Kenneth Copeland | Healing

Martha held her mother as the ushers gently guided them away from the stage, toward a side room marked “Miracles Testimonies.” Delia was crying, laughing, whispering, “He did it. He did it, Martha.”

He paced the stage, a panther in polished shoes. He told stories of tumors vanishing, of blind eyes popping open like window shades. He laughed—a sharp, sudden cackle that made the front row flinch and then laugh along, nervously. kenneth copeland healing

He grabbed her hand. His grip was strong, almost too strong. He pulled her to her feet. For one horrifying second, Delia’s knees buckled, and Martha thought she would fall. But Copeland held her, his arm like an iron bar around her waist. The worship band struck a single, swelling chord. Martha held her mother as the ushers gently