God Still Heals

A Journey of Pain, Faith, and Miraculous Healing by Benny Yount

Chapter 1: The Onset of Back Pain

About a month before everything fell apart — a subtle warning I chose to ignore.

It all started back in mid-2020. I'd been dealing with nagging back pain, and whenever I stood up, I'd feel something catch in my hip and lower back, forcing me to stop and wait for it to pass. I didn't think much of it. I was still playing golf, staying active, figuring I'd strained something that would work itself out. I popped some Aleve and kept going.

Looking back now, I can see the warning signs I ignored. I'll be honest — I was abusing my body. I wasn't exercising. I didn't walk. I didn't stretch at all. I was the kind of guy who'd drive to the golf course, jump out of the cart, and start swinging without so much as a warm-up. No stretching, no preparation — just go. That's not good for a body at any age, and those habits were quietly setting the stage for what was coming.

Scripture tells us in 1 Corinthians 6:19–20: "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body." (ESV) I wasn't honoring that truth. I was taking for granted what God had entrusted to me.

But I didn't know that then. I thought I was fine.

Chapter 2: The Downward Spiral

October 15th, 2020. A date I will never forget.

I woke up around six in the morning in the worst pain of my life — and I've had kidney stones, so I know what pain is. The moment I tried to move, it intensified. I needed to get up, get to the bathroom, and I simply could not get out of bed. I could barely move at all.

I called my doctor — a close friend whose personal number I had. "Sam, something is really wrong. I'm in trouble." After I described what was happening, he said, "As soon as the pharmacy opens, I'll call in some prescriptions and get you some relief."

The pharmacy opened, and I had the medications in hand by mid-morning. By three o'clock that afternoon, I had zero relief. Not a bit. I called Sam back and reminded him that when I'd had kidney stones, morphine had helped. He agreed to prescribe it.

Finally, after three days, I was able to get out of bed — but only into a wheelchair. I couldn't stand. Once I was in that chair, I couldn't get out. The pain was simply too great. And so, I sat in that wheelchair, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for the better part of five weeks — except for the rare moments I had to move — until we could get me in for surgery.

The surgery itself was a major procedure. When my neurosurgeon finally got an MRI and assessed the damage, he told us it would be about a five-and-a-half-hour operation. My disc had split completely. To give the nerves room to pass through, he had to cut into the vertebrae and create a canal — and because of that cutting, he then had to perform a fusion. A titanium plate and screws were used to fuse the vertebrae back together. He performed a diskectomy to repair the ruptured disc.

When I woke up in the recovery room, my surgeon was right there waiting. He explained everything he'd done and was honest about what lay ahead: I would be in significant pain for a couple of weeks, but they would keep me comfortable.

The next day, I was up and walking. I can't describe the gratitude I felt in that moment. I was so excited — I didn't know if I'd ever be able to walk again. I was one hundred percent optimistic in that moment. I was already asking my doctor when I could return to work, when I could play golf. He told me about seven months. I said, "That's fine" — and I meant it. I was just grateful to be on my feet.

Chapter 3: The Darkest Hour

Hope, it turned out, was a fragile thing.

I went back to work when I could, wearing sweatpants because they were the only thing I could put on. I started therapy. After 3 months, as the medications were reduced, the pain came back — and it came back hard. I returned to my neurosurgeon, but he couldn't find a clear cause. An MRI of my cervical and lower back showed nothing in my lower back, though it revealed I also needed surgery on my neck. I refused. I needed my back fixed first. I needed my life back. He told me there was nothing more he could do.

And so began a long, desperate search. I saw four neurosurgeons in total. We drove to Charlotte to see one of the top specialists in the country. He examined me, looked at my scar, and said the original surgery had been done well — but after a five-and-a-half-hour procedure, nerves get irritated and inflamed. He referred me to a pain specialist within his practice, and he offered injections.

We tried injections — no relief. We tried traction on my neck. Months passed, six or seven months. I was deteriorating. I couldn't sleep. There was no position — sitting, standing, lying down — that gave me comfort. Flat on my back was the least painful, but even then, my pain level only dropped from a 20 to an 18. We tried desperately to get into the Mayo Clinic; COVID had shut that door. We tried Baptist Hospital — same story. All this time, I was losing weight. Before all of this, I had weighed 165 to 170 pounds. At my lowest, I was down to 118.

The medications were powerful — and they were playing with my mind as much as my body. I had a legal pad where I tried to track everything I was taking, because I couldn't keep up otherwise: blood pressure medicine, Clonidine, muscle relaxers, nerve pain medication. My blood pressure from the pain alone would spike to 200 or 225. I was trying to regulate all of it. I felt like my head was going to explode.

We went to Duke through a long process of Zoom calls, interviews with therapists and psychiatrists. We finally got in with a doctor who was optimistic — he said he'd seen patients like me, and he believed a spinal nerve stimulator could intercept the pain signals traveling up my spine to my brain. It wasn't a cure, but it was hope. We prepared to move forward, which led to a series of procedures and another MRI that never fully materialized.

Then the doctor left Duke. Just like that, he was gone — and so was our hope.

After the pain specialist finally squeezed me in — after I waited three hours to see him — he sat down with me and Cherrie, my wife, and said plainly: "Your husband's back and neck are a train wreck. There is basically nothing more we can do here. I'm recommending long-term chronic pain treatment."

I had gone from being the person everyone depended on — the one my wife, children, and grandchildren looked to — to someone who couldn't be there for any of them. I felt like a burden. I didn't want anyone to see me. I stopped coming to the dealership. When I did come in, I timed it so I could slip in the back door before anyone noticed. I looked that bad. I was no longer the person I once was.

We also both had COVID twice during all of this. Cherrie’s first episode was serious. Mine was not, and I thank God for that. Those were dark days compounded on dark days.

I had people all around the world praying for me. I was connected to ministries with people who knew how to pray. But I wasn't seeing results. And my faith was growing weak. Eventually, it was nearly gone.

James 5:16 tells us: “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” (NIV). Even when my own faith had nearly collapsed. Those prayers being lifted up on my behalf were holding ground I could no longer hold myself.

I started having thoughts I had never had before. Dark thoughts. I never blamed God — I knew this was the result of how I had treated my body and the door I had opened through neglect. But I was in so much pain, and the medications were clouding everything.

We took a trip to Naples, where Cherrie hoped a change of scenery might help, and visited a local doctor. He prescribed something new to help me sleep. I didn't realize at first what it was doing to me. It was a gradual descent. And then the thoughts got worse — all kinds of thoughts, dreams, fears.

We cut the trip short and came home. I came in and got straight into bed — that was the only place I could lie flat on my back and find any relief at all. And I remember saying out loud, for the first time: "God, just let me die. I just want to die." I never thought I would say that out loud.

I had given up. I didn't see any way out. But I knew Cherrie hadn’t given up, my son Nick hadn’t, and neither had my brother Scott and so many others.  You get these thoughts in your head, trying to reason. I remember lying there for hours trying to reason my way out of the situation — but you can't reason with the devil. The more I tried, the more he multiplied the fear. The business was doing well, record profits — but I was convinced we were going under, going bankrupt. I'd call in to the office in the mornings, terrified, asking for attorneys. I just knew we were going under. It was all in my head — lies from the devil.

John 8:44 describes the enemy plainly: "He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies." (NIV) That is exactly what was happening to me. The enemy was speaking lies, and in my weakened state, I was receiving every one of them as truth.

Thank God for doctors, for hospitals, for the people around me. I thank God for them — I believe they are a gift from God. And I thank God for Cherrie, who was there every single day. She stayed. She prayed. She never stopped believing the Lord was going to heal me, even when I had stopped believing it myself.

Chapter 4: The Miraculous Healing

August 3rd, 2022. The day the Lord healed me.

It didn't start dramatically. It started with a small decision made in the last days of July, while sitting in the bathroom — the only place I could be alone, in a little chair because I couldn't stand to shave or brush my teeth. I had a small TV in there, and I made up my mind: I was going to start listening again. I started watching Dr. David Jeremiah — a true man of God. I could only manage five or eight minutes at a stretch before the pain drove me back to bed. But I kept trying.

One day near the very end of July, I turned on the TV and Dr. Jeremiah wasn't on. I flipped through the guide and landed on something called the Victory Channel — a network I had never watched before. A man was preaching a strong, faith-filled message. Something in it began to stir a little hope in me. He announced that starting Monday, they would be broadcasting a week-long Believers' Convention live from Fort Worth, Texas — multiple services daily, free to watch.

Monday morning, I tuned in and watched a little. Tuesday, a little more. Each day, something was shifting in my faith — small, but real.

Then came Wednesday morning. Cherrie left to get her hair cut. It was around ten o'clock. I was sitting on the edge of our recliner — we had spent good money trying to find something comfortable and never quite managed it. I turned on the TV.

The preacher was the same man I had first heard that Friday evening. He was delivering the ten o'clock morning service at the convention, before 13,000 people in that auditorium, with the service streaming live around the world. He was preaching about who Jesus is: our Savior, our Redeemer, our Healer, our Helper.

At the end of his message, he turned specifically to healing — the healing power of God. He said there were people in that room, and people watching at home and online across the world, who needed healing that day. And then he made a simple request: "Take a step of faith. Do something. If you can raise your hands, raise them. If you can stand up, stand up."

I said to myself: I can stand up.

As he began to pray, I rose to my feet. I raised my hands. And I cried out: "Father God, in the name of Jesus, have mercy on me."

And praise God, the healing power of God flowed into me.

There is no other way to describe it. It was like everything that had built up over those twenty-two months — all the pain, the darkness, the medication fog, the fear — began flooding out of me. I was crying uncontrollably, tears streaming, saying over and over: "Thank You, God. Thank You, Jesus. I'm healed. I'm healed. I'm healed."

And I knew it. My mind cleared almost immediately — like a fog lifting all at once. The physical pain was still in my back, still in my leg and foot and neck. It was still there. But I knew — with a certainty I cannot explain — that I was healed.

This is the faith described in Hebrews 11:1: "Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see." (NIV) The pain was still present, but the healing was more real to me than the pain. That is faith.

By 11:30 that morning I picked up the phone and called Cherrie. I was crying so hard I could barely speak. She said, "Benny, what's wrong? What's wrong?" I said, "Cherrie — God has healed me. I'm healed. I'm healed. Praise God, I'm healed." She said, "I'm on my way."

When she walked through the door, she told me later, everything about me had changed. When she had left that morning, I had looked like death. When she walked back in, something was different — there was a glow, something she could see immediately. We stood there together. We praised God, we hugged, we cried, we rejoiced.

I told her: "Honey, I'm going back to work on Monday."

And praise God — I did.

Days later, I opened my dresser drawer and found a little book — God's Creative Power for Healing — that had been sitting there untouched for probably fifteen years. I read it that day. It was all about the power of our words. And the Lord spoke to me clearly: "Benny, I've healed you. But you can lose your healing — through your words."

Proverbs 18:21 had never meant more to me: “The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” (NIV) Every word we speak is a container. It holds either life, healing, health, peace, and joy — or death, disease, pain, and depression. That book, and that revelation, changed my life forever. I usually read Chapter 4 of the book out loud every day. It’s my medicine, God’s medicine.

 

 

Chapter 5: A Transformed Life

I am not the person I was before this happened. Not even close.

The healing changed everything — not just my body, but my character. Through the months of recovery, the Lord took me on a deep dive into things I needed to confront: pride, unforgiveness, strife, bitterness. I had a lot of pride. Maybe people didn't see it, but it was there. And the Lord showed me clearly that those things block the blessing of God. They rob you of His best. Jesus said it plainly: if you have unforgiveness and strife toward others, the blessing stops. You have to forgive — just as He has forgiven you. Ephesians 4:32: “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” ESV

I can empathize with people now in a way I simply couldn't before. I understand suffering. I understand what it feels like to be at the bottom, to feel like a burden, to not want anyone to see you. And that understanding has become a ministry.

Second Corinthians 1:3-4 speaks directly to this: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” (NIV) That is the redemptive purpose in suffering – that what we go through becomes the very thing God uses to reach others.

The physical pain was terrible — and I know there are people who have been where I was. But I'll tell you the truth: the toughest pain was the mental and spiritual battle. When my soul ached, there was no prescription for that. There is only one cure for that — and His name is Jesus.

What we put into our minds matters more than most people realize. It shapes the path we walk. Philippians 4:8 gives us a clear directive: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things." (NIV) If we fill our thoughts with God's Word and His promises — and there are over 8,000 promises in Scripture — and if we choose to meditate on those rather than on our fears and failures, it changes everything. That has been the real game changer in my life, and it continues to be every single day.

Is it a battle? Yes. Every day. But God has given us the tools to win that battle. His Word is the greatest of them. And here's what I've learned: you have to verbalize the good. Don't speak the wrong thoughts out loud — because once you do, they start to take root and grow.

The devil wanted to kill me. He wanted to shut me up. That was his goal. But what the devil meant for evil, God has turned to good. Genesis 50:20: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” (NKJV)

I would never want to go through that again — not for anything. But I am thankful I went through it. I am thankful for what the Lord has done in my life. And, through this journey, I have a new desire of sharing my testimony to minister to others. Through this testimony, I've seen people come to know the Lord. I've seen people healed. I've seen lives changed. Not because of me — all glory and honor and praise belong to Jesus.

Today I'm back at work. I'm playing golf again. The devil told me I would never play golf again. He told me I would never go back to work. He lied. God is true.

Faith sees the invisible. It believes the unbelievable. And it receives the impossible.

 

Conclusion: Sharing the Message of Hope

If there is any area of your life where you need help — physically, mentally, spiritually — please reach out. You don't have to go through it alone.

One of the most powerful things the enemy will do is isolate you. He did it to me. I pulled away from everyone. I didn't want to see people, text people, be around people. I even resented the yard crew coming by. That is a very dangerous place to be — because isolation hands the devil control.

Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 puts it beautifully: "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: if either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up." (NIV) Don't let the enemy cut you off from the people God has placed in your life.

So, my advice is this: seek help. Turn to God and believe Him — but also get people around you who will love you, support you, and pray with you. There are trained ministers available around the clock through ministries like the 700 Club. And if you need someone to stand beside you, reach out to us at GR101.com by emailing us here: https://gr101.com/contact-us/

No matter what you're going through, call out for God's mercy. Ask Him. He will deliver.

The Love of God, the Mercy of God and the Grace of God is always there. Always.