Memoir - Healing Wings

Healing Wings - A Memoir

I began writing my memoir about surviving Guillain-Barre' syndrome on my birthday, August 18, 2017, and after three years of hard work, and many tears later, it is finally published!  Click Here to order a copy on Amazon.

Writing was not my favorite pastime, but I am excited that this book mostly wrote itself since I lived what is in the pages.  And now through this experience of writing my first book I have a possible list of other books to write, so keep an eye out.

I pray that when this memoir is read it will be life changing for all who chose to pick it up and dive into my story.

Amazon Description:

Ask yourself “what are my greatest fears?” Then imagine for a moment those fears become your life’s reality. Would you face those fears through God’s grace and come out on the other side stronger than you ever thought possible? That is exactly what Natalie found herself doing. At age 19 Natalie Sherwood woke up one morning completely paralyzed. Trapped inside a cocoon of illness, she found herself in the fight of her life against a vaccine induced injury that caused the onset of Guillain-Barrè syndrome, that would ravage her body and strip her of her physical identity. Through her journey she leans on her enchanted childhood experiences with the Lord to traverse the pain and fears that now assailed her both physically and mentally. Come along through her story of innocence, illness, pain, and miracles to ultimately rise up to embrace healing, hope, and redemption. Dive deeply with her to find a firm foundation in the Lord Jesus Christ, and to be released from those things that try to keep you isolated in a cocoon of hopelessness. You too can be set free!

Excerpt from Healing Wings:

Flash Forward

Blind

For we walk by faith, not by sight.

2 Corinthians 5:7

I kicked my parents out of my hospital room. Not out of anger, but out of love. They had been taking turns curling up in the little green vinyl ICU hospital chair by my bed, only to wake up more exhausted the next day than they had been the night before. I knew they would go crazy with sleep deprivation, so I made them go home and ordered them to not return until they had slept, showered, and eaten. I assured them I would be fine; after all, the nurses checked on me all night long. And if I died…that was okay too. No, I didn’t tell them it was okay if I died that night—they wouldn’t have left if I did—but, seriously, after everything I had been through, I was so ready to go home; to Heaven. Little did I know that THAT night would be one of the worst, and one of the best, nights of my illness. God met me in my room that night.

Sleep eludes those in extreme pain. It comes in short spurts, more like passing out and coming to. This night I actually slept and the nurses did not wake me up. They came by my room throughout the night to take my blood, measure my lung capacity, do a chest X-ray, but when they saw that I was actually sleeping, they had mercy on me and let me rest. 

It was relatively quiet for an ICU, which is always bustling with activity, tests and emergencies. When I finally did startle awake in the middle of the night, as I so often did, I immediately knew that this time something was different. An ICU is never dark. There are always bright lights in the hall, casting their glow around the window blinds, and dim lights in the patients’ rooms. The machines cast strange blinking lights on the walls and ceiling, along with the beeping and whirring sounds that inform anyone within range that they are doing their jobs.

Shadows ink across the ceiling without invitation, and shoes squeak on the floor in the hallway outside as the nurses make their rounds. A nightlight is never necessary in the ICU. But this night, when I opened my eyes during the wee hours of darkness, I realized that something was off. Something was wrong. Yes, everything was wrong; I was dying after all. My organs and body were shutting down on me, paralyzed and unable to make my limbs respond to the easiest of tasks, but this was different; this was worse. I heard the beeping of my machines and looked in their direction. Nothing. I glanced toward the window where I knew the bright lights from the nurses’ station glared incessantly, even when I was trying to sleep. Nothing. I scoured the expanse before me, yet not a glimmer of light pierced my eyes. I could not see. I was blind. 

This time my limbs did what I asked. Just as my mind willed it, my hand reached out into the darkness to grasp…what? I’m not sure what I was reaching for. My heart was calling out to Jesus and my body responded by stretching out my hand and arm into the air before me. But then the unexpected happened. Something, someone, grasped my hand and held on tight. An angelic Latin voice spoke to me in a deep slow rhythm, that sounded like a rich gentle lullaby, that could rock me into a sweet and endless sleep. “Hello, Natalie, my name is Angel and I have come to pray with you.”

My breath gasped out of me in pure anguish when I realized I was not alone. Somehow, I was able to eek out the words, “I’m blind. I can’t see.” Tears began to stream down my face in silent tracks of pain. No sobs broke forth from my chest, but my tears told the truth of my deep distress better than any feeble words ever could.

We connected in that moment, Angel and I. His pure love poured over me and I knew—KNEW—that I was not alone. Yes, I knew that God was always with me, but this timing, this voice, this personal lullaby that was so tender and full of compassion told me that GOD WAS WITH ME, even at my very lowest of lows.

I had always feared blindness. Even as a child I knew that I never wanted to go blind. The thought of navigating this world in darkness was scary. Even with that trace of apprehension living inside of me, I never gave blindness more than a passing thought. I didn’t think loss of sight was anything I would personally experience. Even with everything going wrong with my body due to Guillain-Barré, I never expected to open my eyes to complete darkness, being swallowed by a void so black it seemed to press against me on every side. This darkness was thick and heavy, like a weighted blanket trying to smother out my very existence. 

Angel prayed for me. His voice was like a musical ballad written just for me, nourishing and fixing a deep part of my soul that had withered. His prayer of worship was a weapon that broke the back of fear and allowed a warrior to rise up in its place. In the dark of night and blindness, he prayed and gripped my hand like an anchor, steadying me for the remainder of my fight ahead. His prayers tickled my ears while my tears ran in rivulets, soaking the pillow under my head. 

After a long and gentle silence, Angel released my hand and tucked me in. I rolled over with a renewed sense of hope and a peace that passes all understanding. I fell into a gentle sleep and awoke the next morning able to see again. 

Fear had been vanquished, and my master’s hands had touched both my eyes and my heart. I could see the light of day again.

About the Author:

Natalie Sherwood came to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ at the age of six and has been on the ride of her life ever since. As a little girl she would often remark, “Why do I have to learn this English grammar stuff? It’s not like God is ever going to make me write a book!” God sure does have a sense of humor.

Natalie is a native Texan who's favorite word is y'all.  She has been part of multiple prayer ministries including Prayer Altar, Healing Prayer, Prophetic Prayer, Freedom and Healing, and Spiritual Housecleaning ministries, but her favorite prayer time is when she communes with the Lord all day long during her normal everyday tasks. It is her greatest pleasure to watch people in her path be completely healed and set free through Christ; after all, eternity begins now.

Natalie enjoys gardening, reading, prophetic pour painting, and the great outdoors. She currently lives in the grand state of Texas with her husband Wayne, her three children Mackenzie, Micah, and Selah, a bunny rabbit named Shofar, and a handful of chickens.