“I can’t,” she whispered.
“In the name of Jesus,” he said, not loudly, but the microphone caught every syllable, “I command that crooked spine to straighten. I command the pain to go to the feet of Jesus. Stand up.” kenneth copeland healing
“Sickness,” he said, his voice a low Texas gravel that poured out of the massive speakers, “is a lie from the pit of hell. And you don’t negotiate with a lie. You don’t ask nicely for a lie to leave. You command it.” “I can’t,” she whispered