When Healing Isn’t Promised

One muggy summer’s night, I lay awake clutching my stomach, certain I’d eaten something that disagreed with me. After years of drug-free remission, the ulcerative colitis I’d lived with since childhood had become something I rarely thought about.

Then came the bleeding, and I couldn’t ignore that my chronic illness had returned. Turning to God was my first instinct, but I had no idea in that moment what He was about to ask of me.

My ulcerative colitis flare brought with it intense stomach pains, fatigue and blood loss, and my life became homebound. Date nights gave way to doctor’s visits. If you are in a season of illness yourself, I’m writing this with you in mind.

Suddenly, I was revisiting every prayer, saint and novena that I hadn’t felt the need to in years. I prayed for physical healing, for my doctors and nurses to be guided in the right direction, for each new medication to work, and mostly, for my carefree 23-year-old life back. As a Catholic, I’d always believed in the power of prayer, but this was different. Where my prayers were once centered on a good grade or job opportunity, this was about my body. After seeing my colonoscopy results, I doubled my prayer routine.

I approached prayer the way I approached other difficult things in life: put in the effort and results will follow. So when my health deteriorated, I followed suit. I prayed novena after novena to St. Bonaventure and abstained from meat, as though following the “right” steps would secure the healing I wanted.

Beneath each petition was a question I hadn’t yet asked out loud: could I trust God even if healing didn’t come?

As weeks dragged on without much improvement, I felt disappointed and, admittedly, a little let down by God. Was I not praying enough, or with too little faith? Without realizing it, I had made faith transactional.

However, the Christian faith has never promised that every physical illness will be healed in this life. God certainly can heal, and Scripture recounts many instances of physical healing, but in His wisdom He does not always do so. The apostle Paul knew this firsthand. In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul describes begging the Lord to remove a “thorn in the flesh.” The answer he received was not the one he wanted: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:7-9, NABRE).

Understanding that was one thing, but living it, with my arms wrapped around my aching belly, was another. I wanted an answer, and I wanted it to be healing, but I was beginning to see that trust couldn’t hinge on getting it.

Surrender means giving God our sufferings and everything we can’t control, but we are still free to tell Him what we desire. Even Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane prayed that the cup might pass from Him, then added, “yet, not as I will, but as you will” (Matthew 26:39, NABRE). Surrender is much harder than bargaining.

We aren’t privy to why God permits each particular suffering. But Christ told His disciples, “In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world” (John 16:33, NABRE). In short, He never promised a life untouched by suffering, but rather promised peace in Him.

At the same time, surrender has never meant passivity. I haven’t put down my medical chart and waited for a miracle. I still see my doctors and begin new treatments while knowing that complete healing is beyond my control.

This season has changed the way I pray. I still bring God my petitions, but am learning to begin with trust: God, let Your will be done today.

Peace, I’ve found, doesn’t wait for the outcome to be settled; faithfulness can come without results. Some mornings it looks like sitting on my bed for a few minutes before I take my medications and telling God I’m tired, but I’m here. Sometimes it’s sitting in the doctor’s office, admitting nothing is working or my symptoms are worsening, and leaving the rest with God. Knowing He is with me, whatever my health does, is what steadies me.

Purpose also looks different than what I expected for my life. I can’t do everything I once could, and that reality is difficult to sit with. But I’m learning that I can still live a meaningful and fulfilling life, even with health limitations.

Here is what has helped me, offered as one woman’s experience rather than a formula: Be honest with God and bring Him your desires without hiding anything. Name out loud what you are handing to Him each day, whether that’s an illness, a test result or anything else causing anxiety. And after you’ve made your petitions, trust Him with the outcome.

As I continue through treatments, I am learning what God was asking of me that night. I don’t think He was asking me to stop praying for healing; I still want it. I think He was asking me to stop making healing a condition of my trust. Today, I don’t know what the future holds or whether remission is in sight, but to the question beneath my prayers, my answer is yes. If you are in a season of illness yourself, my prayer for you is that you will know, as I am learning to, that you don’t face it alone.

Cover photograph: Kelly Sikkema / Unsplash.

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About the Author

Romina Montemurro is a writer, communications professional and practicing Catholic based on California's Central Coast. She writes about faith, modern womanhood, culture, and food and drink with an eye for the ways tradition meets 21st century living. A coastal girl at heart, she believes some of life’s best conversations happen over a good glass of wine, preferably with an ocean view.