I don’t know where to begin; this story feels so big with too many layers. I cannot wrap my mind around it. I have struggled to write about everything that happened and how to tell it. So many people have asked me to tell them everything that happened, and I have tried, but it feels so big and deep that I don’t feel like I could fully convey it. There are so many details and moments, that there is not enough time in the breakroom at work or in the church lobby. It has been overwhelming because I want to tell all of it, but have had to pick and choose details to share in the limited time I have had with people. To do this story justice and express all that God did, I have decided to break this into 3 parts; even then, there are parts I don’t believe I will share because they were so personal and just between Jesus and me. One of my pastors called this trip a week of Pentecost, and I could not agree more, but this story begins long before the trip.

For me, it began with the 2026 Mission trips being announced at my church last year. I remember praying quietly to God not to ask me to go; I was still recovering mentally from the last one, where I got sick a few months prior. I asked God for a year: just let me stay here in my city and do local missions for now. After that, I did not give it much thought until this past March. One of our pastors was talking about the summer mission trips and reminding people of meetings. My agnostic friend who was visiting turned to me and exclaimed, “You should go!” while slapping me on the leg. The mission trip she was referencing was the Puerto Rico trip, which would take place in August, 14 months after the one to Mexico the year before. I could hear God say, “You had your year”. Now, if you don’t know me outside of this blog, there is something you should know about me: I am very stubborn, and if I don’t want to do something, it can be very hard to persuade me to do it (ask my mother). This can be a good or bad thing depending on the situation. When it comes to Jesus, He is apparently just as stubborn as I am and will continue to call me to do something.  Oh, I can refuse; I have free will, but that doesn’t mean He is going to leave me alone about it. So I spent a week arguing with God about whether or not I was going. I argued as I called my brother to see if he could watch the dog, argued as I drove to church for Alpha, and insisted I wasn’t going when I just happened to run into the Missions Pastor at Alpha. At this point, I felt the pressure lift about going; I knew that it was my decision but Jesus wasn’t going to let me get away with not considering it or looking at the possibility. Finally, I agreed to go, signed up, and went to the team meeting.

I spent the summer fundraising, ordered the supplies I needed, and filled out the forms. Finally, on July 12th, we had our final team meeting before the trip. I had felt a little funny that week, but I was ignoring it; it wasn’t that bad, but I noticed some weird symptoms. I started feeling worse while serving, and then during the meeting I was feeling even worse. By the end of the day, I knew something wasn’t right. I drove to small group a day later, feeling as though I was going to pee my pants the whole way there; then I went 3 times in the 2 hours I was with my group. Over the next week, I developed all the symptoms of a UTI. I felt terrible, and finally I went to the doctor. We did a urine test, but it came back negative; while there was blood in my urine, there were no bacteria. At this point, I was miserable; it hurt and burned to pee, my abdomen was swollen and tender, I felt like I weighed 400lbs, I was struggling to eat, and I was fatigued. All this, and then I was also bleeding; was it from my cycle? Was it from my bladder? No one could tell me. My PCP told me to go home, take ibuprofen, and take a prescription for bladder spasms. I had needed to go see a physical therapist for a while for a pelvic tilt, but I had been procrastinating. After doing research online, I read that pelvic floor therapy can help with bladder issues. I called to see if they could get me in immediately, and they told me to come in on Friday. This clinic specializes in Pelvic Floor and women’s health. The therapy helped some, but I was still having symptoms; my body felt a little more relaxed, and I didn’t feel the urgency as much. After a few more days of meds, the other symptoms started to clear up, and I was feeling better for about 3 days; then it all came back, but worse. I called my doctor and explained that the symptoms came back worse. I went in for another urine sample, but I was still spotting, so there was still the possibility of blood in my urine, and again there was no bacteria. I knew something was wrong in my body, but no one could give me answers.

I reached out to the leaders of the mission trip and asked for prayer, to my small groups and my work’s prayer team, to family chats and friend groups.  As the week of the trip approached, I became more anxious; I wasn’t getting better. Finally, the Tuesday before the trip, my doctor called; she had sent my urine sample off for more testing, but nothing came up other than blood in my urine. I had a breakdown in the bathroom at work while on the phone with my mom. My doctor said the next step would be an MRI and blood work to check on my kidneys and liver. I was so miserable; my body was so swollen and inflamed that I could barely eat. I was getting up 5 times a night to pee; anytime I rode in the car, I felt like I had to pee all the time. It burned when I did pee, and I felt fatigued and sluggish. I told my doctor to order the bloodwork, then left early at the end of the day to get the testing, but as I was driving out of the parking lot, I felt the Holy Spirit tell me not to go. I could hear him clear as day telling me to get dinner and head to my Bible study group. This made no logical sense because my office shares a parking lot with a lab, but after arguing for a few minutes, I turned out and headed to small group.

When I arrived at the small group, I told my friends I wasn’t feeling well, and that was defeating. We all went around the circle and talked about our weeks. After catching up, my leader opened her Bible and told us she felt the Spirit tell her that we should skip Acts 2 and go into Acts 3. This bothered me because it’s out of order, but I went along. She told us she had no idea why we were skipping, but we were; then we started reading the chapter, and I knew why we were skipping. Acts 3 is about John and Peter healing the lame man; the whole chapter is on healing. I went through and read several different Bible versions, then pulled up a commentary app on my phone. Then it hit me: there was a passage in the commentary that mentioned how the man did not ask Peter and John for healing but for support in his suffering. It talked about how that was too small a request for God who wants to heal us. I stared into space, watching my leader’s patchwork cat clock tail tick back and forth on her wall. It dawned on me that I had not actually asked God to heal me; I had only asked for support. I pulled on the thread of why I didn’t ask for healing, and then a memory came up of when I decided that instantaneous or immediate healing wasn’t real. It happened when I was 12. I was supposed to serve at VBS with my best friend at the time, and I got sick- weirdly sick- with boils, rashes, acne, and swelling in my eyes and lips. Possibly an allergic reaction, but to this day I have no idea what, and it has not happened since. I begged and begged God to heal me so I could go, but he did not, so at 12 years old I decided that immediate healing was something God only did in the bible.

Back to me sitting in my small group leader’s home, staring at her cat clock. I knew I needed to ask God for healing; I asked him to confirm it. We started discussing the chapter, and another friend pulled up the same commentary I just read and read that very passage. We go around the circle and get to me, and I admit that I don’t believe in immediate healings and why. My leader looks at me and says, “Can we pray for you? Then my friends surround me and lay their hands on me; they each pray over me for healing in my bladder, for the inflammation to be gone, for my energy to be restored, and for my bodily functions to regulate. I pray silently and say, “Okay, Jesus, prove it.” I tell him to answer the question: can he do this or not? Finally, as the prayers ended, one of my friends mentioned that she got a vision of me being stuck inside a tornado, with all the noise, debris, and chaos around me, and how, as they were praying, she got this vision of it just stopping, the storm coming to a halt. I left feeling lighter in my soul, less anxious, and my body felt cool, and were my clothes looser?

I went home and pretty much went straight to bed. I only woke up once to pee that night, which was fantastic. The next morning I got up and went to have blood taken for testing before work. I felt different, calm and comfortable. I kept thinking it was too good to be true; after all, I felt better for 3 days last time. I turned in my blood sample at 8:30 am and at 11:30 PM I got the results; my blood work came back perfectly clean, no kidney or liver problems. The next day I began to notice I was peeing a lot less, and it didn’t burn when I went; my brain was still trying to process, so I couldn’t quite believe it yet. Finally, day 3 came around, and I was still symptom-free; the only issues I had that week were the weakness or tensing of my hips, glutes, and pelvic floor involuntarily, which had been happening for months due to the tilt and muscle tension that I had just been ignoring to avoid pelvic floor therapy. I knew fixing that would take stretching and specific exercises over time.

Finally, the Friday before I left for Puerto Rico, it hit me: I was going, and I was healed. I texted my small group and got celebratory responses of praise and shouts to a message that one of my leaders was crying in the Home Depot. I couldn’t believe it; I was healed. The only issues I have had since then were the travel days to and from Puerto Rico. As I mentioned, I have weak or tense muscles; this means my bladder is unable to expand as it should, especially in high-stress moments. If I sit too long or in a weird position, it can be uncomfortable. This makes travel less than fun, but even in that I could praise because I knew it was just my muscles and organs getting out of rhythm. With a few breathing exercises or stretches when I could, my muscles would relax, and I could manage the travel.

During the trip, I had no issues; I was able to eat the provided food with no inflammation or reactions. My body was able to hold pee when needed and not spasm when I finally got to a bathroom. I walked for miles, stood in the heat, drank a ton of water and electrolytes with no burning or bladder pain. I have now gotten to share this story with many of my friends and my healthcare providers. I could tell some didn’t quite believe, but they had no alternative theory. It took me weeks to fully wrap my mind around it. Since coming back, I have continued with physical therapy to put my pelvis back in a neutral position and to strengthen those deep core muscles to prevent future issues. This is also forcing me to stretch and use my standing desk more at work, which I am grateful for; I needed some motivation. Sometimes my mind questions: Did that really happen? But then I remember how terrible I felt that Tuesday night at small group, how I knew deep in my bones that something was wrong with my body. Sometimes Satan tries to convince me that it was just my fear and I am seeing or hearing what I want to. I was nervous to share this because I know some of my friends and family will not believe me or think I am crazy. But I know what I experienced; I know what I saw, what I felt, what I heard. I also know, without a doubt, that I was supposed to be on that trip. And all the fear and anxiety that came from the physical illness was Satan trying to get me to back out or focus on other things, not only because of the work we did as a team for Christ and the community, but also because of the redemptive healing moments that took place just for me.