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"JESUS LOVES ME" Cristi Mansfield       TIM DOWNS WAS TWO MINUTES from completing his afternoon lecture at the Communication Center, Campus Crusade's communication training program, when his pager went off. It was his wife, Joy, calling with bad news.       An hour later they checked into the twilight zone (and the children's cancer ward at Loma Linda University Medical Center) with their then 3-year-old daughter, Erin. It was July 8, 1988.       Nineteen days earlier Joy had given birth to their third child, Kelsey Joy, at the same hospital two floors below the children's cancer ward. But now their great joy faded into intense confusion mingled with grief and fear.       From the day that Erin entered the hospital, every piece of information the Downses received seemed negative: countless blood tests, chemotherapy, bone marrow biopsies, the imminent loss of Erin's long, blond, curly hair and the potential side effects of the drugs (her heart could be destroyed, her fingernails could fall off, her tendons could shorten). The list went on and on.       Tim determined to spend every night of that month in the hospital at Erin's side. They were awakened throughout the night for a barrage of blood draws, transfusions, vitals checks and catheter flushings, while at home a hungry Kelsey awakened Joy around the clock to be nursed.       After the first nightmarish week in the hospital, Tim recounts this story:       "She was on chemotherapy. She was throwing up a lot. She was in Intensive Care. And now they were going to do another bone marrow test.       "I felt like I couldn't watch Erin go through another painful procedure. I couldn't stand there and hold her through another bone marrow. I just ran out of gas.       "Joy offered to stay with Erin through the bone marrow while I went for a walk. When I walked outside the hospital, I felt strange, like a vampire going out into the daylight. I walked some, sat under a tree for awhile, and prayed.       "I told God what I thought. I was angry and I was hurt. I emptied out my heart. I remember not long before, someone had told me, 'God's ego is not so fragile that He can't stand to hear what you really think. And He's not so unaccus-tomed to human suffering. He knows what pain is all about.'       "Maybe it took an hour, but it seemed like such a brief time.., because I was genuinely praying.       "Sometimes I feel like when I die and go to heaven, God will have a list of my most genuine prayers, and that will certainly be one of them.       "I'm not a very emotional person. But that day, for the first time I remember as a Christian, I genuinely felt touched. I felt completely new, an incredible sense of peace. I had this sense that everything was fine, though I didn't have any reason to believe that.       "When I walked back into Erin's room, I saw Joy with her head down. And then I saw Erin. She was lying flat on her bed playing with her fingers in the air. As I moved doser I could hear her singing 'Jesus Loves Me.' Then Joy looked up and smiled at me. The scene was so peaceful."       For Tim, that serene picture was the first positive experience he'd had since he first heard the news that his daughter's life was threatened by this rare disease.       Originally from St. Louis, Tim was a student leader in the Campus Crusade ministry at Indiana University, as well as a Phi Beta Kappa and a cartoonist for the college paper. His comic strip, "Downstown,' became nationally syndicated in 1979, the same year he began working with Campus Crusade.       Joy, a tall, dark-haired beauty from Pittsburgh, met Tim at IU. After graduation she moved to California to work as a radio producer for Campus Crusade, and Tim continued to pursue the relationship. They were married in 1981.       In the nine years since, they've, among other things, become speakers for Family Life Conferences, weekend marriage seminars that are a ministry of Campus Crusade, and founded the Communication Center.       They are not a couple you'd think would have a child with leukemia. But then, nobody ever is.       Because of Erin's special needs, Joy no longer travels and speaks with Tim at the marriage conferences. Tim has continued to travel during that time, canceling only two conference appearances because of Erin's illness. But it's caused him to re-evaluate his views on work.       "It became very real to us that we're not choosing our own steps, and we don't control our lives," Tim says. "But we never really did." For two plan-oriented people, that has been a rather frustrating lesson to learn.       That first difficult month, Joy would corral 5-year-old Tommy and newborn Kelsey and head for the hospital--a 20-minute drive--where Tim would meet her out front. Joy would get out of the car and walk up to Erin's room; Tim would get in the car, drive home and spend a few hours with Tommy and Kelsey.       There were times when a sitter stayed with the children while Joy drove back and forth. During those drives, she, normally smiling and poised, often cried all the way to the hospital and all the way home.       "Someone said to me at the clinic," Joy remembers, "that this is a lifestyle. I didn't like that. But now I know it's true. And though I don't like that Erin has to go through this, I'm more accustomed to it."       After a while, even the most bizarre things become routine for families coping with leukemia. "At first it's a lonely place, a scary place,' Tim says of the children's cancer ward.       "You do adapt in some ways," Tim contin-ues. "The fact is we just can't live every day grappling with the fear and the pain that lies below the surface. Maybe it's denial, but I can't get up every morning, look at my daughter and think, She has a 50 percent chance of surviving the next six years."       I have to think, Look at her, she's fine.       "Spiritually, Joy and I have said we feel like we're in a period of recovery. When Erin was first diagnosed, all the things I believed, all my convictions, seemed superficial and hollow. Like greeting-card sentiments.       "And when your convictions are tested (as mine have been through this), you wrestle them through. And when you're finished, you can believe them again. But now they're really con-victions. They're a part of your life.       "I feel like that's the process we're going through.'       For Joy, the struggle has been with fear: "I have thoughts of fearing for Erin's life. Even tonight. Erin wasn't here for dinner (she was at a friend's house---a rare treat), and Tommy was upset because he missed Erin. I looked at the empty seat and for a moment thought, What if she wasn't ever here?       "I have to immediately put those thoughts out of mind, and pray that God will protect and heal Erin. Fear has motivated me to trust the only one who can ultimately heal Erin.       "I have to look at the fact that Erin is still here, and praise God for that. A friend at the very beginning wrote, 'Faith is resisting the temptation to panic.' I feel like I'm exercising faith because I'm refusing to panic."       The normally radiant, vivacious, and often giddy Erin had a close call on Monday, December 11, 1989. She was rushed to the hospital with what for most children would've been a normal cold and viral infection. But for her it immediately turned into pneumonia.       With her blood pressure dangerously low, she was hooked up to an oxygen mask and cardiac monitor. Antibiotics were pumped into her little body for six days. She was to remain in the hospital 10 days to two weeks. But she recovered and went home four days earlier than expected, to the surprise of all the doctors and nurses.       She's 4 now, almost 5. Her favorite pastimes are playing dress-up; she changes clothes at least three times a day. And playing with her Barbie doll collection; she changes her dolls' clothes just as many times a day. And playing with her brother and sister; she doesn't change their clothes. And just playing. Erin is the life of the party.       One of Erin's favorite dress-up outfits is a white wedding dress, veil and flowers included. The sight of her in that wedding dress makes you catch your breath. It must bring mixed emotions to the hearts of her parents.       They pray that what is unseen will be "for a future and a hope." Their hope for her future is in God.