“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?”

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.

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.

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.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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.

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.

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.

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.

Por Valerie Warren, según lo narrado a Hannah Bemis

Me dijeron que iba a morir.
No de una forma ambigua, al estilo de que «algún día todos morirán». Un médico me miró a los ojos y me dijo: «No me has oído. Te vas a morir». Se suponía que me quedaban once meses de vida. Eso fue en 2022. Hoy, sigo aquí y estoy más convencida que nunca de que los milagros son reales.

Todo comenzó en julio de ese año. Estaba trabajando en nuestra finca cuando me di cuenta de que me sentía muy cansada, más cansada que nunca. Le dije a mi marido: «Algo no está bien; creo que tengo que ir al médico cuando volvamos a la ciudad.».

En la consulta del médico me hicieron análisis de sangre y me dijeron que me llamarían si había algún resultado alarmante. Todo fue muy casual hasta que me llamaron mientras conducía de vuelta a casa para decirme que tenía que ir inmediatamente a un servicio de urgencias.

Valerie y su esposo Tony (centro), y sus hijos Heath, Lorissa, Hope y Victoria (de izquierda a derecha)

En pocas palabras, mi hígado estaba «obstruido» y nada podía moverse. Me hospitalizaron para colocarme una endoprótesis en el conducto biliar y abrirlo. Durante la intervención, el médico observó una mancha en el páncreas. El 22 de julio me dijeron que tenía cáncer de páncreas. La «mancha» resultó ser un tumor en la cabeza del páncreas, lo bastante grande como para comprimir toda la zona e impedir que fluyera nada.

Por malo que suene, me dijeron que solo estaba en la fase uno y que, con quimioterapia y la operación de Whipple, era muy probable que sobreviviera. Durante mi estancia en el hospital desarrollé una pancreatitis, por lo que, antes de darme el alta para irme a casa, me hicieron otros escáneres para confirmar que la infección había desaparecido. En uno de esos escáneres detectaron una mancha en el hígado. A la semana siguiente, la mancha había crecido y aparecieron otras nuevas. El 7 de septiembre, mi diagnóstico original de cáncer de páncreas en fase uno cambió bruscamente a cáncer de páncreas en fase cuatro.

Estaba con mi esposo y con mi mejor amiga cuando el médico nos dio la terrible noticia. «Tienes un cáncer de páncreas en fase cuatro y no tiene cura. Lo único que podemos hacer es administrarte quimioterapia paliativa». Ahora mismo te damos de uno mes a tres años de vida, pero la expectativa de supervivencia media es de once meses».

Por supuesto, mi esposo y mi mejor amiga estaban llorando, pero yo estaba allí sentada con los ojos secos, simplemente procesando. La doctora debió interpretarlo como un estado de shock, porque me lo repitió en términos aún más crudos: «No me has oído. Te vas a morir».

Algo cambió en mí en ese momento. Solo puedo decir que supe que podía confiar en Dios. Dirigiéndome al médico, le dije: «Le he oído, pero usted no puede darme mi fecha final. La única persona que puede decirme cuándo voy a morir es mi Señor».

Continué con mis tratamientos paliativos hasta finales de 2023. Durante ese año, la ayuda de mi comunidad de fe fue increíble. Grupos de mujeres de la iglesia local, la Biblia Abierta, la iglesia de las Cascadas, me traían cestas de regalo, venían a visitarme para simplemente sentarse conmigo o ver una película, o venían a orar.

Sus esfuerzos me conmovieron de verdad. Lo notable es que mi familia ni siquiera asistía a la Iglesia de las Cascadas; habíamos ido una temporada antes, pero la habíamos dejado por un tiempo. A pesar de ello, la gente de allí fue un apoyo constante. No pasó mucho tiempo antes de que mi marido y yo tomáramos la decisión de volver, sabiendo que esta era realmente nuestra iglesia.

De hecho, el punto de inflexión en mi historia con el cáncer fue un retiro de mujeres de la Iglesia de las Cascadas. Un miércoles por la noche de octubre de 2023, estaba orando para prepararme para el retiro. Oraba lo de siempre: «Señor, confío en ti, haz conmigo lo que quieras, pero úsame». Solo que, esta vez el Señor me interrumpió:

No tenía una respuesta. Había estado repitiendo una y otra vez que confiaba en Él y me apresuraba a pedir un milagro para los demás, pero no había formulado esa petición para mí. Esa noche, en la cama, puse las manos sobre mi vientre y dije simplemente: «Señor, te pido ese milagro ahora mismo. ¿Querrás extirparme el cáncer? ¿Puedo simplemente vivir?».

Al día siguiente tenía programada una tomografía computarizada antes de ir al retiro de damas, pero la cita no salió como estaba previsto. Los técnicos no pudieron acceder a mis venas, así que me dijeron que tendríamos que cambiar la cita. Mientras subía a la camioneta con mi marido, le dije: «Cariño, no se trata de una tomografía cancelada. Realmente siento que el Señor me va a sanar este fin de semana en el retiro y por eso se ha cancelado la cita». Él me mostrará pruebas de su sanación durante la tomografía reprogramada después de mi regreso».

El retiro fue increíble. La última noche estuvo saturada de oración; todos oraban por todos. Mi amiga Sheryl me abrazaba y oraba por mí, y por primera vez desde mi diagnóstico inicial, lloré y lloré, y finalmente dije en voz alta: «¡No quiero morir!».

La última mañana del retiro, algunas amigas y yo decidimos tomarnos una última foto en la playa. Mientras estábamos junto al agua, se acercó un grupo de tres mujeres de otra iglesia que también asistía al retiro. No las conocía, pero querían decirme que, durante el tiempo de oración de la tarde anterior, habían visto una luz que me rodeaba.

«Estabas literalmente resplandeciente», me dijeron. Mis amigas respondieron contándoles mi historia y, tras ello, todas ellas volvieron a orar por mí. Me quedé asombrada de cómo aquellas mujeres habían descrito mi resplandor. Mirando hacia atrás, a menudo me pregunto: «¿Fue ese el momento, Dios? ¿Es ese el momento en que me sanaste?».

El miércoles siguiente a mi regreso me hicieron la tomografía reprogramada. Primero me enviaron los resultados por correo electrónico a través de MyChart (un historial médico en línea). Cuando los leí, me pareció que no había cáncer. Bajé corriendo donde estaba mi hija y le dije: «Victoria, lee esto, ¿qué crees que significa?».

Ella lo leyó y dijo: «¡Parece que no hay nada!».

«De acuerdo», le dije, «no te emociones demasiado porque no soy médico y podría estar pasando algo por alto». Llamé a mi esposo y le dije: «¡Creo que se ha ido!». Iba conduciendo y tuvo que parar porque no podía parar de llorar. Los dos llorábamos, pero yo insistía: «No nos emocionemos demasiado. Mañana tenemos que ir al médico».

Al día siguiente, nuestra cita con el médico resultó ser, extrañamente, muy rutinaria. «Sí, tus cifras están muy bien. Seguiremos con lo que estamos haciendo», dijo.

Yo le contesté: «Espere un momento, ¿podría echarle un vistazo a mi último escáner? Porque, si no me equivoco, parece que ya no ven nada». Sacó mi historial y, después de mirarlo, dijo: «Dios mío. Tienes razón… dicen que ahí no hay nada».

Tal vez se pregunten cómo el médico no se dio cuenta de esto sin que se lo señalara, pero ¿acaso no pasamos por alto con frecuencia lo que no buscamos? La verdad es que estaba convencido de que me iba a morir. Ahora, cuando hablo con los médicos, me dicen que no esperaban que sobreviviera más de seis meses. Echaban un vistazo a mis escáneres y veían lo que esperaban ver: «Sí, todavía lo tiene». No veían el escáner que decía que el cáncer había desaparecido porque el cáncer de páncreas en fase cuatro no desaparece. Excepto esta vez sí lo hizo.

Tras comprobar que mi escáner no se había confundido con el de otra persona, mi equipo médico me envió a buscar una segunda opinión al MD Anderson Cancer Center de Texas. Tras escanearme con sus equipos de alta tecnología, los especialistas confirmaron que estaba limpia. El cáncer había desaparecido por completo. Eso fue en enero de 2024.

Desde entonces, me he sometido a exploraciones cada tres meses y sigo sin tener cáncer. Ojalá pudiera grabar las conversaciones que mantengo con los médicos. No pueden entenderlo. «Todo esto es nuevo para mí», me dicen, «no sé muy bien qué hacer a partir de ahora».

Nadie esperaba que sobreviviera y, sin embargo, aquí estoy. He sido capaz de compartir mi testimonio con cientos de personas a través de las redes sociales, de mi negocio y en un reciente evento de mujeres. Lo más valioso de todo esto es que pude guiar al Señor a una amiga y a mi suegra.

A quienes se enfrentan a una situación o diagnóstico imposible, solo quiero decirles que confíen en Aquel que los creó. No se centren en la situación, sino en el Señor. En Jesús tenemos esperanza, y Dios puede hacer lo imposible. Él utilizará su historia, pase lo que pase. Confíe en Aquel que le creó.

Sobre la autora

Valerie Warren ha vivido toda su vida en el centro de Oregón y actualmente reside en la hermosa ciudad de Bend, donde es miembro activo de la Iglesia de las Cascadas. Ella y su esposo, Tony, llevan casi treinta y un años casados y juntos tienen tres hijas, un yerno y un nieto al que adoran.

Valerie trabaja a media jornada con su marido y dirige su propio negocio, que considera una plataforma para establecer relaciones significativas con mujeres y dar testimonio de su fe en Jesús. Su mayor alegría es pasar tiempo de calidad con su familia y amigos.