“I DON’T GIVE TAMMY MUCH OF A CHANCE…”

I will never forget the very first moment my eyes landed on Tammy. It was a sunny Friday afternoon, about 4:30 p.m., on September 23, 1977. I was sitting in the stands at our high school football game, fully absorbed in the action on the field, when my attention shifted. There she was a cheerleader on the sidelines, smiling, clapping, full of life. From that moment, I hardly saw another play on the field. My focus was locked on her.

Within a few short months, we were dating. Life was good for this young man. Tammy was everything I had prayed for she was kind, smart, fun-loving, and yes, she even laughed at my corny jokes. She was thoughtful and sweet, and I could easily see a future with her. But then came the phone call that would shake my world.

One morning Tammy woke with a swelling on her neck. She had planned to see the doctor, but when the phone rang later that day, her trembling voice told me what I never expected to hear. “Eddie… I have cancer.”

I could hear that she had been crying. Her words were choppy, her throat tight with fear. Cancer? My heart dropped into my stomach. My mind immediately began racing through the images of hospitals, surgeries, and what life might now look like. In a matter of moments, the girl I loved went from being my dream to being in a fight for her life.

It wasn’t long before the first surgery. The doctors discovered a tumor under her collarbone, and the cancer had already spread into her lymphatic system. Within eight weeks, she was back on the operating table for an exploratory surgery. I remember sitting in the waiting room late into the night, praying, fighting off fear, trying not to let the enemy’s lies of hopelessness sink in. Hours dragged on until finally, the doctor walked in.

He motioned for me to step aside. “You’re the boyfriend?” he asked. I nodded. He asked how long we’d been dating, and when I told him six months, he leaned in and spoke words that rocked me to my core: “Son, she is a very sick girl. I personally don’t give her much of a chance. If she does make it, she will never live a healthy or normal life. And I don’t believe she will ever be able to have children. I know you think you love her, but I think you need to go home and rethink this.”

Those words echoed in my mind the whole drive home. Go home and rethink this. Go home and rethink this. Go home and rethink this. Was he telling me to walk away? To give up hope? To leave the girl I loved because she might not survive. Confusion and despair tried to choke me. I didn’t know where else to go so I went home to my parents.

It was two in the morning when I burst into their bedroom, tears streaming down my face, pouring out the doctor’s words. My mom wrapped her arms around me, but my father just looked at me, stone serious. Then he said something that stunned me: “Son, let’s get some rest. In the morning, we’ll start planning Tammy’s funeral.”

I froze. Did I hear him right? I stared at my dad, shocked and broken. Then my mom snapped back, “Ed, stop it! Your son needs you!” My dad turned to me and said, “Son, it’s obvious you don’t have the faith to keep her alive.”

Desperate, I pleaded, “Dad, please tell me what to do!”

He looked me straight in the eyes and asked, “Do you want Tammy to live?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

“Then get your butt back to that hospital and use your faith. Be strong for that girl. Don’t you dare come back to this ranch without her! She must have your strength. This is not too hard for you. You can do this. It’s time to be strong and show yourself a man.”

Then he made me quote every healing scripture I knew. For fifteen minutes I declared God’s Word, by His stripes we are healed, He sent His Word and healed them, the prayer of faith shall save the sick. With each verse, faith grew stronger inside me until the storm in my mind calmed.

I drove back to the hospital, this time on a mission. For days I slept in my car outside Tammy’s hospital window in the freezing cold, reminding myself of my father’s words: She must have your strength. This is not too hard for you. Show yourself a man. Tammy hadn’t been raised in a Christian home, so I began sharing with her the promises of God’s Word. Peace began to replace her fear as she learned that Jesus had already purchased her healing at the cross. Together, we began to fight this battle of faith.

Soon came another devastating report: the cancer had spread throughout her body. The doctors prescribed nine months of full-body radiation. Everything in the natural screamed despair. But I knew it was time to make a statement of faith.

In our family, the bride’s wedding ring had always been passed down from generation to generation. So I drove back to the ranch, walked into the kitchen, and said to my mother, “Mom, I think I’ll be needing your wedding ring soon.” Her jaw dropped, unsure of what I was saying. I explained, “I’m going to ask Tammy to marry me. This is my demonstration of faith that she will live and not die.”

Tears filled her eyes. She told me something I had never forgotten. When I was thirteen years old, the Lord woke her in the middle of the night and told her, pray now for the woman Eddie will marry. She prayed through that night without even knowing who it was for. Now she said with tears of joy, “Son, Tammy is the one I’ve been praying for all these years. When you’re ready, my ring is hers.”

So, on Tammy’s sixteenth birthday, I walked into her hospital room, trembling but full of faith. I stood beside her bed and asked her to be my wife. And though she was under heavy medication, I refuse to believe her enthusiastic “Yes!” was just morphine talking. It was the answer I had prayed for.

From that moment forward, Tammy’s faith grew. Together we declared God’s Word, day after day. And Tammy received her miracle. Not only did she survive, but she has lived a full, healthy life. And now, more than forty years later, we are still together stronger than ever.

Years later, near the end of my father’s life, I took him to one of his check-ups. As we were leaving, the doctor looked at me and said, “Eddie, do you remember that night, almost forty years ago, when Tammy had that major surgery?”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll never forget it.”

“Neither will I,” he replied. He told me how, that night, he and the head surgeon had scrubbed in, both convinced Tammy wouldn’t make it. The head surgeon had sighed and said, “We don’t know what to do… so let’s just go for it. Let’s get in there and try something.” By all medical expectations, Tammy wasn’t supposed to live.

Her oncologist once told her, “Tammy, you never did anything by the book.” To which Tammy smiled and answered, “It depends on what book you’re reading.”

And she was right. Because we weren’t reading from man’s book of odds and percentages. We were reading from God’s book of promises.

And in that book, the Word says, “I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the Lord has done.” (Psalm 118:17)

Nearly fifty years later, Tammy is living proof.