I have a prayer cloth that is a piece of a brown suit Brother Branham wore. About four years ago, I got very sick and was diagnosed with the flesh-eating disease. The doctors found that my white blood cells and red blood cells were eating each other in half every hour. My chances of living were nil.
I was 36 years old, with a husband and six young children. As an ambulance rushed me from one hospital to another, the doctor phoned my parents (who were watching my children) and told them to rush my children to the hospital I was going to, and if I was still alive when they got there, they might be able to say goodbye.
All I remember was that I was delirious with fever and pain. But whenever I opened my eyes, there was my husband. There were things I hadn't made right, and I prayed in my heart for God to let me live long enough to at least make everything right. I had no recollection of time, but I remember opening my eyes and seeing my mom and dad standing over me with worry written all over their faces. I remember the two minutes I had with each child. They were not aware of the seriousness of the situation, but I could see fear in each one of their eyes.
My mom took out a small, square, brown piece of cloth and told me it was a piece of Brother Branham's suit. She told me I could wear it while they were visiting, then she would like to take it home because she didn't want it to get lost in a hospital gown. I knew how easily that could happen if the hospital personal changed me while I was unconscious or something. But the very second she pinned it to my clothing and I felt it touch my skin, I felt an immediate difference. I felt LIFE.
I knew I was going to live as long as I had that on. My head cleared, and I could now talk a bit more clearly. But when my parents went to leave, they didn't mention it. My dad was the last one to walk out of my room, and I knew it was only right. So I said, "Dad what about mom's prayer cloth? She doesn't want it lost." He said "I told her to leave it on you. To let you have it." I just cried with gratitude.
The hospital left me in a private emergency room for four days just giving me pain medication, and I suspect, waiting for me to die.
Finally they phoned the other hospital and said they didn't know what to do with me; I wasn't dying. So they did an operation where I had a huge boil-like thing on my hip. Again they left me quite alone for four or five days, after they'd packed me with two or three rolls of gauze. Then they sent me back to the other hospital where the nurses gagged because when they went to take the gauze out, my skin was already growing over it, and I screamed in pain.
In all this time, I was conscious of the very special piece of cloth laying against my heart. And no matter how sick I was, I held onto that for dear life and never lost it.
I had many health problems for years, and only took it off to bathe. About two years after all this, I received a letter from Brother Joseph, saying they had received my request for a prayer cloth. Enclosed was a prayer cloth. I was stunned and speechless. I had no recollection of asking for any prayer cloth, because I had that piece of Brother Branham’s suit. And then I really cried about a God Who is so merciful to think of me: such a lowlife, and undeserving to say the least.
He granted me not what I asked for, but what I needed. I showed it to my mom, and gave her back that piece of Brother Branham's suit (as hard as that was to do). A few weeks later, I saw my mom again, and as we hugged hello, she pushed something into my hand. I looked, and it was the brown piece of Brother Branham's suit. She said "I know how much it means to you. It's yours forever. You don't have to give it back." I keep them both on the same pin and always wear them both in case I'm somewhere and someone needs one. I will be able to lay it on them.
Your sister in Christ,
Rebekah