Snapped out of the fogginess of an early morning sleep, I cried out in excruciating pain. Nearly unable to catch my breath, I was captured by surprise at my predicament of being unable to move the lower part of my body.

Caught off guard by my cries, my husband scurried about trying to devise a plan to lift me out of the bed and get me to help. He called our good friend and neighbour to come assist him in carrying me out of the house to the car. As soon as he attempted to move my legs, the tears began to pour profusely down my pain stricken face.

I had never experienced such suffering in all my years.

Our friend did what he felt was the most sensible thing to do and called the paramedics to come to the rescue. Before long two uniformed strangers waltzed into the holy of holies of our home- our bedroom- and began to pepper me with questions. There I laid entangled in my bedsheets wearing my pyjamas. I could not move. I could barely catch a full breath. And when I blew my nose because of all the salty tears I winced at the pain of it all.

Vitals we taken, more questions we asked, and before long I was greeted with even greater news. The paramedics were unable to carry me down our staircase for its curve and landing would make it a difficult feat. But, sweet mercy, firefighters are specifically trained to do it and they were on their way. Sure enough four strapping men come jumping out of an oversized red truck parked in front of my driveway. The neighbours were getting breakfast and a show.

More strangers in my bedroom. More questions. They talked amongst themselves devising a plan on how they would get this poor soul out of her house. I closed my eyes willing myself to disappear as they strapped me to a board. I tried my very hardest not to cry some more. Tired, with greasy hair and wrinkled pyjamas, I kept my eyes shut as one of the men whispered softly words of reassurance as they lowered me down the staircase. Softly, gently, he spoke. But I felt no fear. Just the sting of embarrassment and utter humiliation as these men were attempting to carry me to my healing.

It was when I was halfway down the stairs with my eyes squeezed tightly closed that I felt the gentle voice of the Lord speak to my heart. He brought to the forefront of my mind the story of the paralytic man found in the Gospel of Mark. This man was paralyzed and crippled unable to get himself to the help he so desperately needed. The scriptures tell us that the crowd gathered both inside and outside his home was so great they were unable to get through the doorway so a plan was devised to lift him through the roof and lower him to Jesus. With the assistance of four men who gathered on each corner of his bed, the paralytic man was carried to his healing.

Many people gathered together so that there was no room in the house, not even outside the door. And Jesus was teaching them God’s message. Four people came, carrying a paralyzed man. Since they could not get to Jesus because of the crowd, they dug a hole in the roof right above where he was speaking. When they got through, they lowered the mat with the paralyzed man on it. When Jesus saw the faith of these people, he said to the paralyzed man, “Young man, your sins are forgiven.”
Mark 2:2-5

The gentle voice of God spoke to my heart, appealing to my soul, so that I would see beyond my own discomfort, embarrassment, and utter humiliation. He desired that I see a greater truth and it would prevail in my memory. The truth that no matter the cost, no matter the discomfort, the One who carries us to our healing does so to preserve our human dignity. He does so believing we are worthy of being forgiven for the love of the Father simply cannot be measured.