By Sharon Griesbach
Some of the blackest and darkest days of my life were when I was a young bride, over thirty years ago now. I had said my vows just two years earlier and all seemed to be going wonderfully. I was married to a young Christian man, and the decision to attend Bible College had been made. As of June 15th a house had already been purchased in the town where we were to attend college as we made preparation to enter the ministry. My belly was plump with the eight months of life that would soon be our first son. My husband had been suffering some pain in his testicle after a farming incident and only after my insistence had he gone to see a physician. The day had dragged on way past the time I expected his return, and I began to wonder where else he had lully-gagged off to, such a wanderer he could be.
Now he stood in front of me, Friday evening, saying to my disbelieving and doubting ears, They think I have cancer. Go, to another doctor, I retorted. I have, Sharon, three of them. The family doctor sent me right away to a specialist, and he had his partner come in immediately. I have to go again Monday for tests, Sharon; you need to listen to me. This could be serious. I just could not believe that any doctor in their right mind would think that this twenty-one year old, physically fit, strong young farmer could have such sickness raging in his body. But what choice did I have? So in preparation for his Monday doctors visit we went to church Sunday, as was our practice. Asked all f ...
