8
“I Want You to Climb the Stairs”
Without supernatural intervention, Bob Henkelman faced a future defined by the ravages of multiple sclerosis.
Lying in shadows, thirty-two-year-old Bob Henkelman blinked his eyes and tried to remember where he was. The answer came in the next instant. It was late afternoon, March 1994. He was in his bedroom in St. Peter, Minnesota. He’d just done something unusual for him: taken a nap.
Bob was exhausted—not surprising, considering he worked seventy hours a week as a car salesman. But that had never slowed him down before. No, it was the headaches. They had started two months earlier and felt as if someone were driving a spike into his forehead. Though he came from a family that didn’t go to the doctor unless they were halfway through death’s door, earlier that afternoon he’d finally given in to his wife’s urging and visited a physician. The prescription: Get some rest.
Now he decided naptime was over. Time to get up and get on with life. He started to swing his legs off the bed.
They never made it. His left leg didn’t move.
He tried again and realized he couldn’t feel a thing—not his leg, his foot, or his toes.
He shouted for his wife. “Pam, I’ve got a problem!”
Fearing Bob had suffered a stroke, the panicked couple hurried to the emergency room in Mankato, where he endured a battery of tests. That evening a doctor came to his hospital room, a serious expression on his face.
“The tests are still inconclusive at this point,” the doctor said. “But based on what we’re seeing, my suspicion is you have multiple sclerosis.”
A shiver ran through Bob. He had a neighbor with MS, and the man was completely disabled. Bob knew there was no cure.
After the doctor left, Pam stood and moved to the bedside. She took Bob’s hand. In a firm tone she said, “I know God can heal this.”
The Henkelman family had strong faith, and her assuring words infused Bob with hope. But that hope would be tested in the months to come.
Medical staff soon confirmed that Bob had “chronic progressive MS.” The neurological disease disrupted signals from his brain to the rest of his body. It was irreversible and would gradually worsen.
Sure enough, a few weeks later he lost feeling in his other leg. As time passed, more body parts broke down. By January 1996, he had no feeling below the waist. He lost dexterity in his hands and had difficulty feeding himself. His head shook persistently and violently. He struggled to maneuver his tongue. Even when he could form words, he labored to communicate the thoughts in his head. He also suffered short-term memory loss—he might have breakfast and then, two hours later, forget he’d eaten.
Bob was put under the care of an internationally renowned expert and his staff. They prescribed seventeen medications, adding up to forty-six pills daily. He also pursued an experimental program that left him with severe flu-like symptoms every other day.
The change in lifestyle was significant and humbling. He’d worked the long hours to be his company’s top salesman nearly every month. He’d been blessed with the financial means to provide a very comfortable lifestyle for his wife and three young children. He was active in his church. Now even with a cane he could barely shuffle a few feet without needing to sit down in exhaustion.
His well-constructed life had come crashing down around him.
It was another blow when doctors told Bob and Pam that within the next twelve to eighteen months his condition would deteriorate beyond Pam’s ability to care for him. He’d need to enter a nursing home. The Henkelmans reluctantly moved from their home and friends in St. Peter to be closer to extended family in Willmar, Minnesota.
They believed in God’s healing power and weren’t afraid to ask for it. They went in front of their churches in St. Peter and Willmar dozens of times and asked God to remove the disease in Bob’s body. Fellow worshipers and friends prayed with them, often laying hands on him as they called out to God.
Nothing made a difference. Bob continued to decline and became discouraged and disappointed. A few people even told him his lack of faith must be why God didn’t heal him. Naturally, this only made him feel worse.
The truth was that he struggled with just about everything, including his faith. Between the drugs, memory loss, regular hospitalizations, and his worsening condition, he battled both pain and depression.
One hospital stay was especially difficult. Across the room was a woman also afflicted with MS. Her hands and arms were contorted and she flailed uncontrollably. That night, she repeatedly cried out in anguish.
God, when are you going to do something? Are you going to do something? Bob prayed. If not, please take me now. Take me so my kids don’t have to watch me deteriorate, so my family can move on.
It helped that even during the worst of times Pam remained steadfast in believing God would grant a miracle. Perhaps because of her faith, or because the situation seemed so dire, Bob’s feelings gradually began to change. Strangely, as his body failed him, he found a new contentment.
I know God is going to heal me, he thought. It’s just a matter of when. And regardless of when it happens, I know I’m going to have a new body in heaven. For me, it’s a win-win.
On November 7, 1996, a cold Thursday night, Pam came home from a women’s Bible study with a gleam in her eye. She shared the verse the leader had taught from: “I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten” (Joel 2:25 KJV). For her, it was an affirmation that God would act in Bob’s life.
Three days later the family attended morning church services. Bob used an electric scooter to get from his car to his seat inside. At the end of the sermon, Pastor Mike Jackson added a pointed message: “Y’all need to come tonight because God is going to do a miracle.”
As Pam drove home, Bob looked out the window at snow-blanketed fields, lost in thought. He asked, “Do you think God hasn’t healed me because I don’t have enough faith?”
She sighed. “I don’t know why God hasn’t healed you.”
“Do you think we should go to church tonight?” This was an unusual question—he rarely went to both morning and evening services. The effort left him so worn out he’d be forced to bed for several days.
But something was stirring. “Pastor Mike said something great is going to happen. Let’s go and see.”
That Sunday was not a good one for Bob. His head shook as badly as it ever had. His body was telling him it didn’t want to go anywhere. Yet that was when the ingrained Henkelman stubbornness kicked in. He’d made up his mind. He was going, no matter what. He wouldn’t even bring the scooter.
That night, Bob slowly shuffled with a cane down a side aisle, eventually taking a seat with Pam in the fourth pew from the front. The congregation soon stood and launched into worship—everyone except Bob, who stayed seated to conserve his energy.
After the song, Pastor Mike stepped forward. “I believe God wants to restore tonight what Satan has taken from you,” he said.
The message was intended for everyone. The pastor hadn’t even looked at Bob when he spoke. Yet somehow Bob knew. The moment Mike finished the sentence, Bob understood that this was his promise, his miracle. In that instant, he was healed.
While the rest of the church began another song, Bob opened his Bible and wrote, “Healed of MS, November 10, 1996.”
His thoughts raced. I got healed. I got healed! Wow, God, this is awesome. I can’t believe it!
Then he sensed a voice inside his head: You need to get up, go down front, and have people pray for you.
He resisted. I don’t need to go down front. I’m already healed. Why do I need to go down there?
The voice persisted. You need to go for prayer.
Bob stopped arguing. Without another thought, he stood, walked without his cane to the front, and joined a group kneeling at the altar and receiving prayer.
The voice wasn’t done with Bob. A few moments later he heard, Now I want you to stand up, raise your hands above your head with your eyes closed, and praise me.
Once again, he resisted before finally obeying. After two more songs it dawned on him: He’d been able to stand and keep his balance for several minutes. Amazing! He tried to wiggle his toes. I can feel them!
Now he was bursting with excitement.
The voice returned. Bob, I want you to climb the stairs.
He couldn’t help his response. “No way,” he said aloud. “That’s nuts.”
I want you to climb the stairs.
For a third time, Bob submitted. He felt this had to be the Holy Spirit. Yet he also retained a measure of Henkelman stubbornness. If I’m going up those stairs, he thought, I’m running up them three at a time.
Bob walked nearly 150 feet across the front of the sanctuary and halfway down a side aisle to a stairway that led to a balcony. By this time everyone in the church looked on in astonishment.
He’d been riding the scooter for more than a year. His legs were thin, the muscles atrophied from lack of use. Instinctively he reached for the railing.
No, you don’t need to use the railing, the voice said.
Bob yanked his hand back and bounded up the stairs, three steps per stride. When he reached the top, the congregation broke into wild cheers and applause. He was so thrilled that he ran down and back up again.
As unbelievable as it seemed, the MS was completely gone.
The next day, Bob still felt like a new man. He sensed the voice telling him to stop taking his prescriptions. He was even more convinced it was the Spirit. This time he didn’t argue. He flushed all the MS pills down the toilet and never took another. He suffered no side effects.
Some people had trouble accepting the miracle of God’s instantaneous healing. A friend said he would gradually feel better and “after a period of time” be healed. His physician and staff were shocked at the change, but in a newspaper article the doctor described his condition as “in remission.” The state of Minnesota required him to submit to a physical every three years and show evidence of being fit to drive a vehicle again.
Bob, however, never looked back. He returned to selling cars before pursuing a call to full-time ministry. He and Pam had two more daughters, even though doctors had said he’d be unable to produce more offspring.
Today, Bob Henkelman is a pastor in Fort Dodge, Iowa. His firsthand encounter with supernatural healing has given him a strong desire to see others healed of their afflictions. In the past twelve years, he’s participated in and witnessed hundreds of healings during worship services. For him, the evidence of God’s marvelous power in his life and in others’ is undeniable.
“I’m just so thankful for what he’s done for me,” he says. “I went from being a car salesman to being a salesman for God. I’d never want to go back. To watch lives being transformed in this way, the rewards are just incredible.”