Healed In Thirty Seconds Or Less

                               By Phil Scovell

          One would think a blind person, after more than 40 years of total
     blindness,  would  not  have  anything   they  had  not  adjusted  to,
     especially  after all  the training  and teaching  by schools  for the
     blind and  rehabilitation centers.   In fact,  such programs  do their
     best to  program a  person not to  feel blind,  not to act  blind, and
     certainly not to think blind.  It is silly, of course, because you end
     up  doing  something  nearly  every  day which  reminds  you  of  your
     blindness.   You  stub  your  toe,  bump your  head,  trip  over  your
     children's,   or  grandchildren's,   tricycle,  bicycle,   skateboard,
     motorcycle, or step on a sleeping cat or dog in  the living room.  You
     can drop a screw and hunt for it for an hour, only to discover you are
     sitting  on  it.   You  misplace your  hat,  put  on one  each  of two
     different shoes  or boots or  socks, or be  rubbing your false  eye in
     church and it accidentally pops out.  You can climb into  the backseat
     of your car, which you personally paid for, that your  16 year old son
     is now driving and suddenly  feel depressed without understanding why.
     You can be attempting to cross the  street with a cane or a guide  dog
     and feel the bus swish  by just as you step  into the street when  the
     light has  turned green for you and red for it.  You can get up early,
     shower and shave, get dressed  in your Sunday-go-to-meetin clothes and
     sit for two hours, waiting for a  promised ride for church which never

          Every blind person I know could write a book on such events which
     can  easily  remind  us  that  we  are  blind.    Some  agencies   and
     organizations attempt to try and make you forget that you are blind or
     even to  suggest your blindness  is just a physical  inconvenience for
     which there  are always methods  that can be successfully  employed to
     circumvent the nuisance of being blind.  The real truth is,  you never
     forget because you are always constantly reminded many times a day.

     Our home based church Sunday meeting was over and everyone left  to go
     find  some  lunch.   I walked  into  our bedroom  and began  to change
     clothes.   As I  was hanging  up my pants  and shirt,  an old familiar
     memory flashed into my mind.  This memory was related to  my blindness
     because  it happened shortly after I had lost  my sight at 11 years of
     age.  I  thought nothing of this memory as I stood placing the hangers
     on the  rod because  I had seen  the memory  hundreds and  hundreds of
     times throughout my life.   It never bothered me because  I had become
     acclimated, or as my mother-in-law  used to say, savvy, to such  blind
     annoyances.   The methodology was simple.   Just push the images away,
     or in other words, just  let it go and attempt not to focus on it.  So
     each time this  memory flashed on to  my mental screen, as  it were, I
     quickly dismissed  it as unimportant.  That's what  I began to do this
     time, too.

          Turning, I closed the closet door and walked to the other side of
     the bedroom where my other clothes lay and began putting them on.  The
     memory was still  in my mind but  fading fast because I  attributed no
     importance to it.

          Suddenly  I stopped.   I  intensified the memory  until it  was a
     solid picture  in my mind.  I knew,  since this memory was repetitive,
     and not a  particular happy memory by any stretch  of the imagination,
     there had  to be something in this memory  the Lord wanted to heal for

          Putting on  my clothes, I left the bedroom and walked directly to
     my office on the other side of our home.

          Seated behind  my desk, I  focused on the  memory once again.   I
     began  to pray.   I pray  a little different  than one  might think in
     these particular situations.   I never say a word; I  just exchange my
     thoughts for God's.

          Shortly after  losing my  sight, my  mom and  I went  to see  her
     family.  Nearly all of her 11 brothers and sisters and their families,
     and her parents, lived in Kansas.

          I always enjoyed seeing all of my cousins and this time, we spent
     the night with  Uncle Garald and Aunt  Burnace or as we  called her as
     kids, Aunt B.  The unusual thing about this family is that my aunt and
     uncle had 5 girls and no boys.  My younger sister, Ruth and I, plugged
     right  into the middle of  the age groups  represented by this family.
     This visit was different, however, because I  was now blind.  Yet, all
     went well, at first, until late that first night.

          We all dragged out blankets and pillows to sleep  all together in
     the living room.  This was a common  practice when we all got together
     because  we all  liked to  talk and  giggle,  tell scary  stories, and
     generally drive our parents crazy.

          It was growing late but we  were far from tired.  My mom  and her
     sister  were seated  at  the  kitchen table  visiting  softly as  they
     occasionally tossed a watchful  eye over to the pillow  fight that had

          I had my head under  my blanket and was being beat to  death by 6
     pajama  clad girls  when  suddenly, a  corner  of a  pillow struck  my
     blanket directly where one of my eyes was.  It hurt but not as much as
     I  cried.   Everybody went dead  still.  They  were probably thinking,
     "Oh, no.  We hurt Phil and he's blind now."

          I was thinking, "I'm not really hurt but I am blind now, and that
     really hurts."

          Finally, Aunt B said she was sorry and soon all was forgotten and
     we resumed our pillow fight.

          None of my girl cousins,  as I called them,  ever knew it, but  I
     really loved them all  very much.  I had three sisters of  my own so I
     was  used to  being around  girls but  there seemed  something special
     about having so  many girl cousins and  I had a bunch.   We all played
     well together  and we always  had fun.  I  really did love  them, as I
     said,  but this was back in the days  when such things were never ever

          As  I sat  at my  desk,  thinking about  this harmless  childhood
     memory, I said, "Lord, there's nothing wrong with this memory."

          "How did you feel?"  I heard the Holy Spirit say  quietly into my

          "I felt blind," I replied quickly and  honestly.  You see, at the
     moment that pillow hit me  in the eye, I  realized, not for the  first
     time, that I was now blind.  Therefore, I was different.

          The Holy Spirit gently said, "Yes, and how did you really feel?"

          I thought for  perhaps two seconds  and then  a smile creased  my
     face because I saw the lie the Lord wanted me to recognize for what it
     was.  I said confidently, "I'm not like my cousins any more."   I knew
     why, of  course, and so did the Holy Spirit, because I was blind.  The
     fact of  blindness, however, was not  the lie.   The lie was I  was no
     longer like my cousins.

          Before I could  allow my thoughts  to barely touch on  what Jesus
     wanted me to know about this, I heard His voice, "No, you are not like
     them any longer; you are like me."

          This was  not a major place of woundedness  or so it would appear
     on  the surface.    Every lie  we believe  is, however,  exactly that;
     major.  Why?   Because it hinders our  spiritual intimate relationship
     with the Lord.   The moment Jesus said I was like Him  now, I felt the
     instant relief.  The  lie was gone and the memory  no longer contained
     any pain.  I  could now actually  feel the love I  had for my  cousins
     which I had never recognized before.

          The title of this  testimony is how long my  prayer, my exchanged
     thoughts for God's,  lasted.  You, too,  can be healed  from emotional
     pain and woundedness that quickly.

                               End Of Document

     Phil Scovell
     Denver, Colorado
     Mountain Time Zone

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