Diane Williams: Angels in Action: Stories to Inspire

“Absolutely not!”

“I haven’t seen you look this great since…since…never! Please, tell me what you’re doing. I want some!”

“Try God.”

Andrea had an inquisitive look on her face, so I briefly explained about my transformation.

“Stop!” she interrupted. “You’re crazy. For twenty-one days you had no solid food and you didn’t die? You got lucky. Don’t try that crap again,” she lectured on and on.

I finally understood why the nutritionist said, “Go and tell no one.” But I knew Andrea was saying these things out of love, so I invited her out for lunch that afternoon.

I practiced my spirituality and diet for twelve years and I was symptom-free. My arthritis was in remission and my joints were agile. I had no pain, I felt strong and energized, and I was glowing.

Then one day, I relocated to California. Shortly after, my sisters moved in and began preparing the same food we ate growing up: lots of beef, pork, and fried chicken. Little by little I began eating with them. I had completely given up eating fast food, but I found myself consuming much more of their food than I needed. They teased me about my juices and my diet, which was seafood, small amounts of poultry, and a lot of raw salads. They called my food bland.

My sisters, who are a lot younger than I am, would go out at night while I stayed home. When they returned we had long conversations. It was not long before my bedtime became later and later and my rituals of praying, mediating, and Bible reading became less and less. I began to let days go by without doing yoga, which stretched my joints and kept them flexible. Instead I joined the gym. I started doing aerobics, which added stress and weakened my joints. I did not swim nor did I take my usual dance classes to stretch.

I actually believed that the disease had been healed and would never return. My television and social life changed. I began talking on the phone for hours, trying to help my friends solve their problems. I had one friend who was constantly telling me her troubles; she was always depressed. I thought I was helping by being available any time she wanted to talk. Sometimes we would chat on the phone until it was time for me to go to work and drop the girls at school. Now I was sleep deprived and nutritionally deprived. My church attendance took a drastic decline. I rested in bed instead of in God’s presence.

I reverted to my old habits and my old lifestyle, and the old aches and pains came back with it. Immediately I ran for the juices, but didn’t return to the Heal Thyself Nutrition Center because I had relocated across the country. Without the spiritual guidance from the center, the nutritional diet did not help me. At the time I did not realize this was a big mistake. I soon learned whether you know it or not, mistakes can change your life. I really did not know I needed to continue eating the bland food, juices, practicing the presence of God, and working out in order to keep my healing. The doctors said I was in remission. Sometimes you stay in remission the rest of your life, and for others it is only a short while.

There are many prescriptions for altering people’s health. For some it is medication, and for others it is surgery. For me it was a holistic lifestyle. Regardless of the medication or regimen, once you have accepted your “prescription for change” and it has changed your situation, stay with it forever. “Ambition is the path to success. Persistence is the vehicle you arrive in,” says Bill Bradley, a retired NBA coach. I’m hoping people can learn from my experience without making the same mistakes I did.

Reflection: Go within andTRY GOD...therein lies your power. Seek God first. Let Him guide your path to healing—He can make you whole.

I had been feeling adventurous for many years. I lived in New York, and I loved living in New York, but it was the only place I had ever lived. I wanted to experience life somewhere else, specifically the West Coast—California was my hoped-for destination.

I discussed my desire to move to California with my then-husband, and he disagreed. His arguments made sense, but the idea remained in my mind. I kept believing that one day I would get the opportunity to experience life in California.

In 1987 the marriage problems my husband and I had been having finally resulted in separation. I took our separation as my opportunity to explore a new life. Although my inner compass was guiding me to California, I opted for Texas. It seemed more affordable, and I had a friend and a relative who resided there. I shared my plans with my mother, and she assured me that she would take care of my girls for one school year while I adjusted to my new environment.

At Dallas Fort Worth International Airport, I scanned the room for a curly-headed, light-complexioned, medium-built lady named Fanny. She was a personal friend of one of my closest friends, and we had spoken on the phone a couple of times. She had agreed to have me as her roommate for several months until I got settled. She promised she would show me around Texas, assist with my job search, and introduce me to some people. Finally I spotted Fanny, wearing denim shorts and a matching ice-blue shell. I nearly ran over to her, eager for my new life in Texas to begin.

On the drive to her home in Oak Cliff, Fanny kept reminding me that she needed me to pay my share of the rent on time, every month. I assured her it would not be a problem. She probed further. “How are you going to get around? I hope you know I can’t take you,” she said.

“I’m not expecting that of you,” I told her. She’d made the fact quite clear during one of our phone conversations, anyway. But I repeated my plans for getting around. “I’ll take the bus, a cab, carpool, or walk.”

“What?” she barked. “This is not New York! Public transportation is terrible! I told you that on the phone, Diane... Don’t think I’m going to pity you and let you drive my car.”

“Why are you acting so paranoid?” I was bewildered.

“I’m sorry, Diane. My boyfriend and I broke up last night,” she explained. “And my last roommate stiffed me.”

“ They betrayed you, not me.”

Fanny smiled at my gentle reminder, and began pointing out sights and landmarks, mentioning the differences between New York and Texas. The architecture astounded and enthralled me. The tall buildings, the houses, and the beautiful landscape were all creatively designed.

Finally we approached Oak Cliff, composed of small homes, trailer parks, and numerous apartment buildings. She pointed out local shops, bus stops, the supermarket, and the library.

As we pulled into the carport, I noticed a tall, handsome man walking toward the car. Fanny introduced him as Pete, her neighbor. He offered to carry my bags and assured me I could call on him if I ever needed anything. I thanked him and he left.

Fanny had to run some errands and then she was off to work. She worked the graveyard shift and wouldn’t return until eight the next morning. A bit leery of Fanny’s moods, I didn’t unpack too many things. I went for a walk instead, and when I spotted a church in service I stopped in.

After the sermon, I went back to the apartment. Once again, a small inner voice was uttering, “ It’s time to move to California. ”

Around nine that morning, Fanny charged through the door with a bundle of newspapers under her arms. I was in the kitchen looking through the phone directory while I sipped my herbal tea. Fanny stormed toward me and gave me a cold stare.

“Aha! You’re not looking for work!” She spat out her chiding words quickly, like she was in a hurry to get them over with. “My boyfriend is moving in tonight. I need you out by one this afternoon. You claim you have money, so getting a place should be no problem.” She pushed the directory I’d been perusing away from me and slid the newspapers in its place. Swallowing my last sip of tea, I picked up the directory and put it back in the drawer.