I was a very healthy and active seven year old, second grader, going to Camp Taylor Elementary School in Louisville, KY. Now, I am 49, and I can still remember the power of God that healed my feet. I had an unknown condition on my feet which had caused the bottom of my feet to crack, practically down to the bone. I remember walking to school in very much pain; I could only walk on the balls of my heels. When other children were around, I tried not to let on that I had any kind of trouble with my feet, and as you can guess, recess was the worse, emotionally and physically. With mom there was no missing school, and Monday through Friday (for weeks), I went through the same agonizing routine.
After school, I would take off my shoes and socks and try to cool down my feet. Often times, I would cry from the pain, and lay on my bed until the hurting subsided. After the hurting stopped, I would have to peel away the sock-fuzz that was stuck in each of the deep, inflamed, cracks on both of my feet, which caused the pain to start all over again. As a little boy, I knew I had to have help or I would be a cripple.
My Mother was filled with the holy Ghost, and as a small child, I would daily see her speak in tongues, sing praises unto the Lord, and dance around the house in the Spirit of Holiness. Mom took me to the Doctor’s office on a few occasions to try to get some relief for my feet, but nothing the Doctor did, from their treatments, ointments, or medication I had to swallow, brought any kind of comfort to my feet, and the daily grind of going to school was taking it’s toll. It wasn’t school I wanted out of (I enjoyed school), but it was the pain and hurting I had to go through at school from the condition I had on my feet. The doctors could do nothing for me, and week after week was going by with the doctor not really knowing how to treat this unknown condition on my feet.
At one point the doctor told my mother to mix diluted bleach with water and soak my feet in this mixture, hoping it would kill any type of fungus that may be growing. The first time I didn’t know what would happen after she put my feet in the mixture, for I only wanted help. It was the rest of the times I hated to do this treatment, because I knew the bleach, though diluted, would burn and make my feet throb from the pain I felt each time mom would dunk my feet in the bowl. We both cried as we went through this! She cried because I cried. I love my mother.
After some weeks of pulling sock fuzz from the cracks of my feet, and soaking my feet in bleach-water, and all along going to school, mom had enough. She told me, “I’ve done all I can do, and the doctors are doing their best to help you, but nothing is helping; I’m gonna’ pray.”
Mom started praying in tongues and laid her hands on my feet and asked Jesus to heal my feet. I felt a tingling in my feet. It felt as though someone was tickling my feet, though I saw mom’s hand’s on top of my feet. After mom stopped praying, she told me, “Your feet are in God’s hands now.” Feeling that tickling in my feet created faith in my little body. You see, all I felt for weeks and weeks was pain and suffering.
About two weeks later, over the weekend, I took off my shoes and saw for the first time in a long time that the cracks on my feet were gone! I couldn’t tell you when Jesus filled in the cracks, but I know it was him that did it. My mom tried everything the doctors told her to do, so I knew it wasn’t the doctors who had healed me. Then, I remembered how my feet tingled when mama prayed for them.
I ran into the kitchen and told mama, “Jesus healed my feet!” She said, “Let me see.” I took off my shoes and showed mother, and mom started to twirl under the power of God and speak in tongues. She was thanking Jesus for my healing. I could feel that tingling and tickling moving from my feet until it reached my mouth. When it did, it made me smile. I went to school that following Monday with that same smile. I couldn’t wait for recess to show off my new feet; not with taking off my shoes, but with all the little things I could not really do before; like running and kicking a ball. I have never had another flare-up from that condition, and when I get into to spots where it seems hopeless for me, I remember when Jesus “tickled my feet”.