Many of you have been faithfully praying for my sister Mary and are wondering if there’s any new information about her health. Today marks one year after she and Bervin first heard the words “pancreatic cancer.” So it’s a special day on which to hear directly from Mary:

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In February of 2014, I contracted a fever for no apparent reason, and it spiked to 105 degrees. So after a couple of days when it wouldn’t quit, Bervin and I headed for an emergency room where tests revealed the reason: a blocked bile duct just outside the pancreas. Further tests indicated that a cancerous tumor was growing in my pancreas, and when we learned this, we were devastated.

One month later, on St. Patrick’s Day, I underwent the Whipple surgical procedure at Mayo Clinic, since scans had indicated no visible cancer anywhere but in the pancreas. They removed the tumor, as well as everything around it, after which I underwent 6 months of chemo. Scans at the half-way point came back clear.

We all rejoiced that the chemo seemed to be winning over the cancer! But three months later in November, after completing chemo, scans revealed cancer growing in three new places.

When Bervin and I met with my oncologist in December to discuss my options, she said every case was different, and she couldn’t tell me how mine would go. She just told me to report back when symptoms developed. As a result, my January scan appointment was moved to February. And since I’m still asymptomatic, scans have been put off indefinitely.

I know I still have cancer. And I haven’t yet decided if I even want to know how extensively. Without focusing on scans and stages and clinic appointments, there are actually days when I completely forget I have cancer. I even feel healthy. For this gift I thank God daily.

Several friends have told me they’re praying for a miracle of healing, but I’ve never felt led to pray for that. Others dwell on the fast-growing, doomsday nature of pancreatic cancer. I’ve thought a great deal about both extremes and have decided to land somewhere in the middle. The only perfect prayer is, “Your will be done, Lord.” And his will is what I want, live or die.

Sometimes I think about my having one of the most aggressive cancers that exists and am mystified that I feel this good. I’m leading a normal life, doing all the things I did before my diagnosis and meeting all my former commitments. And I’m feeling just fine.

I don’t know how long this will last, but I view these days as precious gifts from God, every one of them. I say it like that because one of the things he’s taught me is how to live one day at a time. It may sound clichéd, but this cliché is a valuable one.

That’s not to say there aren’t moments when knowledge of my cancer catches up with me (usually during the night), and I’ve wondered how much pain is ahead. I remember Margaret’s husband Nate struggling with the pain of his pancreatic cancer and can find myself getting shaky.

But at those moments I know what to do. I deliberately meditate on Scriptures that will calm my heart – like the 23^rd Psalm: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil” (which includes the evil of pain) “for God is with me.”

This promise and many others work to pull me away from worrying about my weakness, to focusing on the Lord’s strength. Anyone who’s had cancer knows that the overwhelming feeling is one of intense need. Cancer may make us shaky, but I am personally grounded on the Rock that cannot be shaken.

[ Tomorrow we’ll hear more from Mary. ]

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” (Psalm 23:6)