I almost healed a man once. Of Parkinsons. But it never happened. I never got the chance.

I was serving as a missionary in Kalamazoo Michigan. We were knocking on doors, soliciting converts and all that and stumbled upon a man. Let’s call him Rob. He was a short-ish man in his forties with bright red hair, a lean physique, and a crass sense of humor well-befitted to two emissaries of Christ.

Problem was, the guy had Parkinsons. Like, really bad. Every muscle in his body seemed to twitch when we spoke. He could hardly walk and when he did it was with an awkward shuffle. In order to listen to him, I had to place my ear within a foot of him. And even then, as deaf as I was (and still am), I struggled to understand him. Read more »