Kenneth Copeland Healing [patched] 🆕

He grabbed her hand. His grip was strong, almost too strong. He pulled her to her feet. For one horrifying second, Delia’s knees buckled, and Martha thought she would fall. But Copeland held her, his arm like an iron bar around her waist. The worship band struck a single, swelling chord.

The woman in the floral-print dress was a question mark, folded into a wheelchair. Her name was Delia, and for eleven years, a knot of bone and nerve in her spine had been the answer to every prayer she’d ever whispered. The doctors had used words like “degenerative” and “irreversible.” The wheelchair was the final punctuation. kenneth copeland healing

“There is no sickness in this room that has a right to be here,” he thundered. “I’m not asking God to heal you. God healed you two thousand years ago at Calvary. My job is just to make you believe it.” He grabbed her hand

“Sickness,” he said, his voice a low Texas gravel that poured out of the massive speakers, “is a lie from the pit of hell. And you don’t negotiate with a lie. You don’t ask nicely for a lie to leave. You command it.” For one horrifying second, Delia’s knees buckled, and