Tomorrow: My youngest son’s 30th birthday. For over 10 years he has battled with several auto-immune diseases. Sometimes referred to as invisible diseases, as many suffer without external signs that are obvious to those around them, but for them they are more than apparent. His decline over the past year and a half has been heartbreaking to witness.

Prompted by a video made by friends regarding healing, where they visited the pools of Siloam and Bethesda and prayed, Chris and I made the decision to use our upcoming Israel trip to visit these places and pray for our son and pray for healing.

As time drew near I worried that my planned journey may have some element of superstition attached to it. That going there gave the appearance that those places held some sort of power that bordered on the mystical where I was expecting a miracle that God could only deliver from there.  I did not want that.

We talked about it and decided we would go as planned and pray; to go and be open to any message God had for us.

We started our day early and had reservations to stay overnight at the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem. We made it to the American Colony about 12:30, as our room wasn’t ready, we hired a taxi and made our way to the Pool of Siloam.

The driver drove through the Arab neighborhood in East Jerusalem to find the entrance where our friends, who had made the video about healing, had gone. The man at the entrance sign near the street told us we had to go through the City of David to reach the pool. So the taxi took his back up the hill and dropped us off at the entrance.

When we got inside we paid the entrance fee and were told we’d have to walk through the Canaanite tunnel, a narrow tunnel from an earlier period of more than 1000 years older than Hezekiah‘s Tunnel, to reach the Pool of Siloam.

Oh my, what a walk, we ventured for 30 or 40 minutes through this long and narrow passageway — down old stone stairways, modern steel wire stairways, down and down more and more stairs — finally to reach a tunnel that looked more like a crack in the earth of less than a foot and a half wide in many places. It was dimly lit and had a stone floor less than a foot wide in places.  However, even though it widened higher up, I still had to turn sideways in many places to squeeze through. When we finally reached the end and exited the tunnel,  we were in the Arab neighborhood where the taxi had originally taken us.

We continued to follow the signs as they lead us through the residential streets and at last we arrived at a worn, rusted gate painted green with paint that looked like it had begun to peel years before.  I was so hot and tired and somewhat frustrated over the detour but it set me thinking.

That path through the Canaanite tunnel with ups and downs on a rocky floor, its twists and turns squeezing through narrow spots, reminded me of the journey we take in life when we have trials. We cannot see the end and we do not know what lies around the next corner,  or what it’s gonna take to squeeze through the next difficulty, however, we must keep pressing forward.

We walked through the gate that lead to the pool and down a steep stone stairway.  No one else was there; it was a rectangular space enclosed with rock walks and the quiet sound of water trickling through the shallow pool.    

Chris and I said a prayer.  We prayed, “Lord we’ve made this journey to this pool not that it’s a mystical place where we would get special attention to our prayers but we came here as an act of faith, a reminder that you are a God that heals, a blind man was healed here and that you are still a God that heals.”