning. In the worship service, the pastor deviated from the formal order and said, “Did anything exciting happen to any of you this week?” I couldn’t contain myself. I was on my feet, literally running downtheaisle. I told them.I told them all!

WhenI hadfinished speaking, the pastor

asked if there were others who wanted to testify. There were several who told of having been healed, or some relative or close friend who experienced healing. At the end of the service I walked forward. “I’m giving mylife, laying it on the altar this morning for the Lord to use me any way He wants,”’ I said. Looking out over the congregation, the pastor said, ‘‘How many feel as Gwen does?”” The people started coming for-

ward. I don’t know how many,but I could

me to come to church with her that morning. I called people in Toledo and Springfield where we had lived. I wanted them to announceit in their churches since they

hear their footsteps all around. Later, someone said it was just a little short of how Pentecost must havebeen! It would seem my healing would be the greatest thing that could happen to me. However, it didn’t take me long to realize

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from her shift at the hospital. She begged

it was only the beginning of a new life—not the climax. Actually, the healing was only the outwardsign of an innerfilling. Several things happened almost immediately. The first miracle took place when I returned to my doctor. I had been to the doctor in North Bend every Tuesday morning for the past seven months. The procedure

was always the same. First the lab work,

then a brief consultation with the internist. Tuesday, after I was healed on Saturday, my son Dave and my daughter Patti went with me. The lab technician, who knew me by my first name, looked up when I walked in.

“Say, you look different, Gwen. What

happened?”

“Do you know Kathryn Kuhlman?” I asked. “Yes,’’ she said with a puzzled look. “I’ve read about her. Hey, don’t tell me that you...” I grinned. ‘“You can read about me in

yesterday’s Oregonian. I made the head-

lines as the lady who was healed of bone cancer.”’ She listened intently. Excitedly. ‘‘Let’s run the lab work so there’ll be no doubt,”’ 84

the technician said. ‘“‘But,’’ she added, “‘I can tell from looking at you that you’ve been healed.”’ Word spread fast through the clinic. A couple of nurses stopped by the lab just to look in the door—andsee for themselves. A few minutes later one of the nurses walked in. ‘“Gwen, your doctor isn’t in today. His nurse will be here at 1:30, though, and she’ll read your lab work. Can you wait until then?”’ “T’ll wait,’’ I said, ‘“‘but would you see if my orthopedic surgeon would see me while I’m here?”’

Moments later I was ushered into his

office. ‘‘What’s this I hear?”’ he asked. “Do you see anything different?’

I

smiled. ‘Well, your tummy is back to normal, that’s for sure.”’ ‘Look at myleg,’”’ I urged. He nodded meto a chair and I sat, extending my leg. He knelt beside me and

ran his hands up and downthelength of the leg. He didn’t look up for a long time.

Whenhe did,his eyes were filled with tears as he asked,‘‘It’s true, isn’t it?”’ I was too choked up with emotion to

answer. 85

‘““There’s no heat in theleg. It’s the same

size as the other. ..’’ His voice broke and he lowered his headagain. ‘“‘Just two weeks ago I said, ‘Gwen, I wish there was some-

thing I could do to help.’ But I knew there

wasn’t. I had done all I could. Now... it’s true. You’ve been healed.”’ “‘Are you going to take X-rays?”

He cleared his throat and stood to his feet. ““There’s no need for X-rays.”’ Then he added seriously, ‘‘I believe even without

making X-rays.”’ By 1:30 the lab reports were ready. My internist’s nurse called me into heroffice. She, too, was shaking her head. ‘“‘Your platelets are up to normal. The urinalysis test is clear as crystal. I can find no infection whatsoever. In other words, you seem to be perfectly normal.”’ I was overjoyed but not surprised. I knew. I had known since last Saturday. I

The following Tuesday I returned to see

the internist. As usual I went through the lab work and then straight into his office. ‘‘The lab report is normal again,”’ the doctor said. “Just as it was last week. The only word I can use, Gwen,is ‘fantastic!’ ”’ ‘‘I’m ashamedfor being so long in asking this, doctor,” I said a little nervously. “‘But, are you a Christian?”’ He grinned, reached across the desk and patted my hand.‘‘I sure am. Andif I wasn’t, something like this would certainly go a long way in convincing me I should be.”’ I promised the doctor I would return every three months so he could check my

blood and weight. But that was just a precaution. I had been off drugs for more than a week, and every test indicated I was healed.

washealed.

‘““You oweit to the doctor to come back next Tuesday,” the nurse said. ‘‘At least let him haveone last look at you.”’ I agreed, even though I was planning to go to North Carolina. My parents had offered to fly me to Asheville. They, too, wantedto see for themselves. 86

87

distended and as hard as a rock and now it’s like yours and mine. Her leg was burning up with the heat of cancer, now it’s

normal.”’

9 “You Are Indeed a Miracle!” The following ThursdayI left for North Carolina on the plane. It was a marvelous

trip. Mom and Dad met meat the Asheville airport, rushing into my arms with tears streaming down their faces and with shouts of joy. Don wasthere too. He was preparing to leave at the end of the month anddecided to come back to Canton just to see me before he tookoff for Nigeria. Don was scheduled to preach in several area Baptist churches before leaving. He took me with him, introducing me as his ‘“‘miracle sister.’’ From church to church his message was always the same. “If you don’t believe she’s healed, be like Thomas. Touch her. Her stomach was 88

In every church there was excitement. The pastors were excited and the people were overcome with joy. Some of them followed us from church to church just to hear the same story told again and again. Mysister Louise is a nurse and the doctor for whom she works has known of me a long time. Just before I left to fly back to Oregon, he asked me to come byfor a visit at his office. He closed the door, turned to me and said, ‘“Now I want you to start from the very beginning. Don’t leave out a thing. Tell me the whole story.” Twohourslater tears were rolling down

his cheeks. The telephone rang. He was needed for an emergency but before he left, he looked at me intently and said, “‘I want to know one thing more. Did the healing

comeinstantly?” ‘“Yes,’’ I said simply. ‘You are indeed a miracle,” he said, rushing out the door. ‘‘A miracle!”’ I returned to Oregon and Don returned to Nigeria, preaching the message of a God 89

who heals. Shortly afterwards I received another letter from Eku, Nigeria, written by the medical doctor who had written me once before. He wrote:

wife for saying God has given me the “sift of healing’ and I should learn to use it...perhaps...until then, I’ve got miles to go.

I’ve known of your “‘fatal’’ illness for some time. When Donreturned andstarted telling this yarn about your being healed, I must confess I listened with some skepticism. I’ve seen God heal, so I didn’t doubt God’s end ofit, but I’ve also heard some presumptuous claims that proved not to beso... Then I had a back injury—a new thing for me—and I could not straighten. After going on with it for two days, and operating the third, I had to quit and go to

It gave me a warm feeling to know that my healing could have such a profoundeffect on a medical doctor in Eku, Nigeria— as well as on thousands of others across this nation. WhenI stop to think aboutit, that’s the way the Holy Spirit worked when Jesus was here. Men and women were healed and through their healings, they got to know Jesus. Kathryn Kuhlman was right. To be healed is wonderful but to be born again is the most important thingin the world.

bed. I had two books on healing: I Be-

lieve in Miracles and God Can Heal You Now. As I read them and beganto rejoice over the wonderful power of God, I realized my own pain was gone. I read therest of I Believe in Miracles while Don and I attended the Mission Executive Committee meeting in Jos. Seldom have I been so moved. I wept again and again. Perhaps it’s because I’m in the healing business and every day see cases I can’t help and haveto send away. The thought that somewhere,at least, God has chosen to do what we all know Him able to do, yet do not often see, touches me. It awakens something in me that has long been asleep. I have scoffed at my

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One evening after I returned from North Carolina, I wassitting in the kitchen talking with Ray and our 16-year-old daughter, Anita. The love that radiated in their eyes was almost more than I could comprehend. ‘“Gee, Mom,”’ Anita said. ‘‘Now that you

are healed you can walk on the beach again.”

I had forgotten those long early morning 91

walks with the wind in my hair and the salt spray stinging my face. It was like another lifetime. I looked up at Ray. In his quiet way he smiled ever so slightly, and nodded. “Whynot,” he said. ‘“‘Only this time I’ll walk with you.”’ It was the beginning of Indian summer. The sun hung low like a bronze ball of fire over the Pacific, suspended motionless over

along the sand in front of us and occasionally a tern would swoop low over the water and then with one beat of its wings, rise

to exhilarating heights. No words were

and the smell of wood smoke hung in the cool air. Weleft the car near the sand dunes and walked through the whitened driftwood downto the packed sand of the beach. The waves were rolling in long, low combers, splashing gently on the beach. Far out to sea we heard the low moan of a fog horn. The light from the white lighthouse on the hill was already sweeping the sky, stabbing into the gathering mist to welcome the fishing boats back home. Ray took my hand andwestarted down the beach. The sun dipped lower, its glimmering rays spreading out across the flat expanse of water until the entire sea seemed afire. Little fiddler crabs darted

spoken. None were necessary. As we turned, finally, to retrace our steps, the sun slipped beneath the sea. For a few moments the clouds were tinged crimson and purple, then the soft night mist covered the earth with its blanket of gray darkness. I felt Ray’s hand tighten in mine. The only sound was the soft crunch of our feet on the sand, the quiet tinkle of a buoy bell, andthe low,steadyroarof the surf. “Sunset and evening star...” I tried to recall the lines of Tennyson’s “Crossing the Bar’’ from my high school English literature class. ‘And one clear call for me. ..”’ The words eluded me. It made no difference. I was not going to cross that bar ...-not yet...not for a long time. I had already seen myPilot face to face and there was no needto fear the twilight. I slipped my arm through Ray’s and pulled him close. We turned up toward the sand dunes, the parked car, and home.

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the gray water. A twilight mist had fallen

Tomorrow at dawn I would be back on the beach, walking, feeling the wind in my hair, the sting of the salt spray on myface, for the first time in all mylife—alive.

BY KATHRYN KUHLMAN Captain Le Vrier Believes in Miracles

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