Jesus Heals For Real.


In the post David era of my life, the Bible has been a very comforting source of truth and healing. I’ve always possessed a deep-rooted belief in God but I had a long distance relationship with Jesus. I am certain that He was trying to reach me a few times by sending messages prior to my brother’s demise.

On two separate occasions only a couple of weeks apart, I had nice, young ladies try to talk to me about Jesus while I was waiting for the bus. Both times, my heart wasn’t fully open to receiving the Good News. Within that same period of time, one morning I was crossing the street and there was a picture of Jesus lying on the ground. It was an image of His face which was partially submerged in a puddle. I made direct eye contact with Him so I stopped in my tracks, picked Him up and took Him to the office with me. I propped the picture by my stationery set and left Him there for a couple of weeks and eventually He came home.

The devastating news about David’s departure caused me not to run to Jesus, but sprint. The really miraculous thing is that it felt like a natural step to take and the right thing to do. There was no hesitation or confusion about what needed to be done during such a great, heartbreaking loss.

I decided to attend a GriefShare group meeting held for people who are grieving by the strength of God. I arrived approximately 15 minutes before the scheduled time so that I could acquaint myself with the church. It was my first time attending this venue and good thing because I had no idea it would be a maze. I paced the halls back and forth looking for the designated room. I spotted a woman casually strolling around so I assumed she would be attending the same group. As soon as I started to speak with her, a man had appeared out of nowhere and announced that we should proceed to a room.

So I followed along while being caught up in conversation with my newly-found friend in faith.

As I entered the room, I was greeted by a very upbeat lady who introduced herself as the organizer of the event. The room was buzzing with people who were meeting and greeting one another. As I was speaking with the host, she had mentioned that there are a lot of families around Don Mills Road and Van Horne Avenue that attend the church. I asked her to repeat the address because I wasn’t sure if I heard right and she confirmed.

I was like, there you go again Lord.

Tell me, how did this woman pinpoint with precision the area where David was last alive? I told her about the divine connection that we had just experienced and she was happy to hear that. After a few minutes, I took a seat in the audience and waited for the session to begin. As I was chatting with my neighbour, a man approached us to introduce himself as he was the speaker and his name was…

You guessed it, David. Lord, thank you again.

After about 30 minutes of listening to David, I began to wonder why he was talking about converting the Muslims to Christianity. So I started to get my things together because that is not what I needed to comfort my grief. Before leaving the room, I exchanged contact info with the first woman I spotted in the hallway earlier. I may have been inadvertently guided to the wrong area of the church but that was no mistake. Silly me, I didn’t think to question where I was because I thought the GriefShare meeting would be the only event taking place that evening.

Who knew that church was such a happening place on a Tuesday?

After a couple of minutes, I was able to locate the right room where people weren’t trying to be missionaries. Instead, we watched a short film on the grieving process and had a chance to share our feelings. This was more up my alley because we get to delve further into the Gospel, recite verses and reflect on them together. I was happy that I ended up attending because I was a bit hesitant.

The lady sitting on one side of me was talking about the van attack and how she was there to mourn with others. She had mentioned her 26 years of service with a crisis team. The number 26 is very powerful because my brother and I were born on that day except we’re 2.5 years apart as he’s in May and I’m in January. I even have a small tattoo of the number on my inner ankle which I got done on my 26th birthday. I had another woman sitting on the other side of me and she lost her mother a few days before David left us. She was there with her sister and we all had to agree that this was one heck of a winter.

My heart was completely open as I looked around the room and heard people talk, cry and plead with God over their fallen loves. I was eager to share my experience and offer comfort to others while receiving their prayers in return.

Grief doesn’t discriminate because it can hit anyone at anytime and it will never go away.