(This was my Substack post to follow Part 1)
I do believe in miracles. I’ve seen them.
But they rarely look like what we imagine.
For a long time, I carried a very specific picture of what a miracle would be. I would wake up one morning and be 100% better. No symptoms. No debilitating fatigue. No gut shutdown. Just normal.
But what is “better,” really? What does healing actually mean?
Let’s imagine that God answered my prayers exactly as I had scripted them. Imagine He erased my symptoms overnight.
Would my eating patterns have changed?
Would my pace have slowed?
Would my performance identity have loosened its grip?
Would I be as intimately close to my immediate family? Would my nervous system have learned safety?
Would I have stopped outsourcing my belief to the next fix?
If I’m honest… probably not.
Relief would have come. But transformation? I’m not so sure.
Because lasting change isn’t built in an instant. It’s formed slowly, through repetition, humility, adjustment, and surrender.
Slow healing transforms.
Joy vs. Happiness
James 1:2 says, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds.”
We read that verse and nod, assuming joy must be the emotional byproduct of a hard season; as if we are supposed to feel cheerful in the middle of suffering.
But that’s not what joy is.
Joy is not pretending.
It’s not smiling while you feel like death.
Joy is trust…that this time is not wasted.
It’s stability anchored under pressure.
It’s the refusal to interpret pain as abandonment.
Happiness is circumstantial. It’s that high on the rollercoaster of emotions.
Joy is different. Joy is a steady confidence that God is still good, even when we shake our fists and say, “This isn’t fair.”
You can have disappointment and joy.
You can have symptoms and joy.
You can have fatigue and joy.
Just like real love isn’t merely a feeling, joy isn’t either. It’s a paradigm. A faith in something larger than ourselves, knowing this story is not meaningless, and it is not just about us.
Becoming Wholly Grounded
We talk a lot about being “holistic”: mind and body. But when I think about true healing, I think w-holistically.
Body.
Nervous system.
Identity.
Pace.
Relationship with food.
Relationship with control.
Relationship with God.
If only one layer heals, it isn’t real healing.
Because symptoms can disappear while fear remains. Energy can return while pace stays unsustainable. Relief can come while identity is still performance-driven.
That kind of healing doesn’t last.
Real healing integrates every layer.
This Is Actually Good News
I still resist that idea sometimes. Slow healing can feel like being stuck behind a slow car while everyone else speeds past. It feels endless. It feels unfair. Is this my life?
But if healing must be slow, then you are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are not missing the magic protocol.
You are not doing it wrong.
You are in process.
And slow healing means something important:
You don’t have to panic.
You don’t have to chase.
You don’t have to collapse when a day goes wrong.
You are building a foundation that cannot be shaken.
And foundations are laid one brick at a time.