18 THE DIVINE TOUCH

18 THE DIVINE TOUCH

Nita had lived that week as one continuous day, hardly able to sleep for the excitement and anticipation. She began counting off the hours some four days before the event, urging the clock to hurry, hurry. She wanted time to speed away, so her Jesus could touch her.

She could see it already in her mind's eye. She could see the gnarled fingers and toes straightening. She could see her hands growing strong and healthy. She could see these miserable skinny legs filling out and straightening. She could see the bloated stomach shrinking to its normal size. She could hear her voice returning. She could see her vision coming back. She could see movement. She could see herself walking.

She could see herself whole.

It was no problem to see it all. It required no imagination, no mental talent. She was very sure.

Thursday night was a waste as far as sleep was concerned. The sun may as well have never set. Nita checked the clock every few minutes, and filled the time in between with prayer and praises to her Lord. But the night lingered on like an unwanted guest and would not go away. Finally she could wait no longer. As the hour hand of the clock crawled toward five, she buzzed her sleepy attendant and had her turn on Radio Sri Lanka. She also wanted her big wristwatch set precisely. She wanted to be ready for her appointment. She trusted that God had given her the promise in Sri Lanka time!

As she lay there, the tension of anticipation steadily mounted. Again and again she looked at the time and each hour she reminded herself of the promise.

At ten o'clock: "In five and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed."

At eleven o'clock: "In four and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed."

At noon: "In three and a half hours, I'm coming off this bed. Glory to God!"

Nita asked the attendant to place her slippers next to her bed. They had rarely been worn in the past year. The attendant laughed.

"Oh, you're planning to take a walk, eh?" she asked as she put them in place.

Obviously she had forgotten the piece of paper hidden somewhere in her bedroom, and Nita kept quiet. She would see soon enough what her Jesus was going to do.

The woman gave Nita her morning sponge bath on schedule, but her patient requested the afternoon ritual to be a bit early - perhaps 12:30? She wanted to be sure she was ready in plenty of time for her appointment with the gracious Great Physician.

At 12:30 Nita watched the attendant's hands rubbing the sponge across her lifeless flesh as she had for so very many days. She could see movement through her weakened eyes, but she could not feel the sponge.

Just three more hours, she said to herself, and I'm going to be totally healed. The confidence was absolute. She knew she would feel again in three hours, totally restored by God. Even the simple sensation of a sponge bath would be wonderful.

But maybe, Nita thought, since God's power is so great. .. maybe I'm already a little healed right now. The attendant finished her work and reached under Nita's body with both arms to roll her over. It had always been like lifting a sack of potatoes before. Nita decided to jack her head up off the pillow, to see how healed she was.

The muscles were as dead as ever. She couldn't move the first inch. She tried each mental lever in succession, but all the connections were still unplugged: no voice, no vision, no muscular control - nothing.

Still, her faith was solid. The oldest daughter of Doubting Thomas was vanquished. The faithless, scoffing university student had died, and in her place was a new creature, full of faith. It didn't occur to this new Nita to think, Hey, it might not happen; I might not be healed. God had short-circuited her doubting apparatus. The old Nita would have analysed and fretted over such a leap from cripple to conqueror. But the new Nita was not trying to help God do His work at all. She could still recall the calm, authoritative voice that had given her the promise: "Nita, I'm going to raise you up to be a witness to Asia. I'm going to heal you on Friday the eleventh of February."

How she would ever take the gospel to Asia she had no idea. But of her healing, of the date and the hour, she was utterly sure. God had given her the supernatural gift of faith. For the new Nita, the healing had already happened. All that remained was the gathering of the evidence!

In the past the afternoon sponging had always led to the same thing: the attendant would dress her in clean bedclothes. Today Nita stopped her.

"Bring me my slacks."

She had planned it all, days in advance. She knew just what she would be wearing when Jesus came in: a simple light green shirt, and the same pair of black-and-white checked slacks that she had been wearing as she bumped down the stairs of St. Bede's.

The attendant looked at her hesitantly, sceptically. Nita had not worn slacks at all in nearly a year. She would have to remove the heavy metal calipers from her legs.

"Go ahead!" Nita said decisively. "And take those rotten sandbags as well."

After months of gross weight loss, the slacks hung on her like shower curtains. But Nita was content. To walk again wearing these same slacks would satisfy her sense of dramatic irony.

When the attendant had carefully lain her back down on the bed, fully dressed, her eyes immediately locked in again, magnet-like, on her wristwatch. Gradually, prayerfully, Nita's eyes closed for longer stretches, as she began to be enveloped in the awesome presence of God.

She was beautifully calm, resting on a cloud of assurance, lost in the love of her Heavenly Father. Again she was floating out into the beautiful Indian Ocean, resting happily on her daddy's shoulders, confident of his strength, sure of his love. There were no doubts to disturb the moment, no questions to interrupt the tranquillity. The Father was there. Her Father was in firm and loving control.

As Nita slipped ever nearer to the heart of God, the chosen few who would witness the miracle began to assemble reverently around her.

At two o'clock, Colton and Suzanne arrived, solemn and quiet. They knew this would soon be holy ground. It was clear from the glow of Nita's face that the transformation would soon begin. They didn't talk to her at all, but sat down and began to pray quietly.

Colton's secretary Beryl had interceded in prayer for Nita with unmatched fervour during her illness. Colton felt she should be present. She arrived and joined the graceful travail.

Two women doctors, stepped into the room. They were medical professors who loved the Lord and who had examined and treated Nita during parts of her long ordeal. They had no hint of what was going to happen here; Colton had only invited them to a special time of prayer. They were honoured. They knew Nita Edwards was in seclusion and only a select few had ever been behind these doors.

Colton's youngest son Michaele arrived without his brother. He sat outside Nita's bedroom door to make room for the others. After a while he got thirsty and, with no idea of what he would miss, left to get a milkshake.

At three o'clock, Colton read a passage of Scripture. Even today, no one who was in the room remembers what passage he read. The presence of God was already so overwhelming that everything else was thoroughly submerged.

Then Colton knelt beside the bed to pray, and the others followed his lead - except for Dr. Sudo, who because of her pregnancy sat in a chair.

Nita's mother knelt to her daughter's left, closest to her. Colton and Suzanne were on the right, toward the foot of the bed. Days before, Nita had teased them about keeping their distance. "You never know what the Lord's going to do." It would turn out to be wise advice.

The room was filled with prayer and a sense of awe, and the supernatural transformation began. At 3:20 Nita looked at her watch for the last time. She knew beyond any shred of doubt that her days as a paralytic cripple were fast coming to an end. In that moment, by faith, she crossed the chasm between earth's time and God's time. And she was suddenly living in a capsule of eternity. Minutes and seconds became meaningless as the Holy Spirit bathed her in supernatural life, making her more alive than she had ever been.

Nita felt her spirit being lifted, and she soared with it. Her paralysed throat was gurgling and rasping praises to God. She was unable to stop bursting with praise.

Colton opened his eyes, amazed to hear it. In all his months of fiery ministry to her, and remembering all the people who had stood by her bed prophesying and speaking in tongues, he had never seen Nita open up in her worship. She had never even led in prayer. She had wept, she had entered into prayer, but her Episcopalian propriety had always prevailed . . . she had always been careful not to engage in that "raucous behaviour."

Until now. Even without a voice, she was crying out, before the Throne, without regard to the people around her . . . in keen anticipation of what God was about to do for her.

The power of God invaded the room, from the right side of her bed, like a ball of fire. The glory of God burst in, flooding that tiny space with such intensity that the inhabitants were swept up in it, and overcome by it. It was like looking directly at the noonday sun, and only being able to take in a tiny fraction of the radiance.

The air was charged with a fantastic burst of electricity.

Nita's bed began to vibrate with the energy of God's presence, and she felt a million volts of power coursing through her body. Every cell, every fibre, every tissue of her body pulsed with it. Wave after wave rolled through the full length of her. She was oblivious to her surroundings, to the others. She was longing to see Jesus.

Just at 3:30, He came into the room with blinding glory, phenomenal brilliance, impossible radiance. Nita gazed into His face, and everything within her struggled to reach out to Him, to draw even one bit closer to Him. Her healing was no more a factor. She was unaware of her own physical condition. Her physical realm had evaporated. She only longed to touch Him ... to connect somehow with that fabulous source of light and love.

In later years, when Nita tried to talk about it, she was never able to satisfy herself with words. Nothing ever came close to capturing the majesty of those moments. But as she struggled to describe the encounter, her arms often ached with the tension of that beautiful longing.

As she looked at Him, He moved toward her. She was suspended in time and space, filled beyond capacity by the unfathomable love of God. He came to the foot of her bed, and then He reached out with a nail-scarred hand.

And He touched her.

One time.