My years as a student at Biola (1981-1983) were marked with lifelong friendships and a challenge to know God intimately. However, as I reflect on my life, I don’t believe that I really began to understand the role suffering plays in our walk with the Lord until recently.

In June 2003, my wife, Alma, and I found ourselves rushing our fifth child, three-year-old Danielle, in an ambulance to Loma Linda University Hospital. We had just returned from the emergency room of our local hospital, where doctors had told us our daughter’s condition was serious. While we were in the emergency room, I pondered how one minute you take life for granted and then, in an instant, you’re confronted with a turn of events that you innately know could change things forever. 

Upon arrival at Loma Linda, doctors drew blood and said they would have the results in the morning. My wife stayed with Danielle that night while the other kids and I went home. I shared with my Sunday school class the next morning all the events of the previous day. I remember reminding everyone that our faith must carry us when our future is uncertain, that we must stand squarely on what we know about our Heavenly Father. I had no sooner said that when my cell phone rang.

I walked out into the hall and was instantly reminded of the many times I had challenged fellow believers to learn to be people of faith. And, yet, I confess fear swept over me as I brought my cell phone to my ear.

Alma was crying. Then she uttered the word “leukemia.”

I stood there stunned. I couldn’t comprehend what this meant for my daughter. I gathered my kids from Sunday School and walked to our car. I remember tearfully looking out the windshield, asking God to give me the words to help my kids understand that — even though this was a shock to us — God knew, and even chose, this bend in the road for our family.

Danielle was on intense chemotherapy for almost a year and, currently, will receive maintenance doses for another year. Our lives have changed so much that sometimes we don’t feel like the same family anymore. Because of the chemotherapy, Danielle’s white blood cells are so low that she can just touch a kitchen counter that hasn’t been disinfected and come down with an infection. For a year, we couldn’t go on vacation, eat out, or even let Danielle venture outside. We can seldom have people over or visit our friends’ homes due to potential infection. Yet, I can honestly say that th