Delivered from Migraine: A Faith-Filled Journey to Healing

For most of my life, I suffered from debilitating classic migraine headaches. Since adolescence, these episodes affected every aspect of my life—school, work, and social relationships. The medical community offered little relief. Countless tests and consultations yielded only the same diagnosis: classic migraines with no clear cure.

My migraines were typically triggered by bright, reflective light—sunlight off water, glossy magazine pages, or polished linoleum floors. Each episode began with an aura—pinpoints of light, dizziness, and a growing spot blindness. I learned to dread this “warning,” because it inevitably led to excruciating pain, extreme sensitivity to light and sound, vomiting, and a multi-day recovery in a dark room.

Throughout high school, and college, I lost multiple days each year to these attacks. When I began my teaching career in 1971, I always kept backup lesson plans ready in case a migraine struck. Even with painkillers, the vomiting made keeping medication down difficult, and those I managed to take rarely helped.

In the 1970s, I supplemented my teaching income by working summers as a Greyhound bus driver. The work was grueling—constant shifts, little sleep, and unpredictable assignments. I never knew where I’d be sent next, so I always traveled with a small suitcase. Despite the stress and irregular sleep, I kept working, even when the possibility of a migraine threatened. But on a few occasions, I had to back out of trips due to an aura beginning—earning me written reprimands and sharp warnings from management. I knew that one more incident could cost me my job.

Then one night in the summer of 1975, everything changed.

I had been assigned the night shift from Detroit to Louisville, Kentucky—an eight-hour drive beginning at 11 p.m. I was exhausted before the trip even began. For the first couple of hours, things went smoothly, but then I felt it: the aura. My heart sank. The blindness was setting in, and I knew the migraine symptoms would soon follow—unless something changed.

At our only rest stop in Findlay, Ohio, I stumbled into the bathroom, nearly blind, and knelt in a stall. In desperation, I prayed a short and simple prayer: “Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus, help me to know what to do in this situation.”

And I received an answer. I felt strongly impressed that I should drive on.

I gathered my courage—and a bag from the rest area in case I began vomiting—and got back on the freeway. By then, I was unable to read road signs, so I straddled the white line between lanes to guide the bus forward. I silently prayed the whole way, trusting that God would bring me and the passengers safely to Louisville.

And then something miraculous happened.

As I continued driving, my vision began to clear. The spot blindness faded. And, unbelievably, the migraine symptoms never came. No light sensitivity. No sound sensitivity. No nausea. No pain. Nothing. I dropped off the passengers, drove to the dormitory, and fell asleep. When I awoke six hours later, I felt fully rested and filled with joy.

That night changed my life forever. God had delivered me from my migraines—and He had shown me how.

I began to reflect on what had made this episode different. I had not closed my eyes or tried to sleep off the aura. I had not taken any medication. I had been forced to “stare through” the blindness and continue functioning despite the symptoms.

So, I adopted a new response whenever the aura came. No matter the time of day or night, I stared through the blindness, stayed active, avoided medication, and did not attempt to sleep until the aura passed.

It’s been almost fifty years since that night, and while I still experience the aura a few times each year, I have never had a full-blown migraine again.

God answered my prayer in a moment of desperation—and in doing so, healed me of a potentially lifelong affliction. I’ve shared my story with doctors and in a medical journal, and I’ve received messages from others who have tried this approach and found relief. What began as a personal plea for help became a testimony not only of physical healing, but of God’s power to guide, heal, and use our suffering for the good of others.