The Right Medicine
It is Sunday morning. I awake just in time to see the sun greet the terrain with a beaming smile. I’m preparing myself to go to a place where there is healing for the soul: church. The place houses remedies of words in all forms--song, scripture and prayer seem to be the top seller nowadays. Some folk come to this place with the wrong idea, they fail to realize that this place is not a hospital. You will not find a cure for the world’s diseases within these four walls. You will not receive a physical prescription when you come to this place, but a spiritual one.
This spiritual prescription is faith. It is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. Mama gave it to me as a child and I never thought much of it until now. She always told me: “Baby, take it … it’ll help you grow.” At the time all my 4’5 self wanted to do was grow, but not in the way Mama was talking about. As the years went by, I felt like I was on a rollercoaster. A few deaths here and there, folks getting sick like it were nobody’s business. I found myself questioning God a lot more than usual: “Why now God? Why my people?” I went into faith withdrawals, and it wasn’t until I was sixteen when I realized what I was missing. I used to do everything right, so it seemed; I was taking my medicine everyday, no problem at all. All of a sudden I decided to stop using faith to get me through my days.
Looking back now that was probably the worst decision of my life. You see, nobody bothered to tell me that I’d start to experience fatigue and hallucinations. I was tired of life itself and I was tired of love, both of which I had once learned to appreciate. These hallucinations were vicious. They made me see things for what they really weren’t, and everything seemed to be going wrong at that point. I didn’t know where to go or what to do from there. I was lost, and dazed. That was until Mama took me back to where I found my faith in the first place.
In that moment, I realized that church itself wasn’t what I was missing. It was the medicine, my faith, that held the magic all along. I was finally growing in the way Mama was talking about: not a physical growth, but a spiritual one. It is now Sunday evening, and I am still awake to see the sun kiss the moon goodbye. The stars trade places with the clouds as I get ready for bed. What a joy it is to be in that place, in church, with faith, once more. What a joy it is to get healing for the soul.