Jesus didn’t heal everyone…

Jesus didn’t heal everyone.

I’ve wrestled with that truth in the quiet places no one sees, in the hospital hallways where prayers echoed unanswered,

in the graveside silences where I begged Him to come late like He did for Lazarus…

and still believed He could.

He didn’t always stop.

He didn’t always speak.

Sometimes… He just walked by.

Sometimes the thorn wasn’t removed….

And that truth used to ache in me like a wound I couldn’t name.

I had this idea that if He could, He should.

That if He was near, He would fix what was broken. That if He loved me, He’d rescue me, quickly, publicly, visibly.

But He didn’t.

And yet… He loved me still.

I used to think miracles were the evidence of favor. Now I see, sometimes, the silence is.

Sometimes the “no” is just as holy as the “now.”

Sometimes the waiting is more sacred than the wonder.

Because the truth is, Jesus didn’t heal everyone.

Not every lame man walked.

Not every blind eye opened.

Not every storm was stilled.

Not every grave was emptied.

But He saw every ache.

He felt every cry.

He wept at every tomb.

Even the ones He didn’t raise.

I’m learning that His love is not proven by how quickly He answers,

but by how faithfully He stays when He doesn’t.

He didn’t always heal the body.

But He always touched the soul.

He always restored what mattered most.

And He always walked in love, even when His hands didn’t move the way I hoped.

So here I am, years into a prayer I’m still waiting on. Holding the tension between faith and fatigue.

Still believing He can.

Still trusting Him even if He doesn’t.

Still finding Him in the places I didn’t expect,

the long nights, the dry spells, the closed doors, the empty hands.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the deeper healing.

Maybe He walked past them so He could walk with me.

Maybe He withheld the miracle to give me more of Him.

Maybe the greatest healing isn’t in the answer,

but in the nearness of the One who holds me while I wait.

He didn’t heal everyone. But He never passed by the brokenhearted.

And I know now, He has not passed by me.