I'm sitting in a wheelchair and am at a conference where the speaker is talking about healing. He asks the crowd if there is anyone who wants to be healed. The room is silent, but my voice is loud and clear and desperate: Me! I want to healed. I want to be healed! Slowly, slowly, slowly I stand up and put one foot in front of the other, determined to get to the front of the room.

Someone had this dream about me a couple of weeks ago in Phoenix, and I didn't understand or care to understand. I'm at a place right now where I can acknowledge the weight of this dream and admit that I need God to continue to heal me. Jeez. I'm weak and foolish and prideful. There are areas in my life that I don't want God to see. He sees me, and he wants to heal me. No more skirting around the issue or trying to sweep it under the rug. I want to be completely, irrevocably healed. What does this mean for me? I know that God healed me on the cross but what do I need to do to get my heart to accept that truth? He tells me that I don't need to do anything; he tells me that healing comes with receiving his love and allowing him to become bigger than self-condemnation and sin.