BLOG: The RAH! Story© — Rachael’s Hand

Rachel’s Hand

19 September 2010

Jessica Maxwell

Miracle healings are a curiously quiet part of Roll Around Heaven.  At RAH! Talks and Readings, most people want to share their own mystical experiences, usually related to some sort of communion with a loved one after his or her death.  That RAH gives readers permission to do this in our spiritually repressed culture is a wonderful thing. But every once in a while a reader writes us something like what we received from Jo Ostgarden of Portland, Oregon.  To paraphrase:  “You had me with the squirrel.”

Jo was referring to Chapter 33, “The Squirrel and Yogananda,” in which I use pure demand-bid prayer power to heal a paralyzed squirrel which had miscalculated an aerial jump and landed on her back onto the patio stones outside my office window. I mention a few other healings-by-prayer in the Epilogue, too.  Since then I’ve managed to make both a severe cooking burn and a painful blood blister (another kitchen injury…both my own) vanish in moments, as well as minister a successful hands-on healing to my father-in-law’s agonizing cricked neck. All of these were only accomplished with some very serious help from above, of course.  (Jesus told us we can all heal like he did…so why not try?)

But I hadn’t attempted anything really serious since healing the squirrel in 2003…  until Rachel’s hand.

Rachel Kelley was a 17-year-old unpublished fiction novelist when I met her last December at a RAH! Reading sponsored by Sunriver Books in Oregon’s high desert.  As a devotee of unpublished young authors, I promised Rachel to do what I could to launch her career, and we stayed in touch.  In May she was involved in a chilling car wreck that ripped off her hair and mangled her writing hand. When she arrived at my second Sunriver Books reading a few weeks ago, I took one look at her scarred-up, claw of a right hand I knew was supposed to heal it.

More importantly, I knew that I could.

Who can explain how we know these things? Like the golfer who knows she’s going to ace a tee that’s given her nothing but grief in the past, or the angler who knows that the fat trout that just jumped has his name on it, or like Julia Child tasting her first Sole Meuniere and knowing that French cooking is her future…we just know.

Rachel was understandably a little skittish.  First of all, her hurt hand was still so painful even after three months of recovery that the thought of anyone touching it at all was almost unbearable.  Fortunately, she trusts me.  She’s also game.

The next day we met at a private place along with my gifted energy healer pal, Joan Martinson, and her friend Tara Godlove (I am not making this up…that’s her real name) and got to work.  First Joan cleared Rachel of any somatized traumatic energy that could block a proper healing.  This included trauma from the accident itself along with the usual family-and-friends business everyone has to deal with.  Finally, Rachel was ready for the healing.  I couldn’t wait to get my hands on hers.

Her injured hand felt terrible.  Damp and cold as a dead thing, splattered with a burst of sick-lavender scars that ran from her forearm down to her fingers like a tattooed curse.  “It went through the window,” she explained.  And shuddered.

We began.  Joan assumed QiGong position, holding her hands above mine while Tara, in a moment of inspiration, tented her arms above Joan, Rachel and me in order to take advantage of the magnification power of the triangle.  She looked vaguely like one of the Village People.

I closed my eyes, called on all the masters to help us, and threw my entire will into the energy flooding now from my palms into the back of Rachel’s hand.  Then it hit something.  Something that felt like a steel plate.  But there was no steel in Rachel’s hand.

“Do you feel that?” I asked Joan.

She nodded.  “It’s blocked,” she replied.  “What is this?” she asked out loud.  “Okay, it’s something to do with time.  Two of us subconsciously don’t believe that healing can be instantaneous.  Tara?”

Tara blushed. And Rachel nodded in agreement.

“Let’s see, you actually believe that it has to take weeks?  No, months.  Months for a healing like this to take place.  Ok, let’s clear that.”

We went at it again.  This time I not only felt  fierce waves of healing energy drill into Rachel, but I felt the tissue of her hand make hundreds of tiny adjustments, as if it were dancing beneath my fingertips.  Her hand was healing.

Then it was done.

Joan knew it.  Tara knew it.  And I knew it.  So did Rachel.

Her eyes looked like startled lakes.  She blinked wildly.  And slowly tested her hand.  It closed.  Completely.  She pressed on her fist,  gingerly at first, then with force.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.  “Oh my God.  It’s…perfect.  I can close it.  It doesn’t hurt…at all!  It’s just like it was before the accident.  It’s perfect! It’s healed!!”

Rachel is a writer.  A born-in-the-bone wordsmith.  So I asked her to put the healing into  her own words.  Here they are, from her hands via mine.  May the circle be unbroken.  For the record, I still want to go back in and see if we can get rid of those pesky scars.

From: Rachel Kelley
Date: September 2, 2010 1:49:44 AM PDT
To: Jessica Maxwell

On May 15th, 2010 I was in a high speed car accident that had the car rolling three times across the highway down the right side embankment at eighty miles an hour.  The driver and I walked away from the crash with minor injuries, considering, and reveled in the miracle we had just experienced.  The driver walked away virtually unscathed while I sustained some superficial wounds which included having my hair torn out, a few cuts on my right knee, and a ravaged hand that had gone out the window during the roll.

Being a writer, the temporary inability to use my right, dominant, hand, was rather excruciating.  Worse yet, even after the cuts and scrapes had healed, the bruises remained…and remained. Weeks went by and I still found I could not clench my hand into a fist without feeling intense shooting pain throughout my fingers.  I accepted this pain however, taking it as a necessary side effect of the crash and continuing on with life.

After telling Jessica of the accident however, she offered to clear me of the trauma and to heal my hand.  Though my past experiences with spirituality have been few, I have always remained open-minded to the idea and I accepted the offer readily, thinking “who knows?  This could really work!”

So when I met Jessica, Joan and Tara for tea, I simply remained open to the idea of healing and let them do their work.  Though I may be a bit of a skeptic at times, there was no denying the beauty and light that I felt after they had cleared all of my “blocks” that had been preventing me from living life to the absolute fullest.  I had never felt better in my life and was all too eager to move on to the healing of my hand.

As I sat, however, surrounded by the women, their hands on my own damaged one, I could not help feeling a hint of doubt.  I believed in the construct of time, and the need of it to heal such an injury.  I was asked to thrust this away, letting go of the meaning of time to simply believe in the power of healing and the love that could wield it.

So I did.

For twenty minutes I struggled with myself to believe wholeheartedly in the power.  After the twenty minutes of silent focus, I tested my hand.  It felt better, but not perfect, soreness lingering.  Jessica, however, would not give up.  So we went in again, refocusing our efforts and narrowing our thoughts to the single goal of healing my scarred hand back to its original state.

Now this is the part where I begin to speak in awe of this day.  As their hands fell away from my own, I slid the still-scarred hand back to myself across the wooden table, gently wiggling my fingers as I tested its mobility.  Zero pain.  So I tried something a little more daring, clenching my fingers into a fist, tighter and tighter.  I was shocked to find the act completely painless.  No matter how hard I pushed the hand’s abilities, it would not so much as ache in memory of that car accident.

It was healed.  Let me tell you, despite my belief in that healing, I could never have anticipated this outcome.  It was glorious, beautiful, unexpected, and entirely surreal.

In a stroke of divine majesty, I was given my hand back to focus once again on what I loved most:  writing.

Rachel Kelley