We’ve just gone through one of the most trying times of our lives. Two weeks ago my youngest daughter was diagnosed with inoperable lymphoma. Just the word “cancer” brought chills of anxiety down my spine.
More than four of my father’s family have died with that fearful disease; others who’s blood she shares have had encounters with it too.
In my daughter’s case, she is only twenty five years old and is just beginning to get her life’s feet on the ground: I love her very much. I had already worked out in my mind that there was nothing that I could do but to place her destiny in God’s care.
Last week, her mother and I sat with her as her doctor gave us his prognosis. Two learned physicians had concurred as to their diagnosis. I had begged God to do his part and had honestly, from my heart, placed her in his hands. Churches as far away as Texas and Florida had her on their prayer lists. Many friends and relatives had “turned it in” too.
Today, she had an appointment to hear the results of the last battery of tests that were designed to determine her course of treatment. I was not with her on this trip, and I was anxious through out the day; but tonight, I am confident that mine and others’ petitions did not go unnoticed: her new diagnosis is that she does not have cancer after all, but that her situation is somewhat unusual, and she may be one of few whose diagnosis is similar. I am aware that I know little about such medical things, but I now have a stronger faith in one whose knowledge surpasses mine and all others’.
I am grateful for the doctors who do their jobs very carefully, and I am thankful to God for doing what he does too. There is joy on our hill tonight, and about this block of life, I won’t attempt to reach a logical understanding.
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[...] Marvelous Misreading? [...]