In the Lutheran parochial school I attended as a child I was taught to fear God, and that I risked punishment for sin. When I was 17 years old, my younger sister died of a brain tumor, and I began to question everything that I had been taught. I could not understand how God could allow this. Her death left me confused and angry. I became more of a doubter than a believer. I came to the conclusion that I could only believe in myself. I pushed myself, I worked hard; I became an over-achiever and eventually a workaholic. This program propelled me to financial success, but it was accompanied by personal failure. I learned that the love of money can bring financial gains that are accompanied by personal loss.

I became an empty person. I couldn't stand success and began to self-destruct. I lost everything, my friends, those who had pretended to be my friends and my family. It was all like an unbelievable soap opera -- and before it was over I learned quite a bit about the judicial system, the Mafia, extortion and revenge. There were times when I feared for my life and for the lives of the members of my family. It was the kind of situation that causes one to think about taking his own life.

But I wasn't ready for that option. The love I had for my children gave me courage and made me determined to try again. I wanted to be a believer in something bigger than myself, but it was difficult. It would take a miracle. I carefully planned a comeback. I wanted to be successful again and not make some of the same mistakes. The task seemed monumental.

In the process I met an independent preacher named Andy. He worked for me on a part-time basis and we soon became friends. He wasn't pushy with his religion, so I decided to go to one of his church services on a Wednesday night. It was quite unusual to say the least. Wednesday night was testimony night. The opening song service was quite an experience. The songs had beautiful melodies and were easy to sing. When they sang songs like "He Touched Me" and "O, How I Love Jesus," I noticed that many had tears in their eyes as they sang with great feeling. I felt touched by this, and quite uncomfortable. The testimonies that followed were as impressive to me as the song service. People spoke about what God had done for them, how God answered prayer and healed them. Was this real? Do they know a different God than I do, I wondered? It was all so confusing.

I didn't know if I could believe it, but I went back to observe more. I knew these people had something I didn't have. I guess it was a simple faith in God. It seemed like a good way to live, but I still wondered if it was real. If there was no God, I think we would have to invent one to keep our sanity. I tried to keep an open mind on the subject. I found myself reading the Bible because I was hungry for truth.

One Saturday night my mother called to tell me that my grandmother was gravely ill. I needed strength to face this so I went to church the next morning before going to the hospital to see her. That morning Andy spoke of the healing power of Jesus. I cornered him after church and said, "Andy, are you sure he heals today?" He was sure. I marked several of the healing promises in my Bible and then I went to the hospital. As I entered the waiting room, I saw that many of my relatives were there to pay their last visit to Grandma. The pastor of her church was about to get on the elevator after praying with her. I stopped him for a brief talk. I said, "Don't you believe God has the ability to heal people?" He assured me he believed that God does have the power to heal, but he added that we all have a time to die. I knew he was right, but a voice in the back of my mind said, "Prove me and know that I am God."

I followed my cousin and his wife into Grandma's room in the intensive care unit. When I spoke to Grandma she regained consciousness, and her smile told me that she was pleased to see her oldest grandson. I got right to the point. "Grandma, do you want me to pray that God will heal you?" She agreed. The four of us held hands and I prayed for her healing. It was a special moment. The nurses and other members of the hospital staff who were present stood with tears in their eyes. When I finished I had a feeling that Grandma was healed. My cousin's wife knew it, also. Grandma fell into a deep sleep. When we went out to the waiting room, my relatives were talking about Grandma being ready to pass away. The doctor had told them that she would not live through the day. I said, "Grandma is not going to die today. She is healed." I went home and then back to the church for the Sunday evening service.

On Monday morning my mother called to tell me that Grandma had made a complete recovery. I said, "What did the doctor have to say about this recovery?" She answered, "He said it was a miracle." I believe God knew just what I needed. I had the audacity to take God at his word, and God cared enough not to let me make a fool of myself.

Author's Note: Gerald Wagner shared this story of his grandmother's healing with a new member class in our church in the Spring of 1990. It is printed here in his own words. Mr. Wagner, an independent semi-truck driver, lives in Kenissha, Wisconsin.