According to the American Medical Association, an estimated 75 million Americans suffer from chronic pain. Healthy people would not find this number alarming because they don’t understand what chronic pain is. Chronic pain is silent but devastating, it comes uninvited and stays as long as it pleases, and sometimes it doesn’t go away at all. When it is in full force, it numbs the mind and makes one think irrational thoughts. Although its path doesn’t leave marks of blood or bruises, its brutal strength sucks out the joy of life and leaves a person in desperate fear and hopelessness.

My pain started when, as a school teacher, I was packing up books at the end of the school year. At first I felt a mild pain in my back which I didn’t pay much attention to. Then one day as I was lifting a stack of books, my shoulders and upper arms suddenly felt a sharp pain, and then went numb. This was the beginning of months of therapy, agony, and pain.

At first my doctor treated me with physical therapy, chiropractic adjustments, and medication, but nothing relieved the pain. Then he sent me to have an MRI and, shockingly, the MRI revealed two unrelated findings: a ruptured disk in my neck and an additional incidental finding of a lesion growing inside my thoracic spinal cord.

During this time, I was in constant pain because of the ruptured disk in the cervical area. My neck, shoulders, and upper arms were so weak that I could not carry anything more than five pounds. Strangely enough, the lesion in my thoracic spine didn’t bother me at all, but because of the seriousness of this finding, I had to shift focus from my neck to my back. I needed to find the best neurosurgeon to operate on my spinal cord.

One day my daughter found on the internet a Dr. Philip Weinstein, director of the Spine Center at UCSF, who had very impressive credentials. I called Dr. Weinstein’s office, explained my medical condition to the person who answered the phone, and asked to make an appointment. I was told to fax all the MRI reports, and if they could see me, they would call me to schedule an appointment. It would probably take a week.

A week went by, but no one called from UCSF. I earnestly prayed for God to prepare the right doctor for me because the task seemed impossible to carry out by myself. I searched elsewhere and decided to make an appointment to see Dr. Welsh, a reputable neurosurgeon close to home. The day I drove to his office, I prayed that God would lead me to the right doctor.

After reviewing the MRI films carefully, Dr. Welsh told me that what was in my spinal cord was called a vascular malformation, and it was a rare condition. It was a bunch of abnormal blood vessels growing and entangling together, and I had probably had it for many years. He honestly said that he didn’t want to treat me because of the delicate situation of the spinal cord. Then he said, “There’s a spine specialist in UCSF who can help you. I’m going to refer you to see Dr. Weinstein.” Immediately I thanked God.

Dr. Weinstein reviewed my MRI and he, too, said my condition was rare. He then very assuringly and warmly explained to me the risks of having surgery. He affirmed that this was not a tumor and was not cancerous, but it needed to be treated. Rather than doing surgery immediately, he gave me the option of being monitored closely by a neurologist and having an MRI done quarterly to make sure the lesion had not grown. This was the option I chose, thinking I could put the problem behind me for a long while.

My peace of mind was short lived, however. About a month after I visited Dr. Weinstein, my left foot started to tingle, with bits of numbing sensations. Then the tingling progressed to my right foot, then my ankles, and then my calves. This new development put me in a state of intense fear since my shoulders and arms were losing strength every day. The worst thoughts began to creep into my mind. What kind of life would I be living if I didn’t have the functions of my arms and my legs? I thought of all the possible disabilities that might await me, yet I was too afraid to share my fears with anyone. At this point I lost all hope, and I fell into a prison of pain and hopelessness—a slimy pit so deep that I couldn’t climb out of it.

Inadvertently, I began to question God and myself. What if the God I have believed in for so many years turns out to be a joke? What if I have been serving the wrong God all this time? Why doesn’t God answer my prayers if He claims to be so powerful? He healed so many other people, why not me? Maybe God is over-rated, and I should just forget the whole thing. But after much struggling and days of wrestling with God, I realized if I forsook my faith now, I would have nothing left. What kind of a fool would I be to get angry at God at a time when I needed Him the most? I couldn’t think of a person more foolish than to face life or death without God. In the end, I asked God to speak to me. I asked Him to show me His purpose in my pain.

At night I read the Psalms and tried to cling to God’s promises. I felt God speak to me through His words, yet the pain in my shoulders and the numbness in my feet persisted. There were only two options for my irrational mind: to stop the pain or to stop living. I wanted to die. I asked God to take me home. I confessed my sins daily and prayed for God to grant my wish. The Psalms became my prayer every night. But living was still too painful for me, and I fantasized about dying.

Throughout this year I experienced other difficulties as well. My father passed away, and during his memorial service, I didn’t know if I was crying for him or for myself. I actually envied his getting to go home to be with the Lord, where he had no pain. Also, someone came into my classroom and stole my wallet with all my IDs, credit cards, and checkbook. When this happened, the Bible character Job came into my mind. Because of what was happening to me, I started to read the book of Job every night. I have to say I had never liked the book of Job. The reason I didn’t like the book was that I didn’t understand the book; I couldn’t accept what happened in it, and I didn’t want to be like Job. But I wanted to find out how Job dealt with his suffering. As I was reading it, I found myself relating to Job more and more. I knew I was not Job, but I actually understood what he was going through in a small way. Job wanted to die, too—just like I did!

There were many things in the book I didn’t understand, but I kept on reading. Just like me, Job had questions for the Lord. He didn’t understand why all the bad things had happened to him. But in the end, the Lord showed His greatness to him, and He spoke to Job out of the storm: “Would you discredit my justice? Would you condemn me to justify yourself?” That was exactly how I felt toward God. I questioned why He was allowing all the bad things to happen to me. What good could come out of it? What was the purpose of it?

In the midst of Job’s despair and frustration, he replied to God, “Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know... My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes” (Job 42:3-6).

Reading these words opened my eyes to see the heavenly light. I wanted to see God. I prayed, “God, my ears have heard of your healing all kinds of people—young and old, far and near. I have heard of you through others’ mouths, by reading books and magazines, by listening to sermons and testimonies. But now, I want to see you with my own eyes. Please show yourself to me through this ordeal so I know you are in it.” I prayed this prayer many days.

But my condition didn’t get better; my legs continued to get worse as days went by. Dr. Weinstein recommended surgery, and he spelled out all the steps taken in the surgery and the risks involved. He also told me there would be no guarantee. But the decision was not difficult. The surgery date was set.

Many friends and acquaintances prayed for me. They showed their concerns by calling, visiting, sending cards and emails, and bringing food to my doorstep. Teachers and students from my school sent flowers. I was genuinely touched by all the love showered Christians. The Book of Psalms came alive and sustained me every day. I cried before the Lord every night: “Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint; O Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O Lord, how long? Turn, O Lord, and deliver me; save me because of your unfailing love. No one remembers you when he is dead. Who praises you from the grave? I am worn out from groaning; all night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears” (Ps. 6:2-6). At this point, I was willing to accept God’s divine plan for me, and I had peace from above in my heart.

On the day of the surgery, we arrived at UCSF at 6 o’clock in the morning. While in the surgery waiting room, I momentarily closed my eyes, and a scene from the Bible came to my eyes. I saw a few men carrying a blanket with a man lying inside. When they got to a small house, the men pulled the blanket and the man up to the roof; then they took the roof apart and lowered the man into the house—in front of Jesus! Jesus saw the man, and He healed him. Remembering this familiar Bible story gave me assurance that God would heal me.

My husband came into the waiting room right afterwards, and the nurse called my name, and we were led to the surgery prep room. Then all the events unfolded quite quickly. Many procedures were happening all at the same time, and it took more than an hour before they were ready to wheel me to the operating room. Inconceivably, during all that time, there was a sweet peace inside of me that surpassed all understanding. I was not nervous, and there were no butterflies in my stomach. I just felt peaceful and rested, not anxious at all.

“Katherine, Katherine,” someone was calling my name. I opened my eyes and found myself on the gurney in the hallway.

“Am I going into surgery now?” I asked.

“No, you’re done already.”

Oh, what a relief! All done! And there’s no pain! And I could wiggle my toes! God had answered my prayer. I was healed.

In the recovery room, Dr. Weinstein came close to me and said the most wonderful words, “Katherine, you’re cured. I’m proud of you.” I held his hand and thanked him.

During the six days I stayed in the hospital, the nurses had to use a blanket to move me because my spine could not be bent, turned, or twisted. They positioned me on a blanket in order to pull or lift me, just the way the men helped the paralytic in the Bible story. After I got home from the hospital, my family used a small blanket to help move me up and down in bed so my spine could be kept neutral. The blanket was an important element in my recovery until I could get in and out of bed myself a month later.

My recovery went really well and fast. I was able to walk with a walker in the hospital on the third day after the surgery. The nurses looked at me with amazement. Dr. Weinstein said it was a miracle. It surely was. God performed a miracle on me! I know that because my eyes have seen Him!

(Katherine Lau is a first-grade teacher at the Cupertino Union School District. She and her husband are members of the Silicon Valley Alliance Church, CA).