After eight cycles of chemotherapy, Mike had the word "remission" added to his medical chart. Relief and happiness. It was spring.

We weren't through with the killing though. We embarked on a bone marrow transplant which is clinical jargon meaning "almost-murder at the hands of doctors, administered with the patient's consent." They even shorten it to the innocuous BMT, making it look like a cousin to the BLT. But there's no relation; this "ain't" no picnic.

They measure out enough poison to kill you, then back it off just a hair, and hope you live. Just before you die from it, they infuse stem cells into your bloodstream and wait for those little heroes to rescue your tortured body from certain death. Stem cells repair the body by morphing into whatever kind of cell is necessary to the occasion. The are microscopic life factories. They saved Mike's life.

God had spoken to us during that one good spring month between regular chemo and killer chemo. In so many different ways God spoke to us the need to live more deliberately a healthy lifestyle. The message was undeniable. He had given us our miracle. To be sure the cancer didn't return, we were to be committed to healthy nutrition, exercise, and adequate sleep.

We have done this and not done this. Life has a way of not turning out perfect, and Mike has found more consistency than I.

So when I say I struggle with food, it's an obedience issue. When you scoff because I wear size 8, looks can be deceiving.

God healed Mike in his mercy; He forgives us in his grace. So we infuse obedience yet again. And we wait for God's little life factories to repair injured us.