By Chad Johnson

Dealing with the pain of major surgery and the heartbreaking news of cancer left the father asking for medication almost every hour. He was uncomfortable throughout the day and into the night, trying to get some rest. Despite this, if you were to look at the man, you would see no pain. His face showed a smile, and his spirit showed his faith.

The son closed his eyes as if to rest but let his mind wonder: "Can we go to the ball game?" "What should we do first?" "Will my daughter know her grandfather?" All questions that had nothing to do with faith, his father's well-being or the needs of other family members. "I want to make the most of my time remaining with him," was the only selfish dream that led the son to sleep.

During the night, the father was told by a voice that a visitor would come to help his pain. He rolled over to see a beautiful, tall, blond woman dressed in white. She told him that she was his healing angel and that she would take away half of his pain. God had touched the father.

The son fell fast asleep despite the uncomfortable cot. In his dreams, the selfishness continued as he dreamed of all of the great times the two had spent and all of the times to be squeezed into the next few months.

Sometime in the night, during one of his dreams, the son heard someone ask, "Is Jesus Christ your savior?" And wouldn't you know, his reply was just as selfish as his dreams. "No! Not unless he saves my dad."

They both awoke with a new outlook on life. The son was now sure that he did not believe in Christ. The father arose with a smile in his heart as the pain that once grasped his every breath was now simply gone. The father was so moved that he told his son of his great vision and the visit from the healing angel.

The son was so floored he had to leave the room. His once-strong belief that Christ was not his savior was immediately dismissed, and he knew that his father's healing angel had spoken to him.

The father had been given a small miracle to relieve his pain, but the son had been given the largest miracle of all a belief in God.

May 29, 2002, was supposed to be a celebration of life, but instead the harsh reality of death ruled the day.

Celebrating his 54th birthday with major surgery and the news of a devastating form of cancer was not the way John Johnson planned things. The doctors were amazed that anyone could still be alive with the amount of cancer found in Dad's abdominal cavity. The diagnosis was appendiceal adenocarcinoma, an extremely rare cancer with a very short life expectancy. The operating doctor knew my father well and cried when he told us that Dad would not last more than a week in the hospital.

That night, Dad and I had our visit from his angel and things began to change for the better. No longer using pain medication, Dad was able to get up and move around. He told the doctor that he was going home. The doctor agreed but told him to prepare for the worst, and there was no need to schedule chemotherapy. In four days, Dad went home.

Two weeks passed, and the surgery wounds were healing. Spirits were high, and Dad was feeling good, so good in fact that he called the doctor and requested treatment to beat this cancer. With his angel looking over his shoulder, Dad began the strongest doses of chemo allowed all without any pain or nausea medication.

A month of therapy passed, and Dad was feeling great. The time was nearing for him to make a major decision. Would he ignore the recommendations of his doctors, or would he renege on a commitment to me?

For Christmas, Dad had given me two tickets to Wrigley Field to watch a Cubs game in the bleachers, a lifelong goal for both of us. Being quite selfish, I jokingly suggested that dying at Wrigley would be the highest honor. Not one to let me down, Dad and I set sail for a vacation of a lifetime. Without a doubt, that weekend was the greatest weekend of our lives together.

Living on borrowed time, our family made the most of that summer and fall. Dad really thought that maybe, just maybe, he had dodged a bullet. Our hopes were lifted after a second surgery to explore the state of the cancer. All looked well, and the cancer didn't look too bad.

Once again, reality hit hard. An infection set in, and Dad was in another battle. Yes, he kicked that, too, but what the doctors didn't realize was that the cancer had migrated not gone away. In just a few short weeks, Dad's stomach was closed, and surgery was ruled out.

A last-ditch effort to explore our options led Dad to Mayo Clinic. It seemed as if he was an attraction at the county fair. Every doctor, nurse, med student and medical professional visited Dad.

Of course, this might be the only time they would ever see this type of cancer. Dad was a great sport and had high spirits, despite all of the attention. One courageous surgeon was willing to attempt to put in a stomach drain. It worked and bought Dad another lease on life.

A year and a half after that dreadful birthday, Dad finally gave in to the battle. The experience of his death was the most spiritual and amazing thing I have ever been a part of. He went out with a smile on his face and a song in the air.

There was no doubt that my father was saved. It took his death for me to truly learn what being saved really means. Dad's angel gave us time to go to the ball game, time for my daughter to get to know her grandfather and time for me to grow in faith.