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attend your sermon. My doctors didn’t believe I could do either. They didn’t think I’d have enough energy. I got discharged into my parents’ care.... This is my mom and dad.”
    Tears welled in my eyes; I was choked up. My equilibrium was shaken. I was totally moved. I cleared my throat, smiled and said, “You and your folks are our guests. Thanks for wanting to come.” We hugged, dabbed our eyes and separated.
    I’ve attended many healing seminars in the United States, Canada, Malaysia, New Zealand and Australia. I’ve watched the best healers at work and I’ve studied, researched, listened, pondered and questioned what worked, how and why.
    That Sunday afternoon I held a seminar, which Amy and her parents attended. The audience was packed to overflowing with over a thousand attendees eager to learn, grow and become more fully human.
    I humbly asked the audience if they wanted to learn a healing process that might serve them for life. From the stage it appeared that everyone’s hand was raised high in the air. They unanimously wanted to learn.
    I taught the audience how to vigorously rub their hands together, separate them by two inches and feel the healing energy. Then I paired them off with a partner to feel the healing energy emanating from themselves to another. I said, “If you need a healing, accept one here and now.”
    The audience was in alignment and we shared an ecstatic feeling. I explained that everyone has healing energy and healing potential. Five percent of us have it so dramatically pouring forth from our hands that we could make it our profession. I said, “This morning I was introduced to Amy Graham, a 17-year-old, whose final wish was to be at this seminar. I want to bring her up here and let you all send healing life-force energy toward her. Perhaps we can help. She did not request it. I am just doing this spontaneously because it feels right.”
    The audience chanted, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
    Amy’s dad led her up onto the stage. She looked frail from all the chemotherapy, too much bed rest and an absolute lack of exercise. (The doctors hadn’t let her walk for the two weeks prior to this seminar.)
    The group warmed up their hands and sent her healing energy, after which they gave her a tearful standing ovation.
    Two weeks later, she called to say that her doctor had discharged her after a total remission. Two years later she called to say she was married.
    I have learned never to underestimate the healing power we all have. It is always there to use for the highest good. We just have to remember and use it.
    Mark Victor Hansen

Wild Bill
    I always thought I’d live to be 83! Why that age, I don’t know, but now I’ll be grateful to make it to 58. When I am 58, Rachel will be 12—old enough to understand what is happening. Not that it is ever easy to lose a mom—even when “Mom” is really an aunt.
    Actually I am grateful for each day. Every morning when my alarm goes off, I lie in bed a few minutes. Whatever the weather, I am happy to be able to stretch my legs out, give my dog a pat, and thank God for another day. My favorite days are those when the sun streams in through my lace curtains, but I even like the sound of rain pattering on my window or the wind moving the trees against the side of the house. It is in the morning that I feel the best. It is morning that gives me hope.
    Nearly two-and-a-half years ago, a tumor on my left adrenal gland ruptured in the middle of the night, leaving me near death from excessive blood loss. As I lay on the operating table, I thought of my three grown children, of my unfinished business, but mostly I thought of Rachel, whom I’d left crying hysterically in the living room of our home when the paramedics hauled me off. Somehow, I made it through the surgery, made a rather astounding recovery and returned to work in six weeks. Rachel and I resumed our lives.
    The tumor was strange. No one could clearly say what it was except that it was