Autoimmune Disease PART TWO

This is the story of my incurable autoimmune disease, and then (PART TWO) the miraculous ending to the story.

PART TWO

The first week of August, 2005, I was having an exceptionally difficult time of muscular weakness. I tried to force myself to go for walks, but struggled along for fifty yards, only to return home in absolute exhaustion. The NATURE of my autoimmune disease was that my condition would go up and down like a roller coaster. Well — that week was DEFINITELY A “DOWN”.

I had gone to District Royal Ranger Camp in July. It was a moral victory, because I was really too weak to be there. I had my sleeping bag on a mattress under the canopy of my pickup truck. All I had to do was crawl in and out of the truck. The leaders brought a golf cart to camp, and assigned a young man to drive me wherever I needed to go. I watched strong men cry when they watched me. It was HUMILIATING to be so weak for so long. I was dying.

As weeks went by, I yearned to go camping alone one last time. I still had my sleeping bag in the back of the truck from Ranger Camp. And the first week of August we decided that I should give it a try.

I was going to actually go camping by myself, in the back of my truck, for the first time IN OVER A YEAR. But by the time I got MY GEAR LOADED, I told Marty that I just didn’t have enough STRENGTH to go. But Marty talked me into it. She said, “If you STAY HERE you’re going to be weak, so you might as well be weak out there!”

And so, with great HESITATION, I went away ALONE, Thursday afternoon. North of Spokane I crossed the Pend Oreille River at Usk, and chose my mountain camp site on Browns Creek. I feebly pulled my propane cook stove out onto the tailgate of my truck and fixed some dinner, then weakly crawled into my sleeping bag in the back of the truck.

But SOMETHING HAPPENED TO ME during that Thursday night, August 4, 2005, while I slept in back of my Ford pickup truck. It would make a great story to say that I was deep in prayer, or that an angel came and spoke to me, or that I had some wonderful encounter with the Lord. But the truth is that I crawled into the back of my truck in total exhaustion, and went sound asleep. Whatever form God’s visit took that night I may never know.

When I woke up on Friday morning, I laid in my sleeping bag and remembered that one year ago on that day, MARTY HAD RUSHED ME TO THE HOSPITAL believing I was dying.

As I climbed out of my sleeping bag I realized that I felt BETTER than I had felt all week. After breakfast, I felt so good I decided to walk back down the Forest Service road toward Half Moon Lake. I couldn’t remember how far that was, but I took my trusty walking stick — my constant companion — and slowly started off, TRUDGING ALONG in my usual fashion. I felt so good after I trudged along the first 50 yards that I decided to try for ANOTHER 50. Then it became another 50, and then another 50.

The enemy of my soul began to harass me. But I kept trudging along. He reminded me that Marty didn’t even know exactly where I’d gone to camp. He reminded me that there was no cell phone coverage in this narrow valley. But I kept walking.

He told me what a fool I was. He reminded me that there had been absolutely no one come by on this isolated Forest Service road. He told me I was going to die out here alone, and Marty wouldn’t even know where to send help to find me. But I walked on.

As I approached the lake, the ugly voice challenged me to turn around an look at the road I had just followed. I had come down a long hill.  He sneered and snarled that the RETURN TRIP would be OVER A MILE, UPHILL! He growled, “You’ll never make it!” Then he said, “See that big rock over there across the road . . . you need to just go over there and sit down, and wait for SOMEBODY to come by and help you!”

By this time I was feed up with listening to the voice from Hell. And I began to answer him every time he brought up his discouraging words. And I would say, “Devil . . . hang it on your horn . . . I’m walking.”

As I turned back toward camp and began trudging up the long hill with my walking stick, every time the ugly voice shouted at me, I responded with “Devil . . . hang it on your horn . . . I’m walking.”  “You’re not being fair to your wife and family” he would snarl. And I would respond, “Devil . . . hang it on your horn . . . I’m walking.” “You’ll be dead and bear bait before they find your body,” he would scream. And I would snarl back, “Devil . . . hang it on your horn!”

I was almost to the top of the hill when it dawned on me that I had really PICKED UP MY PACE, and every hundred yards became STRONGER. By the time I reached my camp, I was CARRYING MY WALKING STICK like a rifle, and walking FULL-STRIDE! Glory to God!

After I fixed lunch back at camp, instead of taking my usual nap, I felt so good I WALKED ANOTHER MILE. And I left my WALKING STICK at camp! I could scarcely believe it — I was walking at a regular walking pace for the FIRST TIME in over a year!

For some strange reason, my old camp guitar was in the truck. It had been nearly a year since I could play it. I got my old guitar out and sat by the campfire and played the guitar for 3 solid hours — something I couldn’t ever HOPE TO DO the day before.

After I fixed dinner, I knew that I HAD TO CALL MARTY, to tell her the wonderful news. But there was no cell phone coverage in that canyon. I noticed a Forest Service road going up a far ridge, and I knew if I could get on that ridge, I could get a signal and could call Marty.

I grabbed my truck keys from my pocket and started to climb in the truck. Then I stopped, and triumphantly proclaimed “I’m not driving, I’m WALKING!”

And so I WENT FOR ANOTHER HIKE — UP A RIDGE AND BACK — THREE OR FOUR MORE MILES! When I called Marty, she told me later that she knew I was healed the moment she heard my voice. I sounded like my old self again! I called my son and my daughter boldly proclaimed my healing to them.

I hiked back to camp rejoicing. Then the Devil took after me again. He sneered “Even if you are healed, your muscles aren’t used to DOING ANYTHING. You’re going to wake up in the morning SO SORE you won’t be able to move! And I said, “Devil . . . hang it on your horn!”

I woke up on Saturday morning and felt TERRIFIC! Not ONE MUSCLE was sore in my whole body. I stretched, and grinned, and crawled out of the truck.

And before breakfast — just BECAUSE I COULD —I climbed an elk trail up a steep dirt bank thirty yards to the top, and back, praising God IN MY HEART!

And just before I slid to the bottom of the bank — God said to me, “Now . . . praise Me out LOUD!” And for the next hour, up and down Browns Creek I walked, with my hands in the air, SHOUTING PRAISES UNTO GOD!

THE FIRST WEEK OF AUGUST, 2005, ON A THURSDAY NIGHT — while camping alone at Browns Creek, northeast of Spokane — GOD TOUCHED ME MIGHTILY.

As I drove back home that morning, there was a worship chorus that we were singing in our church at the time. I sang it over and over and over again. It says:

“You deserve the glory, and the honor;
Lord, we lift our hands in worship,
As we lift Your holy Name.
You deserve the glory, and the honor;
Lord, we lift our hands in worship,
As we lift Your holy Name.

You are great — You do miracles so great!
There is no one else like you;
There is no one else like you;
You are great — You do miracles so great!
There is no one else like you;
There is no one else like you!”

The next week was an amazing turnaround in every way. Marty and I drove back up there, and checked the mileage. That Friday I had walked between 7 AND 9 MILES, without ever stopping along the way to rest — something I never thought I might do again in what was left of my life.

Back at home, I could actually sleep in our own bed again. I could set up to the table to eat our meals. I actually RAN short distances — and went up the stairs TWO AT A TIME, just because I COULD!

Psalm 30:5 says, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”