THE HEALER WHO NEVER HEALED

Martin had always been a strong, healthy man, full of life and ambition. Friends admired his resilience, and family members looked up to him. But life took a bitter turn when he fell ill. What began as a mild cough became a persistent fever, and soon, fatigue seeped into his bones, leaving him bedridden and struggling to make it through the day. His once-vibrant life was now a daily battle against pain and despair. For months, Martin sought a cure. He went to the best doctors in town, sparing no expense on consultations, tests, and treatments. But the doctors could only shake their heads. His illness was a mystery, one that stubbornly resisted modern medicine. Desperation set in as Martin’s savings dwindled. He tried every remedy he could find—herbal concoctions, strict diets, even old family recipes whispered by his mother’s friends. Yet, his condition worsened. Martin’s house was often filled with visitors—well-wishers, neighbors, and even strangers who had heard of his plight. Among them were people who had an unusual suggestion. They spoke of a certain sorcerer rumored to have powers beyond understanding, a man who could heal even the most hopeless cases. Martin dismissed them at first. He was a man of faith, and the idea of turning to sorcery repelled him. But as days turned to weeks and his condition deteriorated, the suggestion began to haunt him. What if this sorcerer was his only chance? Late one night, when his pain was at its worst, Martin lay in bed, praying. “Lord, if it’s Your will, please take this illness from me. But if I’m meant to suffer, then give me strength. I don’t want to go against Your teachings, but I’m lost.” His mind swirled with fear and hope. In that moment, he decided he would visit the sorcerer. After all, hadn’t God led desperate people to unlikely solutions in times past? The next morning, Martin confided in a few friends. They exchanged worried glances, but none of them tried to stop him. Instead, they shared tales of others who had supposedly been healed by this mysterious man. One neighbor leaned in, eyes wide with conviction. “I know a woman who was cured of an incurable disease by him. She had tried everything, but it was only after she saw him that she got better. You have nothing to lose, Martin.” Encouraged and frightened in equal measure, Martin made up his mind. The journey to the sorcerer’s home was surreal. He felt as if he were walking in a trance, his destination drawing him forward like a magnet. As he approached the house, he noticed the unsettling stillness around it. Shadows clung to the walls, and strange symbols marked the door. The air was thick with a scent he couldn’t quite place—something pungent and ancient. Steeling himself, Martin knocked, and a woman with a gaunt face opened the door, beckoning him inside without a word. Inside, the house was dimly lit, filled with peculiar artifacts, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and jars filled with unidentifiable contents lining the walls. Martin’s stomach churned, but he reminded himself of why he was here. Finally, the sorcerer appeared, a tall man with piercing eyes that seemed to look right through him. Martin felt a shiver run down his spine. After a moment of silence, the sorcerer spoke in a low, measured tone. “You have come because you are ill, and you believe I can heal you.” His voice was calm but carried an unsettling authority. Martin swallowed, nodding. The sorcerer’s gaze grew intense as he examined Martin. Then, without warning, he spoke again, his words cold and final. “You will not recover. In fact, death is near for you.” Martin felt the blood drain from his face. He had come here clinging to a sliver of hope, but now, this man was telling him that he would die. The room spun, and he gripped the edge of his chair, barely able to speak. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” he whispered, desperation lacing his words. The sorcerer’s face softened, but only slightly. “There is one way,” he said, pausing as if weighing his words. “If you bring me three large roosters and one million dollars by noon tomorrow, then, and only then, will the spirits grant you mercy. Fail to meet these terms, and your fate is sealed.” Martin staggered to his feet, his heart pounding. The demands were outrageous. He barely had enough money left for daily expenses, let alone a million dollars. And where would he even find three large roosters on such short notice? Yet, his fear of death outweighed his doubts. He would do whatever it took. The next day was a frantic rush of desperation. Martin sold the few valuable possessions he had left, borrowed from friends, and pleaded with family members to help him raise the money. He searched for roosters in nearby villages, bargaining with farmers who looked at him with confusion, unable to understand his urgency. By midday, he had gathered everything the sorcerer demanded, exhausted but hopeful. He prayed silently, hoping this ordeal would finally bring him peace. As he approached the sorcerer’s house, Martin noticed a crowd gathered outside, their faces somber. A woman turned to him, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Didn’t you hear?” she asked, her voice trembling. “The sorcerer is dead. He passed away early this morning.” Martin froze, the weight of her words sinking in. How could this be? The sorcerer, with all his supposed powers and connections to the spirit world, was gone? He stared at the house, unable to process what he was hearing. His mind raced with confusion, disappointment, and a strange sense of relief. Was this God’s way of showing him that he had been wrong to trust in man’s power? In a daze, Martin handed over the money and the roosters to the sorcerer’s family, offering it for the funeral arrangements. “Use this for his burial,” he said, feeling a strange mix of sadness and clarity. The sorcerer, a man who many believed could control life and death, had been as mortal as any other. If even he could not escape death, how could Martin have thought to trust him over God? As he walked away from the house, Martin felt a weight lifting from his heart. He realized the foolishness of placing his faith in a man who could not save himself, let alone others. He had sought healing in all the wrong places, forgetting the one who truly held the power over life and death. In the days that followed, Martin found himself drawn back to prayer. He asked God for forgiveness, not only for seeking help from the sorcerer but for doubting His power in his time of need. Slowly, he felt his soul heal, and though his physical ailments lingered, he no longer feared death. He understood now that his life and soul were in the hands of God, the true healer and source of life. As time passed, Martin’s strength began to return. His illness, though still present, no longer held the same grip on him. Friends and family noticed the change in his spirit—a quiet peace and newfound trust that radiated from within. Martin shared his experience, warning others not to seek hope in dark places but to turn to God, who alone could offer true salvation. From that day on, Martin’s faith became his anchor, a source of strength he had never known before. His story became a lesson to all who heard it, a reminder that human power is fleeting, but God’s love endures forever.