Back in the early days of my life in rehab, I couldn’t walk, talk, or feed myself. Life felt like one long unanswered prayer. I had spent my career helping others rise from struggle, but now I was the one flat on my back.I was dependent on others for everything. I had prayed for healing, but if I’m honest, I didn’t really believe it would happen.

One morning, a young woman came into my room. “Hi, I’m Samayah,” she said softly. “I’m a physical therapist. I love working with seniors.” She glanced at my chart, then back at me. Her mission was clear: to move me from being a lump in the bed to walking alone. I thanked her but refused. The thought of standing, even with help, terrified me.

The next day, she came back, this time with backup, an occupational therapist named Martin. They spoke with compassion and professionalism, but again, I said no. My body was weak, but my fear was stronger.

Then came day three. They didn’t mention therapy at all. Instead, they asked if I wanted a tour of the facility in a wheelchair. It sounded safe enough, so I agreed. As Martin rolled me down the hallway, I noticed small things: pictures on the walls, the scent of coffee, the hum of laughter from the nurse’s station. For the first time in weeks, I saw life happening around me.

I knew what they were doing. I’d used the same strategy myself countless times as an academic therapist: make a personal connection, build trust, and then invite someone to take a risk. I had done it with students who were afraid to fail, afraid to believe they could succeed. And now, God was sending me my own version of that lesson.

A few days later, Samayah came back, knelt beside my bed, and looked straight into my eyes.

“Miss Edna,” she said gently, “will you let us help you become independent? I promise. I won’t let you fall.”

Her words cracked something open in me. The fear, the disbelief, the pride all spilled out in tears. For the first time, I let myself imagine the possibility that God hadn’t forgotten me. That maybe, just maybe, His plan wasn’t done.

Through shaky breaths, I whispered, “Yes, Jesus walks with me.”

That moment changed everything. Therapy wasn’t easy. It was grueling. Each step came with pain, frustration, and exhaustion. But every time I thought I couldn’t go on, I remembered Matthew 28:20: “And surely I am with you always.” Jesus wasn’t watching from a distance; He was beside me. He steadied me, strengthening my faith and reminding me that miracles don’t always come in flashes of light. Sometimes, they come through repetition, resistance bands, and two therapists who refuse to give up.

Weeks later, I took my first steps down that same hallway where I had once been wheeled around. Using my trusty walker, I moved with caution. The nurses clapped. Martin cheered. And I just cried because I knew I wasn’t walking alone.

Looking back, I see that God used Samayah and Martin not only to restore my body but to rebuild my trust in Him. Healing wasn’t just physical; it was spiritual. I learned that sometimes faith doesn’t start as belief. It starts as a whisper of hope, just enough to say yes when Jesus calls you to rise.

We all have moments when we’re lying flat, certain we’ll never walk again—physically, emotionally, or spiritually. But God sends people, songs, and small mercies to remind us that we are never alone. Every step forward is proof of His promise: He walks with us, even when we can’t see the path.

So when life knocks you down and fear tells you to refuse the help, remember, Jesus is already in the room, waiting to take the first step with you.

🎵 “Jesus Walks” by Kanye West 

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