My head was pounding as I walked across campus to begin my first night of work. With every step I took and every move I made, my head would pound. I could feel my heartbeat as the blood pumping through my head pulsated ever so painfully; I was in pain and I felt like throwing up. The Illinois January breeze didn’t help my circumstance either as I inhaled the gruesome two-degree air and felt the wind scratch my face. The five-minute walk felt like an hour as I dragged my limping body across the college. I had played snow football that morning with some friends which had caused my now daunting headache and pulled hip flexor to ache. Before heading over I frantically checked my room for the painkillers I thought I brought from home but with no success. Halfway through my short walk I looked up to the hidden stars and asked God to just help me. I always struggled with the concept of healing when it came to God actually healing me. But knowing that the next three and a half hours were going to be filled with loud noise and much interaction I asked God in desperation to heal me. I asked that if it were His will for me to have this pain to at least provide the strength to get through the night with a God-glorifying and grumbling-free attitude. As I reached the basement of the Billy Graham Hall and spoke with my co-workers waiting for our shift, I blurted out, “I just have a really bad headache!” As the words left my mouth I immediately wondered why I said it; I’ve never been one to share my physical pains with strangers in light of being perceived as a downer and the words escaped my lips now made me feel like an idiot. Right after I said it, however, a girl replied, “Do you want some ibuprofen?” At that moment, this stranger I’d never met before seemed like a messenger from God. As I gladly agreed and took it like it was manna in a pill I realized God’s work. In what felt like minutes my headache was unsensible and I was able to enjoy my first night of work with no pain. I’m convinced that God squished me like a plastic bottle so that the words requesting for help had to escape.
Psalm 121:1-3, “I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber;”
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