Featured Articles
And I Believed!
By Ximena Urra
I was born in Chile, the third of four siblings. Although I did not come from a Christian family, my parents believed in God in their way. When my dad proposed to my mom, he wanted to get married in a Methodist church. However, my mom was a nominal Catholic. During that time many believed that if you didn’t get married by a priest in a Catholic church, you weren’t really married! So my mom, under tremendous pressure by her family, was very apprehensive. One night my mom had a dream about Jesus. In the dream, He was blessing a bride – just like the priests do. When she awoke, she thought, “God is giving me the blessing to get married in the Methodist Church.” So they married.
My dad decided that they would raise us to believe in God but not in idols, and he wanted us to have the freedom to choose what religion to follow. I mention this because salvation came to my family through my father’s testimony.
My parents worked at a children’s rehabilitation hospital. My mother was an auxiliary nurse, and my dad was an administrator. Both worked long, hard hours to support our family. Even though we didn’t have much, my parents taught us to share everything we did have. One Christmas they couldn’t afford to buy us presents, so they called us together to explain why. We learned that being together was the real gift, and then they challenged us to give away one of our own toys for the homeless kids. So each one of us cleaned up one of our toys, and we gave them away.
As a child, I was a daddy’s girl. I found refuge only behind my dad’s legs. For some reason, I was always afraid and very shy; yet when I was with Dad, I always felt protected. I struggled in my early teens. I was so insecure! I felt people would be better off without me. I felt little, unloved, and unwanted. The feelings were like a seed, growing stronger within me until I contemplated suicide. The thoughts tormented me. I unsuccessfully attempted to end my life in several ways. I recall running into the street with the hopes of getting run over by a car, but my youngest sister stopped me. I felt hopeless. Life was just too hard.
It was only when I sang that I’d feel better. One day I asked my mom if she could listen to me and tell me if she thought I had a good voice. Of course I asked her to look away from me as I was just too shy. As I sang, she suddenly turned around and said excitedly, “You can sing!!” And I believed her!
During that time, my father became a Christian and started to share with us about Jesus. One by one each member of our family accepted Christ as their Savior, all except my mom and me.
When I was 18 years old, I had the opportunity to audition on TV as part of a singing competition and won a scholarship to study music professionally. It was a dream come true! My mom was my biggest fan. My father continued to share with me about Jesus and invited me to church. I did attend occasionally, but I loved music so much more. The sound of the applause made me feel the love and acceptance I longed for.
One day I was invited to sing at my father’s church. I’ll never forget it because it was the first time God spoke to me. I wish I could say God spoke a word of encouragement, but on the contrary, it was a reprimand. As I sang “Amazing Grace” (in a miniskirt no less, as well as a sleeveless blouse and black nails that matched my heart), I heard a voice say, “This is MY place! If you want fame, go to the world! THIS is MY place.”
Fear rushed over me. I started to shake. I forgot the lyrics. I was a liar. I didn’t understand what amazing grace was. I wasn’t that saved wretch. I didn’t know the One who freely gives that grace, but apparently He knew me well. And I was about to get to know Him.
As the time passed, I couldn’t shake the encounter I had with God. I knew Jesus was calling me. I was at a crossroads. I couldn’t avoid Him. The following Sunday I went to church and without waiting for an altar call, I kneeled at the pulpit. With eyes full of tears, I confessed my sins. “Lord, I don’t love you. I love music more. But if you are the God of my father, please help me to love you more than anything. My life is yours. . . . ”
In that moment, I did experience amazing grace. Music had been my idol, and I decided to give it all up for Christ. I left my singing career behind . . . so I thought.
My church didn’t believe in the baptism in the Holy Spirit. They taught that the book of Acts was only history. Even so, our youth group was longing for more of God; therefore, we decided to get together just to pray. As we prayed, God baptized us all in the Holy Spirit, and suddenly I started to worship in a language I’ve never spoken!
I heard a voice say, “This is MY place! If you want fame, go to the world! THIS is MY place.”
This created a lot of problems at church; however, our testimonies and passion to share the gospel with everyone around us was evident and real. Who can tell God what He can or cannot do? What God starts man cannot stop! The Holy Spirit was for today too… And I believed!
Months later during a youth retreat, the guest speaker shared about “finding your ministry.” God spoke to me that night and said, “You will preach through singing, and I will take you out of the country.” And I believed His words!
I went home excited to tell my mom about my experience. At that time she still wasn’t a believer, so when I shared what the Lord told me that night, she smirked and said, “We don’t even have money to take a simple vacation, and you say you’re going out of the country?”
Three months later I was asked to join a Christian music group. I thought, “God, I gave up singing. How can this be?” So I prayed to the Lord, seeking His guidance, and He answered me through Isaiah 12:4-6:
Give praise to the Lord, proclaim his name; make known among the nations what he has done, and proclaim that his name is exalted. Sing to the Lord, for he has done glorious things; let this be known to all the world. Shout aloud and sing for joy, people of Zion, for great is the Holy One of Israel among you.
Within five months, I was touring the United States with the Christian music group, and my mom believed, the last member of my family to receive Christ!
Then my mom and I had a healing breakthrough. She didn’t understand why she found it hard to connect with God, to cry. I respectfully asked her if there was something she hadn’t yet confessed to God, so we prayed for God’s direction.
“Nothing comes to my mind,” she said.
But while I was praying, I saw a picture with the word “abortion” on it. The very instant that I pronounced that word, my mom started to cry, saying, “Dear daughter, please forgive me!”
I didn’t understand; I was confused. Why was she asking me to forgive her?
She continued, “When I was pregnant with you, I tried to abort you. Your father didn’t know. We were struggling economically. There was no way we could feed another baby. When I told your father, he was very upset and told me that it didn’t matter how poor we were, we were going to have you.”
The healing that transpired from such a hidden secret was profound for both of us. And I could finally comprehend that the feelings of being unwanted, unloved, and insecure were real emotions that started from my mother’s womb. The abortion did not work because I WAS wanted. God wanted me! God had plans for me! And in the end, my parents wanted me too!
Sometimes sharing our story can bring painful memories, but it also reminds us of God’s faithfulness and that we are still in the process of being more like Jesus.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11).
God gave me this promise. And I believed!
One day I read a book about the life of Eliza Davis George, a missionary who served in Liberia. Her life story and bravery inspired me. I wanted to be brave too. I decided I would serve God even though I was afraid! So I joined a team on a missionary trip focused on evangelism inside my own country. It was an amazing experience to see God move in such a supernatural way. I knew it was just the beginning of my journey in the ministry.
I met my husband, Pablo, in 1989 during my first trip to the United States. (I was literally followed everywhere by this godly man, but that is a whole other story!) After a year of letters and phone calls, we got married in 1990 and moved to the U.S., where I began working as a graphic designer for a Christian book publisher in Miami, Florida. My boss at that time saw potential in me. She taught me everything she knew and always encouraged me by saying, “You can do it!” And I believed her, so my designing ability blossomed and flourished.
As my career unfolded, so did my desire to serve in missions. But my husband and I were not on the same page. He used to say, “We will serve together, but I’m not going to be a missionary nor a pastor!” Instead of going against the current, I chose to ride the wave in prayer. After five years of laying hands over my husband in prayer (while he slept), in 1997 God placed it in his heart to join his first missionary trip to Venezuela. During that trip we received a word from God: “You will be out of the country soon and join an international ministry.” And we believed.
She continued, “When I was pregnant with you, I tried to abort you.
Many years later, we have faithfully served through various ministries such as Logos II of Operation Mobilization and visited 28 countries sharing the gospel alongside 200 volunteers from around the world while working in the floating book exhibition, being part of the official openings in every country, singing in front of governing authorities in every port, visiting orphanages, schools and hospitals, conducting open air programs, projecting Jesus films in the local languages, and distributing books and Bibles. And through the years we continue preparing short-term groups and leaders through INSTE and serving the local and global Church.
In October of 2016, we were ordained as lead pastors for Templo de la Biblia Abierta in Miami, Florida. Here we are, full circle from where we first began, but the journey of service to the Lord will never end. There’s still so much to do. I keep learning and longing to be used by God to accomplish His purposes while I trust that “everything is possible for one who believes” (Mark 9:23).
About the Author
Ximena Urra lives in Miami, Florida, with her husband, Pablo Urra. They both serve as pastors of Templo de la Biblia Abierta. Ximena also works as a freelance graphic designer. They have visited over 40 countries serving on short-term mission trips on board the Operation Mobilization ship, the LOGOS II, and participating in other ministries. Both received their Bible and Theology diplomas from INSTE Global Bible College. Ximena is part of the National Board of Directors of Open Bible Churches.
“Babe, I think we need to steal Christmas.” I said this to my wife, Kelley, as we were driving back from a family celebration. Without any further explanation, she knew I meant that the atmosphere of our family gatherings had left a lot to be desired. It wasn’t that they were bad; in fact, they were fun and filled with love, but we both sensed that commercialism had taken over and God wanted more for us; He was highlighting these family gatherings as spaces where He wanted to be on display.
I continued processing with Kelley: “…On second thought, changing Christmas might be too much for our families to handle, but I think we could probably take over next year’s Thanksgiving celebration. If we start planting the seeds now, then in ten years no one will notice that little by little we’ve taken over planning the big gatherings—until Christmas is just handed to us!”
… it was in this moment that Thanksgiving was reborn for our family.
Kelley looked at me skeptically. Okay, so maybe my plan to steal Christmas was a little ambitious and made me sound like a Pixar villain, but it was in this moment that Thanksgiving was reborn for our family. We brainstormed, we got excited, and Kelley helped wrangle us under God’s wisdom. As we prayed, God showed us a whole new way to gather at the table.
First, the table needed to be extended, both literally and metaphorically. We wanted to combine both sides of our family under one roof (can you say high risk?). Everyone was welcome, and we made sure to personally invite those without family or community. Kelley and I are part of a ministry that focuses on underserved neighborhoods in Toledo, Ohio. There is no shortage of people here who need to be connected to God’s love and see His family in action on days that remind them of trauma, hardship, and pain (including holidays).
Second, old traditions had to die for new ones to be born. Bye-bye, TV trays and football games; hello, giant thankfulness tree. Transparently, it was at this point that I was a little concerned; we were taking on generations of tradition, and I still wasn’t sure how to put God on display like He wanted to be. That was when He showed us the big one: The Food. Goodbye, turkey, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole.
A new tradition was born. Instead of the traditional Thanksgiving meal, we picked a foreign culture and tried our hand at making their traditional dishes, desserts, and drinks. We adopted their games, played their music, and decorated our home with their colors. It was a huge risk, and it was a hit!
As we prayed, God showed us a whole new way to gather at the table.
After several years of these reinvented Thanksgivings, both our family and neighbors are fully on board. Each year, everyone at the table votes on the next cultural cuisine, and now, eight years in, Thanksgiving has become a highlight tradition. People dress up, experiment with exotic dishes, invite friends, and—most importantly—shower one another with love. Some years the gathering has grown so large we’ve even had to find a new venue.
Our “thankfulness tree,” built by Kelley, has become the centerpiece of the gathering. Each person writes down what they’re grateful for, shares it, and adds their leaf. And year after year we’ve saved them, creating a beautiful archive of gratitude. Neighbors without family have joined us too, finding a place to share thanks, receive prayer, and encounter God’s love through new traditions. Along the way, we’ve cooked some unforgettable meals, and one of my favorite moments has been watching people set aside hesitation to try something new when the familiar comforts aren’t on the table. That kind of openness has sparked amazing conversations about God, suffering, love, and family.
God has been on full display, His table extended, His traditions for us established, and His love something I am truly thankful for.
(Oh, and did we just so happen to host Christmas at our house last year? You betcha.)
About the Author
Corey Bern resides in the often overlooked rustbelt city of Toledo, Ohio, where he savors beautiful moments with his daughter, Liberty, and beautiful wife, Kelley. Corey serves as associate pastor of Washington Church as well as director of The Lewis House, an inner-city ministry that partners with Open Bible Churches. When he isn’t walking alongside others on their journey to the Father’s heart, he’s often hidden away in the world’s coolest under-the-stairs office with a good book—or helping Liberty baptize Barbies.
“Your father’s kidney is no longer functioning in your body, but twenty-one years is a good run. You need to start dialysis.”
That wasn’t the deal I had made with the Lord. When I received my kidney transplant from my dad, he was the perfect match. I was fourteen years old and had been sick for too long; I wanted to be a normal kid. I had been born with kidney disease, and doctors had no hope for me. They had transferred that hopelessness to my parents. My dad reminds me all the time how he questioned God: “Was it my sins or my wife’s sins that brought on this disease?”
God clearly answered him the way Jesus replied in John 9:3: “It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,” Jesus answered. “This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.” I found it interesting that the one who asked (my dad) was the one who gave. His gift of a kidney lasted twenty-one years, which was a miracle in itself. The average kidney transplant lasts twelve to fifteen years. While twenty-one years was a miracle, I wasn’t satisfied: my father’s kidney was supposed to last until God called me home. God was supposed to heal me.
On February 17, 2022, I sat in a dialysis chair for the first time in twenty-one years, overwhelmed by fear of what lay ahead. A doctor and social worker assured me their goal was to get me a new kidney quickly. Their confidence comforted me; I believed God had placed me in a facility where things would move smoothly and quickly.
After nine months of hearing nothing, a new social worker finally told me I was on the UCSF transplant list. I’ll never forget it—my husband said it was the best wedding anniversary gift. We were thrilled, believing we were one step closer to a new kidney. But on December 30, everything changed. The social worker told me I was not on the list after all and needed to call UCSF to check on my application status.
I wasn’t satisfied: my father’s kidney was supposed to last until God called me home. God was supposed to heal me.
What had felt like a glimmer of hope was gone in just a few weeks, and I was crushed. On January 3, 2023, I called UCSF, and the woman who answered was kind and encouraging, saying, “Let’s make sure we get you a kidney. You’re too young to be going through this.”
I met with doctors, nurses, and the transplant team over Zoom to assess if I was mentally and physically ready for a transplant. They informed me the wait for a kidney could be five to nine years, and when the meeting was over, I still had no assurance of a place on the transplant list. With that news, my strength started to wear thin, but I kept praying, trusting that somehow God would help me through whatever lay ahead.
In His strength, I returned to teaching with a smile, determined to make the most of the next five to nine years as I poured into my second graders and their future. As the worship pastor at Life Church in Concord, California, I encouraged others not to lose confidence in God, even when things felt out of control.
In June 2023, I attended the Open Bible National Convention in Texas on the very days I normally had dialysis. I went against medical advice, not realizing how much God had in store. The conference began on Tuesday, and I felt unusually tired and heavy-hearted. I wondered, “What if this is it? What if the deal I made with God was to keep going for the next five to nine years, and then He would take me home?”
That night, I shared those thoughts with my husband. I wasn’t giving up, I was simply accepting what I thought was God’s plan. I reminded him that despite all our prayers, my mom and his mom had both gone home to be with Jesus. I was learning that life is precious, but we don’t always get the answer we hope for. Still, I wasn’t defeated; I was fighting my way forward, bearing the bruises and scars of a warrior.
The next morning, a group of women prayed over me, asking God to release a miracle and heal me from needing dialysis. Their prayer stirred my spirit, though my body still felt weary. That night during worship as “Firm Foundation” played, tears streamed down my face. My spirit believed God wouldn’t fail, but my body felt the weight of exhaustion and the marks of treatment.
I heard God say clearly, … “I’m hitting the reset button. Get ready.”
After the service, I saw Tirsa, a missionary from Nicaragua who had visited our church when I was young. She knew my mom, and that connection meant everything. She prayed boldly for a miracle, that I would no longer need dialysis. I felt in my spirit that I needed to be prayed for by Angie Sissel, one of my spiritual mothers. As I waited for her, my eyes kept being drawn to the green circle in that year’s conference theme. I heard God say clearly, “I’m hitting the reset button.” I asked if He meant my kidneys, but He simply repeated, “I’m hitting the reset button. Get ready.”
When “Momma Angie” prayed over me, her husband, Pastor Derek Sissel, shared a word from the Lord. He looked me in the eyes and said, “God’s not done with you. There’s still fire inside you. Stop thinking He’s finished.” Tears ran down my face. He had no way of knowing what I’d said in private the night before, but God had heard me. I called my husband that night and told him everything.
Thursday brought a surprise. During our free time, my husband told me to answer the unknown number that had been calling because it might be the hospital. When I finally answered, it was the transplant team. They told me a kidney might be available the next day. I explained I was in Texas, but they said it was fine, I was second in line. If the person ahead of me wasn’t a match, the kidney would be mine.
All day, I kept my phone close. During the Convention’s evening reception, they called again, not to confirm the kidney yet, but to make sure I was still reachable. I stayed on edge, waiting.
Friday morning, we flew home. As soon as we landed and were driving home, the call came: “Mrs. Wolfe? The kidney is yours. Please be at the hospital by 4:30 p.m. for your final dialysis treatment, then head to UCSF.”
I jumped up and down in my seat, telling everyone in the van, “My kidney is on its way!” I called my husband, and he told his boss, “I need to go get my wife; she’s getting her kidney today!”
On June 17, 2023, I received my transplant—a gift I know came straight from the Lord. It all happened so fast I didn’t have time to question the fact that it came from someone who had passed. I later learned it came from a young person. I know their family must have experienced immense pain, but I am deeply grateful. Because of their generosity, I have life again. I can teach, lead worship, and now preach.
After I returned home and began recovering, I received a letter from UCSF. It said I had been placed on the transplant list as of June 6, 2023, just ten days prior to the phone call that informed me I’d been given a kidney. Ten days. After losing nearly a year and a half of my life, God needed only ten days to give me a kidney. It reminded me—He’s not done with me. It was my mom’s time to go home and my mother-in-law’s too. But not mine.
Now, whenever an opportunity comes, I say yes. God gave me life—again—so He can fulfill His promises and purpose through me. If He isn’t done with my story, I know He’s not done with yours. Pray, lean in, surrender the outcome, and He will surprise you! He’s not done.
Mary Lou Wolfe is a worship pastor, preaching team lead, and second grade teacher at Life Church in Concord, California. She has been married to her husband, Chris, for twelve years and their goldendoodle, Brock, is almost two years old. She was born and raised in the Bay Area. Her dad, Ricardo, is from El Salvador and her mom, Jenny, was from Nicaragua. At the age of nine, Mary Lou and her parents moved to a Hispanic Church in Antioch, California. Templo Santo was her home church and sent her to Eugene Bible College, where she graduated in 2009. Since then, she has been in ministry, never losing her heritage and always having a heart for her people. She speaks, writes, and reads in Spanish. She is grateful that her parents taught her to hold tight to her heritage, never forgetting where she came from or where God is taking her.
By Valerie Warren, as told to Hannah Bemis
They told me I was going to die.
Not in a vague, someday-everyone-does kind of way. A doctor looked me in the eyes and said, “You did not hear me. You’re going to die.” I was supposed to have eleven months to live. That was in 2022. Today, I am still here and more certain than ever that miracles are real.
It all started in July of that year. I was working on our property when it hit me that I’d been feeling extra tired, more tired than I’d ever been. I told my husband, “Something is off; when we go back to town, I really think I need to go to the doctor.”
At my doctor’s appointment they did some bloodwork, telling me they’d give me a call if they saw anything alarming. It was all very casual until they called me while I was still driving home, telling me I needed to come to the emergency room immediately.
Valerie and husband Tony (center), and kids Heath, Lorissa, Hope, and Victoria (left to right)
In simple terms, my liver was “jammed up” and nothing could move. I was hospitalized while they put a stent in my biliary duct to open things up. It was during that procedure that the doctor saw a spot on my pancreas. On July 22, I was told I had pancreatic cancer. The “spot” turned out to be a tumor at the head of my pancreas, big enough that it was pinching off that whole area and blocking anything from flowing through.
“You did not hear me.
You’re going to die.”
As bad as that sounds, I was told it was only stage one and that with chemotherapy and Whipple surgery, I would very likely survive. While in the hospital, I had developed pancreatitis, so before releasing me to go home, they did some additional scans to confirm the infection was gone. It was on one of those scans that they noticed a spot on my liver. By the next week that spot had grown, and there were additional spots. On September 7, my original diagnosis of stage one pancreatic cancer was abruptly changed to a stage four diagnosis.
I was with my husband and my best friend when the doctor gave us the grim news. “You have stage four pancreatic cancer, and there is no cure. All we can do is give you palliative chemotherapy. As of right now we’re giving you one month to three years, but the average survival is eleven months.”
My husband and best friend were, of course, crying, but I was sitting there dry-eyed, just processing. The doctor must have interpreted this as shock because she repeated herself in even starker terms: “You did not hear me. You’re going to die.”
Something shifted in me at that moment. All I can say is that I just knew I could trust God. Focusing on the doctor, I said, “I did hear you, but you cannot give me my end date. The only person who can tell me when I’m going die is my Lord.”
I continued my palliative treatments for the remainder of 2022 and into 2023. During that year the support of my faith community was incredible. Groups of ladies from the local Open Bible church, Church of the Cascades, dropped off gift baskets, came to visit to just sit with me or watch a movie, or stopped by to pray.
Their efforts really touched me. The remarkable thing is that my family didn’t even attend Church of the Cascades; we had attended in a previous season but had left for a time. Despite this, the people there were a constant support. It wasn’t long before my husband and I made the decision to return, knowing that this was truly our church home.
“Why aren’t you asking for a miracle?”
It was actually a Church of the Cascades ladies’ retreat that became the pivot point for my cancer story. On a Wednesday night in October 2023, I was praying in preparation for the retreat. I was praying all the things I usually did, “Lord, I trust you, and whatever you want to do with me, just use me.” Only this time, the Lord interrupted me:“Why aren’t you asking for a miracle?”
I didn’t have an answer. I had been saying over and over that I trusted Him, and I was quick to ask for a miracle for others, but I hadn’t articulated that request for myself. That night in bed I laid my hands on my belly, simply saying, “Lord, I’m asking right now for that miracle. Will you remove my cancer? Can I just live?”
The next day I was scheduled to have a CT scan before heading to the ladies’ retreat, but the appointment didn’t go as planned. The technicians were unable to access my veins, so they said we’d have to reschedule. As I climbed into the truck with my husband, I said, “Babe, this isn’t about a canceled CT. I really feel like the Lord is going to heal me this weekend at the retreat and that’s why this is canceled. He’s going to show me proof of His healing during my rescheduled scan after I get back.”
The retreat was amazing. The last night was saturated in prayer; everyone was praying for everyone. I was being held and prayed for by my friend Sheryl, and for the first time since my initial diagnosis, I cried and cried, finally saying out loud, “I don’t want to die!”
On the final morning of the retreat, a few friends and I decided to take one last picture on the beach. As we were standing by the water, a group of three ladies from another church who were attending the retreat came walking up. I had never met these women, but they wanted to tell me that during the prayer time the previous evening, they had seen light surrounding me.
“You were literally glowing,” they said. My friends responded by telling these women my story, after which all of them prayed for me again. I was in awe at how those women had described the sight of me glowing. Looking back, I often wonder, “Is that the moment, God? Is that the moment when you were healing me?”
My rescheduled scan happened the Wednesday after my return. The results were emailed to me through MyChart (an online medical chart) first. As I read the results, it seemed to me like there was no cancer found. I ran downstairs to where my daughter was and said, “Victoria, read this. What do you think it means?”
She read it and said, “It sounds like there’s nothing there!”
“Right,” I said, “Don’t get too excited because I’m not a doctor and I could be missing something.” I called my husband and told him, “I think it’s gone!” He was driving and had to pull over because he was bawling. We were both crying, but I kept saying, “Let’s not get too excited. We’ve got to meet with the doctor tomorrow.”
Our appointment with the doctor the next day was strangely routine at first. “Yeah, your numbers look great. We’ll just keep doing what we’re doing,” he said.
I replied, “Wait. Hold on a sec. Can you go look at my latest scan because if I’m not mistaken, it looks like they’re not seeing anything anymore.” He pulled out my chart and after looking at it said, “Oh my gosh. You’re right…they’re saying there’s nothing there.”
You might wonder how the doctor didn’t notice this without my pointing it out, but don’t we often miss what we’re not looking for? Frankly, he was convinced I was going to die. When I talk to the doctors now, they tell me that they didn’t expect me to make it past six months. They would glance at my scans and see what they expected to see — “Yep, she’s still got it.” They didn’t see the scan saying the cancer had gone away because stage four pancreatic cancer doesn’t go away. Except this time, it did.
…stage four pancreatic cancer doesn’t go away. Except this time, it did.
After verifying that my scan hadn’t gotten mixed up with someone else’s, my medical team sent me to get a second opinion at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Texas. After the specialists there scanned me with their top-of-the-line equipment, they saw once again that, impossibly, I was clear. The cancer was all gone. That was in January of 2024.
Since that time, I’ve had scans every three months, and I am still cancer free. I wish I could record the conversations I have with the doctors each time. They can’t fathom it. “This is all new to me,” they’ll say, “I’m not sure where to go from here.”
No one expected me to live, and yet here I am. I’ve been able to share my testimony with hundreds of people through social media, through my business, and at a recent women’s event. The most precious thing to come out of all of this is that I got to lead both a friend and my mother-in-law to the Lord.
For those of you who are faced with an impossible situation or diagnosis, I just want to say, trust in the One who made you. Don’t focus on the thing; focus on the Lord. In Jesus we have hope, and God really can do the impossible. He will use your story, no matter what. Trust in the One who made you.
About the Author
Valerie Warren is a lifelong resident of Central Oregon and currently resides in beautiful Bend, where she is an active member of Church of the Cascades. She and her husband, Tony, have been married for nearly thirty-one years and together they have three daughters, a son-in-law, and a beloved grandson.
Valerie works part-time alongside her husband and runs her own business, which she sees as a platform to build meaningful relationships with women and share her faith in Jesus. Her greatest joy comes from spending quality time with her family and friends.
