On Tuesday January 28th in 1986 my oldest son “Mahli” became ill, I took him to the emergency room of Children’s Hospital and when they assessed him as only having a high temperature, they instructed me to give him dosages of pain reliever and plenty of rest. The next day, his temperature was even higher and we return to the emergency room to receive the same assessment and outcome, we became disturbed in our peace. By the on third day I appeared again with my infant son of a temperature of greater degrees than our prior visits, my son was reassessed and sent home again! Even though, I expressed his elevating temperatures, his loss of appetite, and unusual sleeping patterns, they did nothing more.
Meanwhile, my son’s father became extremely aggregated and returned to the emergency room and refused to leave until they could explain what was happening to our 6-month-old infant son. At the time, I was attending night school to complete my high school diploma, upon my departure for the evening, my son’s godfather (my son’s father best friend) was waiting outside to tell me the news, of “Mahli” being held in ICU. We rushed to intensive care, to sign the documents to have a spinal-tap perform (a very painful procedure) on our son. I cried and began to pray and before he was admitted to a room, I stated “My Son Will Not Die” The test proved that our son was diagnosed with Meningococcal Meningitis, we had no clue if how he could had been affected without the other members of our household having no trace of a strand of this disease. The practitioners had no hope to give us and wanted us to be prepared for his death. Family members of out if town began to cone to the hospital, thinking I needed their support… again, I stated repeatedly ” My Son Will Not Die”.
Our “Mahli” was admitted into the hospital and his father contacted every relative, we had members coming from all ends of the earth to somehow support us, but, all they only added more drama to the difficult circumstance. Even more than that, the hospital was so convinced that our son would ide, that they had the clergyman to visit my son’s room to speak with us. I wanted nothing more than for our son to be healed and finally go home. I wasn’t rude, I just kept saying to everyone the same thing “My Son Will Not Die”. The physicians tried to talk about making funeral arrangements and letting go and I put them all out of his room. As the week progresses, my son’s condition grew worse. Yes, I saw all the cords in my baby from support of a machine, and yes, I did notice that he was near death and slipping in and out of a coma, but not more than my son being healed of this awful disease. Amazingly after nearly two weeks, the experts saw a miracle on Friday, February 14, 1986 when my “Mahli” was free of the dreadful infection and was being discharged from the hospital. My oldest son is currently in his thirties and I will never forget the day I had to believe beyond his grim conditions, more than what the specialists predicted said, and regardless of what others may have thought. I owe it all to GOD and I will never give that credit to none other than HIM. Thank YOU, JESUS (yes, YOU, alone, PAID FOR IT ALL AND IT IS FINISHED)!
I do believe that we all are faced with some sort of difficulty in life and we are to help one of another in whatever part we can assist another with. GOD healed my son, not because of the size of my faith, nor was it because I was a Christian) in fact, I was unsaved at that time), it was because I believed beyond what “they said”; the real circumstances shown”; and what others thought. I didn’t believe it more than my son being healed and set free.