My Teaching

Chapter 17. WORD OF FAITH & MY SICKNESS

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Galatians 4:13 You know it was because of a bodily ailment that I preached the gospel to you at first.

 

Paul, Trophimus, Epaphroditus, and Timothy all faced sickness while serving God.

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I grew up in the Word of Faith movement and even graduated from Rhema Mexico, a Word of Faith Bible school. Before I begin, I want to say clearly that not everyone in the Word of Faith movement believes the extreme teachings I will discuss here. Many people I deeply love, including some of my family and close friends who support my ministry, are part of this faith tradition. My concern is not with them, but with certain extreme teachings about healing and poverty that deeply shaped and affected my journey through suffering.

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My goal is not to attack sincere believers who are trying to honor God, but to expose dangerous doctrines that place unbearable burdens on people who are already suffering. There is a difference between having faith for healing and being taught that your sickness is proof of spiritual failure. One brings hope, the other brings shame.

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I believe in the power of God to heal. I have seen it in my own life. But I also believe that some teachings twist Scripture to make promises God never made, leaving broken people to blame themselves when healing does not come on their timeline. These teachings are not just wrong, they are harmful. And for the sake of those who are suffering in silence, afraid to admit they are still sick because they fear judgment, I must speak up.

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I could write an entire book about 2020 to 2022, the years I spent with an undiagnosed sickness. The damage from addiction and the many concussions caused by boxing, street fighting, and car accidents finally caught up with me. It got so bad that dark, hopeless thoughts overwhelmed me.

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When I moved off the street into my new apartment, I thought I was finally safe. I did not realize I was about to walk through the deepest valley I had ever known, a season of relentless pain, exhaustion, and confusion that would test my faith more than anything before.

The sickness hit without warning, taking me out for a week or two at a time, leaving me completely drained. Then, as soon as I recovered, I jumped back into my routines, working out, filming videos, returning to street outreach. When I was out there, I felt alive and strong, full of purpose.

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But the cycle kept repeating. After a few weeks of good health, another wave would crash over me, so heavy I could barely get out of bed. Some days, tears streamed down my face into my mask as I shuffled through the grocery store. I always wore my mask to make things easier for the workers enforcing the mandate.

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My forehead burned red-hot, even with cold, wet rags pressed against it. I thought I could fry an egg on it. At the same time, the back of my head felt numb and cold as ice. Yet every time I went to the hospital, they could not find anything wrong.

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I was desperate, often brought to tears. Yet even then, I never believed God had abandoned me. I felt His comfort every single day and knew He was testing me in ways I did not yet understand. What weighed on me was not His absence but the uncertainty of how long the suffering would continue. I knew that the same God who had healed my eyes would somehow bring me through this overwhelming season.

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Many days I lay alone in the dark, enduring the pain while trying to untangle the extreme faith teachings I had absorbed as a child from televangelist teachers. God's presence was never in question, but I still wrestled to reconcile what I had been taught about healing with the reality of the suffering I was living through.

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These extreme faith teachings claim that it is always God's will that you are healed, and that believers can claim healing by speaking the right words with enough faith. They also teach that if you are not healed, the issue is not God's lack of willingness but your lack of faith.

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This is where the theology becomes cruel. It takes the beautiful truth that God can heal and twists it into a weapon against the sick. Instead of offering comfort, it offers condemnation. Instead of walking with people through suffering, it tells them their suffering is their own fault.

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Reading the Bible in context saved me during my sickness. It was not my lack of faith that made me sick, it was the years of abuse I had put my body through. Yet even in that pain, God was with me. He was not striking me down, He was holding me up.

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I studied Scripture daily, focusing on sickness and suffering. The New Testament is clear about the reality of sickness among Christians. Paul told the Galatians that his own illness was the reason he first preached to them (Galatians 4:13). He mentioned leaving Trophimus sick in Miletus (2 Timothy 4:20), and Epaphroditus grew so ill in ministry that he nearly died (Philippians 2:25–27). Yet Paul never told them to claim their healing or blamed them for lack of faith.

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Instead, Scripture simply says, "God had mercy on him." These examples remind us that faith in suffering is not about formulas or transactions, it is about trusting God's mercy even when healing does not come right away.

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Scripture teaches that God remains near to those who are hurting. Jesus healed many and bore our diseases at the cross (Matthew 8:17), revealing His compassion for our frailty. God healed my eyes, and I openly testify that He still heals today. I prayed and believed for healing while also trusting that God would strengthen me in my suffering.

I often reminded myself, "Live or die, I am the Lord's." I refused to let sickness destroy my faith. It was my faith that got me through.

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In December 2021, I was on the phone with a family member, extremely sick in my home, longing to spend Christmas with my daughters. Then the phone was passed to another family member who said, "I hear you are sick. Did you know that God wants to heal you? There are teachers and books that say if you just read the right materials and have enough faith, God will heal you. There is no reason for you to be sick. By His stripes you are healed."

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I knew exactly what teachings they meant. I did not want to hear that it was my fault I was sick, that my lack of faith was keeping me ill. So I simply acknowledged their concern and kept the conversation friendly.

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When I hung up, I felt sick to my stomach. Not because my family meant harm, they loved me and wanted to help. But the theology they had been taught gave them no other tools. They could not sit with me in my suffering because the teaching told them suffering should not exist for a faithful believer.

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These extreme teachings claim that it is always God's will for every Christian to be physically healed and financially prosperous. Some teachers write that "healing is a done deal, and is available to us now exactly the same as forgiveness of sins." If forgiveness and healing are identical, then what does my sickness mean? Am I unforgiven? This type of teaching forces people to question their very salvation.

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These false teachers say it is "false teaching" to claim that God ever allows sickness or death for a redemptive purpose. They state plainly that "If God wants us well, and we aren't, this means we have to accept some degree of responsibility," and that some fail to receive healing "because they don't understand how to receive healing properly."

In other words, your lack of understanding or faith becomes the reason you remain sick. And if you dare to suggest that God might have a purpose in your suffering, you are labeled as someone teaching heresy. The irony is staggering.

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My healing

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One block from my apartment was a walk-in clinic where doctors showed real compassion, sending me for blood tests, screenings, and even paying for extra tests that were not covered by the government. They looked for cancer, infections, autoimmune issues, anything that might explain the pain and exhaustion. Every test came back negative.

Eventually, they referred me to a specialist for chronic fatigue. In 2022, I called the specialist's office and spoke with a secretary who explained the doctor was fully booked for the year. Hearing that left me devastated. Every morning I woke up crying out to God, asking Him to help me get through one more day.

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After that discouraging phone call, I went back to the clinic. The doctor asked if I had ever taken a sleep test. When I said no, she sent me home with a test for sleep apnea. I reluctantly agreed, feeling hopeless but willing to try anything.

The at-home test confirmed that I had sleep apnea.

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Later, my doctor told me that boxing and repeated head trauma might have contributed to something called CTE, chronic traumatic encephalopathy. It could not be confirmed while I was alive, but my symptoms and history fit the pattern. I had boxed, kickboxed, been knocked out in the ring, knocked out in street fights, been in car accidents, and had alcohol-related blackouts. All of that, mixed with sleep apnea, had been destroying my brain.

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The doctor said the repeated concussions likely made the apnea and fatigue far worse. My oxygen readings showed that my brain was starving night after night. I lived dizzy, exhausted, numb, and overwhelmed. Every day was a fight inside my own body.

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Once I had the diagnosis, I needed a CPAP machine, but I had no money. I was living on seven dollars a day, relying on the food bank every month. I applied to the B.C. government for funding, but four weeks later I was denied. They no longer covered sleep apnea machines.

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I had about three hundred fifty dollars in savings, and I cried myself to sleep that night, wondering how I would survive without treatment. All I could do was trust that somehow God would provide.

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The next morning, I made coffee and started looking online for a used CPAP machine. I found a listing with three machines for around five hundred dollars. I only had three hundred fifty, but I hoped maybe they would barter. I left a message and emailed them, praying something would open up.

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I also began calling sleep clinics. That is when I found a local sleep lab. I phoned and asked if they sold used CPAP machines.

They replied, "No, sir, but do you want to try one for free?"

I was stunned.

They continued, "If you cannot afford one, you can try a machine for a month. If it helps, we will set you up on a payment plan, just a few dollars a month."

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I practically ran out the door. I picked up my prescription from a local sleep care provider and brought it to a CPAP service center. The staff were kind, but their doctor was not available to calibrate the machine yet. It would be ready in two weeks.

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I walked home, and the moment I stepped inside, the phone rang. It was the seller from the used machine listing. I told them I no longer needed one. As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again.

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This time it was a family member. They knew I had been waiting for government funding, and earlier that day I had emailed to say the funding was denied. When they heard the news, they decided to help me and offered to pay for the machine themselves.

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I called the sleep care provider back immediately. They told me to come pick up a brand-new CPAP machine that same day.

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That night, everything changed. For the first time in years, I could breathe. It felt like life was returning to me.

I believe it was the years of sleep deprivation, my circadian rhythm destroyed, my brain exhausted, my body overwhelmed, that had made me so sick. Healing took time, but God carried me through the darkest season of my life. My health returned. My mind calmed. My body began to repair.

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This was my healing. Not a sudden miracle spoken into existence by the right words. Not proof that I finally had enough faith. It was doctors, tests, a diagnosis, a machine, and the provision of God through people who cared. It was medicine and mercy working together.

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And it was no less a miracle because it came through ordinary means.

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Since receiving my CPAP machine, I have not missed a single night. I actually look forward to putting the mask on because I finally sleep deeply. It took time to adjust, but now I cannot function without it.

I still rely on a small dose of medication and healthy sleep habits, keeping my room cool, avoiding caffeine late at night, limiting screens, and going to bed at the same time every evening. Living with the effects of concussions, head trauma, and apnea has taught me to see sleep as sacred. A positive mindset has become part of my healing, because so much of recovery begins with how you think.

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Still, I know there may be more going on that has not been diagnosed. I believe God will one day guide me to the doctor who can connect the remaining dots. The struggle has not completely disappeared, but I am grateful for the progress. Maybe one day there will be better answers or even a cure. Until then, I thank the Lord for the mercy of being able to breathe and sleep through the night again.

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My foundation of faith

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For the rest of my life, I will help people escape the false teachings of extreme faith movements. Not because I want to tear down the faith of others, but because I have seen the damage these teachings cause. I have lived it. And I know there are thousands of people sitting in churches right now, suffering in silence, wondering why God has abandoned them when the truth is that bad theology has abandoned them.

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God does not prove His love by sparing us from pain but by staying with us through it. He gives us grace in sickness, and healing is not always instant. Sometimes it comes through means we never expected. But His presence is constant.

I love the body of Christ. I have compassion for those who still hold to these teachings because they are trying to honor God with what they have been taught. My heart breaks for those who are suffering under the weight of these doctrines, and my heart also extends to those who teach them sincerely, not realizing the harm they cause.

But love requires truth. And the truth is that these extreme teachings are not found in Scripture. They are built on selected verses taken out of context, on promises twisted to mean something God never intended. And they leave casualties in their wake.

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In the quiet hours of the night, when the pain overwhelmed me, the Lord was with me. My faith was rebuilt on the truth of the Bible during those years of suffering. I have a rock-solid foundation, and my faith has been refined by the fire of suffering.

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I am alive today because God met me in weakness, and I pray that anyone walking through suffering will discover the same God who met me in mine.

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If you are sick right now, God sees you and you are not forgotten. Your pain does not mean you have failed, and your suffering does not mean God has turned away. He is right there in the middle of it, walking with you through the valley. I got through it, and you will too.

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You do not need to pretend you are healed when you are not. You do not need to claim victory when you are barely surviving. You need to know that God is with you, even in the suffering. Especially in the suffering.

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Live or die, I am the Lord's.