My Own Miracle of Healing

Big Trip Estonia Group on the ocean copy
On the coast of the Baltic Sea in Estonia, the semester I lived in Russia

I went to see “Ephraim’s Rescue” at the theaters tonight with Wyatt.

In the movie there is a touching scene where a young man in the Martin Handcart Company was given a blessing of healing by Ephraim Hanks. Despite his severely frost bitten feet, he was blessed that his limbs would be saved. That same night he got up and danced for the company to lift their spirits. He continued to walk to the Salt Lake valley another 350 miles in severe weather with only rags to cover his feet, still, he never had trouble with them again.

It made me remember an experience of my own healing through the priesthood of my feet (or foot, I should say). When I was nineteen I spent a semester living abroad in Moscow, Russia. As a student determined to explore all that the country had to offer, I certainly did a lot of walking.

But the summer before I came to Russia I broke my foot. I only got my cast off a few weeks before I got on the plane.

And so the constant walking and adventuring made my still-healing foot incredibly sore most of the time. I remember hobbling along, trying to keep up with the group in spite of constant pain.

Finally after about six weeks I decided to ask for a blessing. My foot was sore, and I was discouraged.

But after the blessing my foot no longer hurt. And it has never hurt in the fourteen years since. I walked all around Russia and Eastern Europe. I have since walked around China and a plethora of other countries. My foot has never bothered me in the least.

It was miraculous to me that one day my foot could be so sore, and the very next it was just fine, and never ached again.

But I remember as I was thinking about asking for a blessing, I decided that I needed to believe that the Lord could heal me. I considered it for some time before concluding that I did have that faith, and it wasn’t just lip service. The decision I made to believe, and the miracle that followed was a testimony to me of Heavenly Father’s care for me.

It is certainly not as dramatic a tale as in Ephraim’s Rescue, but it was no less needed, and no less an evidence of God’s power to me.

This post was written on August 29th, but is only being published now (on Tuesday) as a Tale for Tuesday.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.


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