Not so long ago, I was in University Hospital, Cali, Colombia, to go ward to ward praying for the patients. Began in the men’s terminal ‘medical’ ward, a wonderful place to raise MY faith and save the lives of lots of men.
In bed 1 was a man so emaciated, and grey skin, not the lovely olive colour of most Latinos, he looked like he was in a coma or at least deep sleep, even dead. These were men with few days, even just hours to live.

I sat on Rafael’s bed (a scrap of torn paper with his name in felt pen at the top of his bed, and heard my mum whisper from 6000 miles away – Paul, it’s filthy, you’ll catch so many diseases. When you get back to the apartment burn your trousers!!!) and gently put my hand on his shoulder to wake him if he WAS only sleeping. He opened his eyes, looked surprised to see a gringoe (any foreigner in Colombia is a gringoe!) sitting on his bed.

I said to him that he didn’t look too good (wouldn’t have blessed him to say you look like death warmed up!) that I was Paul, and I’d love to pray for his healing because I love Jesus and believe he’s the healer.

He told me he’d only got a very few hours to live from what the doctors said, I heard myself say ‘no problem’! (whaaat?? am I out of my mind?).He told me that in the past he’d been a Christian, but backslidden became an alcoholic and drug addict, and lived on the streets for the last 7 years. Because he’d backslidden, he said he didn’t deserve to be healed. I told him that that sort of comment wasn’t in my Bible, and Jesus loved him, and his honesty.I told him about Jesus, healing people, and telling us that by putting OUR hands on people and they’d get well too.

So what’s wrong, Rafael? ‘I’ve got bowel and anal cancer’ was his answer – it shocked me as at that time I’d never come across anal cancer. He was wearing a little short nightshirt, and before I could stop him, he SHOWED me the effects of anal cancer… I still have the picture in my head!

I told him that maybe laying hands on his afflicted part would be ‘difficult'(!) and as I put my hand on his shoulder, he laughed at the hands on the anus comment – dying, 2-4 hours to live, and still a sense of humour…

The moment he laughed, he shouted. ‘I’M HEALED, I’M HEALED!!’ and pulled up his nightshirt both to have a look AND show me (thank you so, so much, Rafael!!). Needless to say, it had a huge impact on all the dying patients around him, especially the doctors and nurses! They kept him there another day or so to check up on the miracle, and then – as a street sleeper previously – WENT HOME to live with his sister who’d previously disowned him.

I was sitting on the bed crying like a baby…

There were about 50 men in that ward, most of them dying, and everyone was healed except one.

That ONE was the only Christian in the ward. I asked if him if he wanted God to heal and he shouted ‘NO!’ Rather taken aback I asked why. ‘I’m angry with God because he didn’t let Moses into the promised land!’ Absurd reason! I said to him that when/if he got to heaven, ask Moses if he’d had swapped or exchanged going into the promised land, or being glorified with Jesus in Matthew 17…

The damage a religious spirit can do to you…