DESIRED OUTCOME by Carol Welch

The Way taught the "law of believing." Believing was a "law," like gravity.
If I believed positively, I'd receive positive results.
If I believed negatively, I'd receive the consequences of my negative believing.
One of the believing formulas was "confession of receipt yields receipt of confession."

Mid-1990s.
I sat in the hallway at the Catawba County building where the 4-H Department was housed. Like many home schoolers my children were involved with 4-H, the national youth organization that promotes hands-on learning. The four Hs stand for Head, Heart, Hands, and Health.

My children and I were at the agency for a meeting of some sort. I liked 4-H and what it provided for my children. One of my fondest 4-H memories is when my children and I incubated twenty-two chicken eggs and all but two hatched. My kids and I had fun going into a dark closet and "candling" the eggs. Candling is a process that shines light on an egg shell in such a way that a person can see the embryo developing inside the shell. It seems we used a shoe box or something to hold the egg and somehow direct the flashlight beam through a small hole that then allowed us to peer through the translucent shell and see the shadow of life in process.

I sat in the hallway at the 4-H building.
I sat in a chair leaning forward with my elbows propped on my knees; the forward-leaning position helped me inhale. I would often sleep in a similar fashion - sitting pretzel-legged while I leaned forward over a husband pillow.

I pulled out my albuterol inhaler, put the device to my mouth tightly wrapping my lips around the plastic mouthpiece that held the medicinal canister, pressed down on the aerosol canister, and inhaled deeply...as deeply as I could between my wheezes.

It didn't help much. Nothing ever helped much.

So I sat, as I had countless times prior and as I did countless times afterward.

I sat.
I wheezed.
I silently spoke in tongues.
I inhaled my aerosol.
I trembled.
I sweat.

I sat.
I waited it out; we had to be at the building for awhile anyway.

As I sat wheezing, Lois, another home school mom whom I looked up to as a mentor and who was a nurse by occupation stated, "Carol, have you ever thought that maybe it's God's will that you have asthma? That there must be some purpose in it, that He is trying to teach you something?"

Lois was a Christian.
I was too, but I was a more like an alternative Christian; I was a Way believer.

The Way didn't believe Jesus was God, like most Christians.
The Way didn't believe the dead are alive, like most Christians.
The Way didn't believe abortion was murder, like most Christians.
The Way didn't believe there were two crucified with Jesus, like most Christians.
The Way didn't believe that Jesus died on Friday and got up on Sunday, like most Christians.
The Way didn't believe that Mary was a virgin when she gave birth do Jesus, like most Christians.
The Way didn't believe a lot of things that most Christians believed.

As a Way believer I knew that God's will was always to heal; it wasn't just a belief, but rather an absolute truth.

I never blamed God for my chronic illnesses.
I seldom even blamed the devil.
I blamed myself.

If I could just believe bigger, I'd be whole.
I would "build my believing" by "putting the Word on" in my mind.
I would "confess" until I died that God wanted me well.
No one could convince me otherwise.

Between gasps for breath, I adamantly answered Lois. "God wants me well, not sick. Even if I die wheezing, I will die confessing that God's will is my wholeness."

Like the countless prior wheezing bouts and the countless wheezing bouts that followed that mid-90s late morning, within an hour or so I was again able to breathe normally like other mammals whose lung sacks are not filled with fluid.

It would be January, 1999, before I had my last real bout with asthma attacks. Doctors had discovered high levels of mercury in my body and I began the process of ridding the poison from my system. The desired outcome was better than I expected - even though I had confessed my healing for almost two decades, I never really thought I'd experience this earth-life without constant inhalers and injections and pills and concoctions and surgeries and the continual carousel of physicians.

It was a two-edged sword, that law of believing.

On one side of the sword, that law kept me going; I clung to that law like it was my god, confessing my healing and awaiting my deliverance from this wretched body that crawled with hives, that was flooded with itchy blood and inflamed tissue and pain, whose oxygen sacs were filled with fluid instead of life-giving oxygen. I would confess myself into believing; what other choice did I have?

On the other side of the sword that law was my accuser; I berated myself for my unbelief. I must be a despicable human being to have so many physical problems. When I had those thoughts, I'd cling to another Bible confession, "There is no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus." I'd tell myself God loves me and doesn't want me beating myself, but what else could I do? The evidence of my unbelief was manifest for all to see.

Once I stepped outside Way doctrine, I began to heal.

What else could I do if I wanted freedom to live....