Bill Richardson, the healer with graying hair, slim body and energetic blue eyes quietly entered the hospital room at exactly seven as planned. This soft-spoken man with humble body posture totally shocked me. I was willing to push all the edges, call a healer when I’d never even met one, stay with people we didn’t even know, sneak children into a hospital room, anything to ease, cheer and hopefully heal my husband. Nothing in my emergency-mode leadership or planning had prepared me for what came next.

Bill opened with a prayer. (No surprise there) Then, without so much as placing his hands on Dave, he turned to me and instructed me calmly, “Put your hands anywhere on Dave that feels right to you, anywhere your intuition leads, remember how much you love this man, and let God do the rest.” Disappointment knifed through my chest. Why wasn’t the healer doing the healing? Who said I could do this? He was the expert.

Bill continued softly, “I’ll show you some positions we use in a healing form called polarity, but wherever you are guided to put your hands is the perfect place. When you use two hands, one can draw energy from where the concentration is too great to the area where concentration is too little. But now you can forget all that. Just trust God. I can feel that you do. Now let it happen.”

I don’t remember any thoughts except, “Let go, Donna. Let God do this.” As my hands rested on Dave, I prayed with my heart and soul. Bill then added his hands to the collection. He stayed an hour or more, doing the same thing I was doing – or so it appeared. I comforted my doubting-self with knowing Bill was there, hands on Dave too. Didn’t matter whether I could do it, he was the jumper cables to God really. My hands had become very hot. I tingled from finger tips to my face. Despite the fears, the drama, I felt calmer than seemed possible.

Dave only spoke once. “That feels good – wonderful.” His speech was slurred slightly as if he were very tired. He’d not thought to protest a stranger’s hands on him. If he was questioning or doubting, his peaceful face belied it. When looking at him, I heard the word “surrendered” in my mind. Dave lay still, breathing slowly and deeply, eyes closed, entire body relaxed, probably for the first time since the pain began.

Bill removed his hands, withdrawing them slowly. He told Dave to sleep if possible, not to try to talk or say “good-bye,” to stay in the receptive state he was in. Dave looked peaceful all right, pain-free and “out of it.” Ushering Bill to the door I whispered, “Can you come back tomorrow?” Then so as not to seem pushy or selfish, I softened it with, “or soon?”

“You don’t need me,” Bill answered. “You’re doing a great job. It only takes you, God and Dave.”

I started to protest, my thoughts ready to spew forth, “I don’t know how, I can’t, I…”

Bill saw the fear and the tears in my eyes. Giving me a hug, he said in the gentle voice like one would use with a child in a thunderstorm, “This isn’t about you or what you can do; it’s about God, you and Dave. You don’t have to know anything.”

I wasn’t exactly convinced or confident, but I would have felt stupid and ungrateful protesting. I thanked Bill profusely, took comfort from his offer that I could call him if I had questions, and turned to the bed to check on Dave. I didn’t know what to expect – a miracle? What form of a miracle? Instant? Would I be able to tell? Was Dave dreaming, sleeping or in some sort of trance? Please God, help Dave.

My hands were still tingly and hot, very hot. I wasn’t tired, but my engorged nursing breasts were starting to leak Debbie’s milk. Dave was sleeping peacefully as I kissed him and headed for Janice’s.

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