My wife's unexpected diagnosis of kidney cancer in January set us on a fast track. First came surgery to remove the diseased kidney. All went well and initial indications were that no further treatment would be needed.

But one troubling word—pathology—kept popping up to plague us. So we waited... two weeks, in fact, for an expert pathological opinion from Emory University that taught us another fearsome term: sarcoma.

Sarcoma is a cancer of the body's connective tissues. It's rare in kidneys, appearing there only about one percent of the time. Three other words from the pathologist describe Mary's variation of sarcoma more precisely: primitive, unclassified, high-grade (aggressive). And like much nomenclature of this new language, we don't fully comprehend, but we do have dark suspicions.

A recent CT scan pinpointed suspicious nodules in both lungs, evidence that the malignancy would not present the simple situation we first expected.

In the last month the word hectic describes our dashings between doctors and tests as time is of the essence. For two full weeks I scurried hither and yon, attempting to corral stampeding medical records in hopes of securing Mary an appointment at the renowned M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. We have now been at MDA a week and expect to be here at least another month undergoing the initial phases of treatment.

Lest I paint a lopsided impression, cancer has also enriched our vocabulary with bright phrases that include hope, faith and encouragement.

Through an unusual set of circumstances which I may detail in a separate column, Mary has been reunited with friends she knew while in the eighth grade in Portland (Ark.). Two, Shelia Drake and Pat Pennington, even came for an afternoon's visit a few weeks back. In addition to their gifts, they bore words of cheer and endearment—punctuated by laughs and squeals.

A reunion of eight "girls" from that class took place in Conway shortly before our departure. Cancer has a way of bringing focus (now that's a good word) to what should have been important all along.

Friends and family have risen to occasion, standing by us with words and deeds of assurance, confidence and love. Our church gathered around us and prayed for us. Calls and cards continue to pour in. Dean and Mamie Baney are living in our house. Trent and Ross Minner are maintaining the lawn. Dr. Stan Carlin and his office staff are supervising Sosipater, our troublesome dumpster kitty. Betty and Wesley Weldon (Mary's sister and her husband who live near Houston) have opened their home to us, and the ladies of their church have brought much food.

Hope seems to rise and fall with the latest words from doctors, test results, what we see and hear in the waiting rooms. And our hopes have been no exception. Ultimately, however, our confidence and faith rest upon God and His ultimate purpose and plan for us.

He has miraculously stricken the word fear from our lips, replacing it with another: cheer. After all, Jesus Himself commanded, "Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world."