God, my life is a mess. I give it to you and ask you to sort it out.

Between 1970 and 1975 I spent about 3 years in multiple hospitals suffering from epilepsy. It is a condition that frightens people and I experienced rejection a lot. Some people would cross to the other side of the road if I was fitting rather than offer any form of help and I invariably injured myself. I was very fortunate to be in hospital during one fit as it caused my heart to stop. Back then defibrillators weren’t briefcase size like today but were huge machines on a trolley that would be rushed down corridors by 4 men to get to where it was needed. When I awoke this enormous machine was beside my bed and I was told that it had saved my life. Not long after, my parents were told to prepare for my death which was likely to be soon.

Epilepsy does not only affect people physically but can play havoc with emotions and mental wellbeing. While in Kings College Hospital I used to regularly visit the chapel. This was not for any religious belief but because it was the quietest place in the hospital. I would spend hours there and nobody else ever came in. My future was bleak and I had had enough. After lunch I took the glass from beside my bed and went to the bathroom and smashed it and cut my wrist. I cleared up the glass and then went to the chapel knowing it would be five hours or more before anyone would come looking for me and hopefully I would be dead by then.

Five minutes later a nurse came in saying she sensed I was really down and she had cleared it with the sister to find me and spend some time with me. She started by telling me that God loved me and that Jesus had died for me. My thoughts were, “Oh no, its a religious nut!” My arms were hidden under my dressing gown and she had not initially realised what I had done. However the sleeves very quickly reached saturation point and blood started dripping on the floor. She rushed off to get a doctor who said to me she couldn’t condone what I had done but that God loved me and Jesus had died for me. I was taken to casualty and was stitched by a medical student who was a member of the staff Christian Union.

The outcome would take me too long to cover in detail but I started going to church and God revealed Himself to me. About 8 months after the incident in the chapel, I simply prayed, “God, my life is a mess. I give it to you and ask you to sort it out”. That same day a young lady had come to church and asked Jesus into her life. That was 51 years ago and I have been married to her for 47 of those years. By the way, over 50 years ago somebody prayed for me while I was having a fit and I haven’t had one since.

Thank you, Jesus!