Finding Hallelujah Under His Skin

The first time I remember it happening was in October of last year. James and I went running and half way through our normal routine he began to complain that he didn’t feel good. He said his skin “hurt” and it felt like someone was stabbing him with a million needles. When I went to touch him, wondering if he had a fever, he pulled away, saying that his skin felt like wet toilet paper and he was afraid it would tear if I touched him. I was concerned, but figured he had just gotten overheated during the run. He, however, said it had happened several times before when he had gotten warm.

Over the next few months whenever we would do any kind of physical activity the pain increased and James began having difficulty doing anything which caused him to break a sweat. Right before Christmas we agreed that he needed to see a doctor.

The first doctor we went to was a general practioner. She did a barrage of tests, mostly to make sure he didn’t have diabetes or some other easily detectable disease. The tests all came back negative. And while the doctor was cordial, James felt like she thought his symptoms were all in his head. So it was almost to James’ relief when he started having a horrible rash along with the pain. The doctor suggested that we see a dermatologist.

James and I then scheduled an appointment with a dermatology center, where he was almost immediately diagnosed him with Cholinergic Uticeraia, which is a fancy word for constant hives.These hives though were a little different because James’ body basically thought that his skin cells were a foreign invader and every time he became hot from exercise or sitting in the sun, his body attacked his skin cells, almost like an autoimmune disease. While one might hope that this diagnosis would bring some kind of relief or solution to the problem, the doctor’s words to us were, “Well this will probably just get worse and worse over the next 40 years until your metabolism starts to shut down.” We explained to her that it was excruciatingly painful, that it was changing our life and affecting James at his job. She politely told us that there was nothing she could do, and that this was one of the worst cases she had seen. She then suggested that we go see an allergist to see if he could suggest anything that might help.

We saw an allergist and he was not helpful. He told James that the condition would just be “an inconvenience” he would need to learn to live with. It felt like a death sentence. The allergist prescribed some different medications, but none of them worked, they didn’t even touch the symptoms or the pain.

Despite what the doctor told us, James’ condition was more than an inconvence. Every week it was getting worse. A lot worse. James began having trouble walking up stairs. He was taking time off of work and it started happening even when he wasn’t warm. And it didn’t just affect him physically. Emotionally it was taking its toll—on both of us. One night when we were driving, James told me that he felt like a different person. “I saw a kayak on someone’s car today. I used to think ‘Oh that’d be so much fun.’ But now I just think about how much it would hurt to do things.” Some days I would come home and he would be sitting on the couch crying. I never knew if it was the pain or the loss of so much that he loved—not that it mattered, they both seemed to hurt the same.

During this time we prayed. A lot. And so did lots of other people. People we knew and people we had never met.  We prayed for healing. We prayed for hope. We prayed for perseverance. I prayed for me. I prayed that I would know how to support him and love him and I prayed that I wouldn’t become angry. You wouldn’t think anger would be something you’d experience towards your husband who was in excruciating pain 75% of the day, but it’s what I felt. Sometimes I would get so angry because he couldn’t go running with me or we couldn’t go hiking. Pretty selfish, I know. But it’s the truth. I would also get angry at people who had no idea the amount of pain James was in. James did a pretty good job of hiding his pain. He didn’t tell very many people what was going on, and the people that did know, he often didn’t tell when he was having an “attack”. He would just excuse himself and go into the other room or go into the bathroom where people couldn’t see him.

Two months ago we were praying with some friends and I was wrecked over everything going on. There was a lot happening on in our life. We were preparing to move to California so I could go to graduate school. James had an interview with a new job. I needed to find a place to intern. We were trying to figure out how to make it financially. My stress level was high, but all these things seemed to pale in comparison to what was happening with James. Things were getting to be so bad. I felt so incredibly broken over him and over the realization that this was our life. My sister began praying with me. Silently. Which is all I could handle, God knew that no amount of words from anyone could touch the ache in my heart. Which I guess is why He spoke to me so powerfully and said “I see you. I see James, yes. But I see YOU. I see you weeping from the ache of watching your husband suffer and I care about that as much as anything else.”

It was right to the heart. And I was at peace. We prayed for James that night and it was good and God’s presence was in the room.

Several weeks later at our prayer group, James felt no pain while worshiping. He didn’t lose his voice like he had been because of how the disease affected his muscles and he didn’t have to sit down or slow down his rhythm. James had one attack that week. That next Sunday during church James sang like a crazy man and he felt no pain and he had no rash.  I was shocked. We were full swing into summer and there was no sign of his tormenting disease. Over the next two weeks during packing, moving, working on cars, running around, sweating profusely James has not had ONE attack. He doesn’t complain of his skin feeling like it’s going to tear or of the feeling of a million needles stabbing him.

I have only one explanation for this after going through blood tests and biopsies and a death sentence feeling diagnosis—James has been, without a doubt in my mind, miraculously and wonderfully healed by the power of a living God.

I wanna sing Hallelujah thank you JESUS! I don’t know how to tell you about the overwhelming joy that I have. I want to tell everyone I know. I want to tell people I pass by on the street. I want to scream out, “Thank you Jesus, I have found Hallelujah under his skin!” I don’t care if I sound like a crazy televangelist or some weirdo Pentecostal. Why? Because I’ve experienced the power of God affecting the deepest part of my life, the most vulnerable part of my heart, the most valuable thing in the world. Several years ago I might have been embarrassed to write this down for people to read. I might have been afraid of coming off “too Christian” or “too cheesy”, but right now I don’t care who thinks what, I just want everyone to know the most beautiful part about the power of God in my story right now.

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