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So I quietly left the group and the charismatic movement. But my zeal for God was not quenched. I continued to pray, evangelize, and read my Bible.

There was a long stretch of time in which I read my New Testament, cover to cover, every week. I saw God's hand in everything. And the Lord granted me a measure of courage that was not naturally mine.

Because of my interest in spiritual things, I decided to attend Biola University. Afterward I married and came to Dallas Theological Seminary for theological training. Through these years, I began to slip away from my early, vibrant contact with God. My understanding of Scripture was heightened, but my walk with God became a crawl.

Joe Aldrich, the president of Multnomah Bible College, once told me, "It takes the average seminary graduate five years to thaw out from the experience." For most graduates, I suspect, that thawing out may come through the natural course of events. But it took several crises before the Lord started warming me up again. The latest one was what happened to my son Andy just short of three years ago—when he was eight years old.

WHEN SCRIPTURE IS INADEQUATE

In December 1991, Andy was kicked in the stomach by a school bully. He developed persistent stomach pains. Two months later, through a providentially guided indiscretion, Andy left the bathroom door open when my wife walked by. She saw something that horrified her: his urine was brown. That same day, she took him to our family physician. This began a series of visits to doctors and specialists. None of them had a clue as to what was wrong. Finally, he was admitted to Children's Hospital in Dallas on April 20, 1992, scheduled for a kidney biopsy.

Before the biopsy was to be performed, a sonogram was conducted. We had anticipated a blood clot on the kidney, but the sonogram revealed that something more was present. Perhaps it was a tumor. One physician suggested exploratory surgery instead of a biopsy. This sounded crazy to me, but we agreed, grudgingly, to this procedure.

The surgery took place on Wednesday, April 22. That's when the nightmare began. One of the physicians prepped us ahead of time: "Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, I wouldn't be overly worried about this operation. What the sonogram revealed may still be just a blood clot. And if it's not a blood clot, then, most likely, it's a benign tumor. And if it's not benign, then it is probably a Wilm's tumor. This is a congenital kidney cancer found in children. It's treatable and curable. However, if it's not a Wilm's tumor, there is the very slight possibility that what your son has is renal cell carcinoma. But that is such a rare cancer in children that the likelihood is quite remote."

As the hours during and after the surgery wore on, we found ourselves getting hit with wave after wave of dreaded news. Andy, indeed, had renal cell carcinoma (RCC). And it was not just the normal type—which was lethal enough. Andy had the more potent strain of RCC. Worldwide, fewer than ten children ever diagnosed have lived beyond two years with this strain of RCC. Apart from radical surgery, it is virtually untreatable and incurable.

There was good news through all this, news of a providential character, news that gave me and still gives me hope that my son will live. First, the bully who kicked Andy in the stomach probably saved his life. In only one-third of the cases of RCC is there bloody urine. The other symptoms, usually a mild stomach ache and an occasional lowgrade fever, belie the seriousness of the problem. That kick to the stomach probably triggered the bloody urine. Second, the one physician who insisted on exploratory surgery instead of a biopsy also saved his life. RCC is so potent a cancer that every case on record in which a biopsy was performed resulted in the death of the patient. In the midst of wondering, of confusion, of crying out to God, I could still see his hand in all this.

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September 12 1994, Vol. 38, No. 10