Sometimes, healing comes in ways we never expect.
As a mother, watching my children struggle to breathe through relentless coughs and wheezing shook me to my core. Despite countless hospital visits, prescriptions, and desperate prayers, relief seemed just out of reach. But in my darkest hour, I encountered something extraordinary—a divine whisper and an unforgettable dream of my late grandmother. What unfolded next would forever change the way I understood faith, healing, and the unseen hands of grace.
A Mother's Desperation
The midnight hour was filled with the sound of hacking and persistent coughs from my young sons. My heart raced with each wheeze, and my hands trembled as I tried to comfort them. My younger son, Ramael, had been born with severe asthma and allergies, but my oldest, Rick Jr., had never shown symptoms before. This sudden illness consumed my thoughts with worry.
At the local children's hospital, nurses rushed to care for them, their faces masked with professionalism yet etched with concern. A weary-eyed doctor explained that the year 2000 had brought an unusually harsh cold and flu season to Memphis, indiscriminately affecting children—even those without prior respiratory issues.
For weeks, I followed every instruction, prayed for relief, and clung to hope. But one night, as their labored breathing grew worse, desperation gripped me. My husband and I rushed them back to the hospital once more, only to hear the same reassurances: more breathing treatments, more prescriptions, more waiting.
A Whisper in the Dark
At 5 a.m., exhausted and disheartened, I heard 'the voice'—gentle yet insistent. "There's another way."
My husband noticed my distress. "Something's heavy on your mind," he said, his voice tender yet probing.
I hesitated before finally admitting, "I keep hearing this voice. It keeps telling me, 'There's another way.'"
I didn’t understand the meaning yet, but I knew I had to seek answers in prayer.
A Leap of Faith
By Saturday, my boys’ condition had worsened. Panic threatened to consume me. Then, the voice spoke again—this time, with urgency.
"Don't take them to the hospital. They'll overdose on more drugs trying to fix the issue. Instead, pray and trust God to give you the answer you need."
I thought of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis 22—the moment when faith required sacrifice. Just as God redirected Abraham to the ram in the bushes, I felt called to trust in divine wisdom rather than my own fear.
A Dream and a Divine Message
That night, exhaustion overtook me, and I slipped into a deep sleep. In my dream, I found myself in my parents' home, and in the dimly lit kitchen stood my Grandmother Virginia—as vibrant and alive as she had been in my childhood.
She looked at me with a radiant smile. "Now you know I told y'all to go get that baby some Father John's. Go get those chil'rens some Father John's and they'll be alright."
I pleaded for her to stay, to talk to me longer, but she simply shook her head. "I can't stay, chile. Now go on head and take care of dem chil'ren now, ya hear?"
As she faded away, I awoke with my heart pounding—but also with an unshakable certainty.
A Divine Confirmation
I rushed to check on my boys. Their breathing was soft, steady—almost healed. Still, I knew I had to find Father John's Medicine, the remedy my grandmother had urged me to seek.
With urgency, I woke my husband. "I had a dream about Grandma Virginia. She told me to get Father John's medicine."
He blinked sleepily but trusted my conviction. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I said. "I feel it in my bones."
I drove through the quiet streets of Memphis, guided by the voice. It told me exactly where to go: Walgreens.
When I arrived, I scanned the shelves, growing anxious—until the voice whispered again: "Look on the top shelf."
And there it was. The orange vintage box of Father John’s Medicine, waiting for me like an answered prayer.
Healing and Revelation
For three days, I faithfully gave my sons the bitter, medicinal Spoonfuls. By the fourth morning, something miraculous happened—their breathing was clear, their energy restored, their sickness gone.
As I held them in my arms, overwhelmed with gratitude, my oldest son asked, "Mom, why are you crying?"
I smiled through my tears. "God answered my prayers. He sent Grandma Virginia back to us to heal and bless her great-grandchildren."
My father had always told me that people in Somerville, TN believed Grandma Virginia had ‘healing hands.’ She was known as a medicine doctor, a woman who mixed prayer, herbs and remedies to heal others.
Now, standing in the presence of my healthy sons, I felt that truth more than ever. Her healing hands had reached across time to guide me.
A Reflection on Faith
This experience solidified something deep in my heart: I now had no doubt that ‘the voice’ was God speaking to me. Through faith, obedience, and trust, He had led me to the exact solution my children needed.
Healing doesn’t always come how we expect—but if we listen, pray, and trust, God’s wisdom will always guide the way.
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