Joy Harrison’s story

I find it so fantastic that something so amazing has happened to me and that it happened in an instant.

One minute I was a non believer and the next I was so sure of Jesus’ existence and knew Him to be my saviour and my God.

I find it absolutely incredible that God loves each and every one of us so much that He would answer my cry for help from my hospital bed. I could still cry to think of it; such amazing love and such concern for each and everyone of us.  It’s so wonderful.

Throughout my life I was never a regular church goer. When I did attend, try as I might the sermons didn’t mean anything to me they were just nice moral stories.

As a child my mother sent me to Sunday school, I enjoyed it during my childhood, but as a teenager I could think of better ways to occupy my Sunday mornings.  My mother had a faith, but rarely went to church as my father was opposed.  My father had seen some terrible sights during the war and reasoned that if such atrocities were allowed to go on; either they proved that God didn’t exist or that if he did he wasn’t worth knowing.

Funny how we always blame God for human atrocities when right from Genesis 3 God warned us of the consequences of complete knowledge (of knowing both good and evil). Had we been content to listen to God and stay totally under his protection we would not have suffered the consequences of living in a sinful world. Adam and Eve made that choice for us so that is our legacy.  Thankfully, our Lord Jesus, our saviour, made it possible for us to return to a world without sin beyond the grave.

In later years when I became a mother I decided to take my own two boys to Sunday school and would stay to listen to the service myself. I think I only attended because I wanted my boys to hear the stories I had been taught as a child, but they still meant very little to me.

Once the boys became teenagers they stopped going to church and therefore so did I.

Sadly, in 1992 my husband died and I’m sad to think that he had no faith. He had always been too busy working on Sunday mornings so never attended church with us. My only hope is from my own story and those of other Christians who will testify that conversions can happen in a split second and therefore it is possible that people can be converted in their last dying breath.

My sons had left home, so after the death of my husband I lived on my on. In 2001 I was all alone in my home until my son popped in to visit and found me delirious in bed. He immediately called for an ambulance and I was admitted into hospital. Six weeks later I woke up not knowing anything that had happened to me in the interim.  When I was first admitted into hospital they put in intensive care and warned my boys that I might not pull through.  Mysteriously I was paralysed from the chin down. You can imagine how I felt when I finally gained consciousness to find that I was in an hospital bed totally unable to move.

I can remember first opening my eyes and seeing my son smoothing my hand. He looked so upset that even though I felt confused and drowsy I tried to squeeze his hand to reassure him that I was alright. It was then that I discovered that I was totally unable to move. I couldn’t even twitch a muscle in my finger. I was extremely scared and despite the love of my sons I felt very alone and extremely frightened.

The doctors took brain scans, kidney biopsies and blood tests, but couldn’t find anything wrong. They wanted to know if I had been exposed to any dangerous chemicals or even been through a trauma. I was a complete mystery to the doctors and they said I’d probably end up as a case study in a medical book.

It is very strange how my illness occurred. One minute all had beeen well, I had finished off some housework and then gone off to bed as normal; then overnight I sunk into a coma which lasted for six weeks and left me totally paralysed from the chin down.

Three months went by with no progress and I still remained totally immobilised. I can remember lying alone in a room, unable to move and just thinking what will happen to me. I didn’t want to live like this, I didn’t want to be a burden to my sons or to anyone for that matter. I felt totally wretched, absolutely terrified and completely alone.

Then from no where I felt myself call out in complete despair to God “Oh Lord please help me!” I hadn’t planned to call out – it just came out of me.

Instantly I felt a presence with me. I can’t tell you how I knew, but I just knew, it was Jesus, my God and saviour. I heard a male voice answer me and say,

“When you are able you are to go to Church and pray for one hour.”

That was it nothing else. I was so completely stunned that I couldn’t reply. To this day I wish I’d been able to answer even just to say thank you.

From that day onwards I knew Jesus was with me – I stopped worrying about what would happen, because I knew He existed, that everything I had ever heard about the Lord Jesus in Sunday school and sermons was true.  I knew I was in His hands, I knew He loved me enough to die to save me, despite my condition I felt safe.

I lay there in hospital every day willing myself to move and fantastically one day I found that at last I could wiggle my index finger.  The doctor was delighted and immediately booked me in to see the physio.  Little bit by little bit I managed to regain movement in my limbs. It took a further three and a half months of hard work and determination from my physios and myself before I was able to leave hospital.

I can be quite stubborn when I set my mind on something and I was determined to be able to walk out of hospital. If I couldn’t walk I would still be dependent on others and I didn’t want to be a burden so I was determined to reach my goal. I told my physio either I’m going out in a box or I’ll walk out those are the only two options.

I would pray all the time. Just short little thank you’s all quietly in my head. I knew He was with me and with that knowledge I could cope with anything. Even death wasn’t so scary now.

I came home in September 2001 a few days after witnessing the horror of the twin towers on the hospital television. Funny how once you know Jesus you know He would have been there for all those who called out to Him in terror in their final moments. It doesn’t make their dying any easier to cope with, but it is really reassuring to know that for those who would trust in Him their suffering was ended by entering a world without any further suffering or sinful works of mankind.  Back safely under the protection of our loving God.

I can remember just before leaving hospital asking my doctor if he was any closer to discovering what had happened to me. He said I still remained a complete mystery to the medical profession, but that they were delighted I had made such an amazing recovery.  I was concerned that if they didn’t know what had caused it that it may happen again.  The doctor said I don’t think God would make you go through this twice.

I often wonder whether it was God who made me ill, to make me stop and listen.  Left to my own devises I was too busy with the details of everyday life to call out in heart felt prayer to God. More people call out to God and are converted in times of trouble than in times of peace and plenty. During the good times we feel happy to go it alone, when times are hard we search for God and God has promised that all who call out to Him shall be answered.

Matthew 7:7 ”Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

Once home I was able to cope with the help of my sons, a cleaner and social services, but it wasn’t until just after Christmas that I finally felt able to make the walk up the steep hill to my local church in Ogmore by sea.

The voice had been quite clear that I was only required to go to church “as soon as I was able.” So although I had thought about those words every day of my life since that event I knew He understood my frailty and would be patient with me.

The village was very quite at that time of day and no one was about, but half way up the hill to the church I met Peter Thatcher our church pastor. I know that it was meant to be, with God there are no coincidences. I explained everything to Peter.  He gave me the church key and told me I could let myself in anytime I liked. I went up to the church and prayed as the voice had told me for one hour.

I didn’t really know where to start in prayer. I remember saying thank you and sorry a lot. I remember feeling totally overwhelmed.

I have been going to the little Church in Ogmore-by-sea every Sunday morning and evening since that day. I very rarely miss a service.

I now have the honour of being able to take my grand children to Sunday school. They are always upset on days when they are unable to accompany me to church. I asked my grandson recently why he particularly liked coming with me. His reply cheered me up no end he said

“Grandma I like coming because I want to learn more about Jesus.”

When you are newly converted you want to rush around telling everyone, particularly those you love that its all real, that God really does love each and everyone of us, He really cares, He really listens, He is waiting for every last one of us to reach out to Him.

It soon becomes obvious that only God can convert people, our words just fall on deaf ears and they just think you’ve just imagined it all. Yet there are currently estimated to be over 680 million people in the world at the moment able to testify to similar stories of conversion. Everyone has a different story but all have found God through these moments of conversion.

All we can do as believers is tell our testimony and hope that our example of faith leads others at some point in their lives to call out to God.