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"DADDY, AM I GOING TO DIE, TOO?" by Lyndee Breeding I'M GONNA SIT by the window on the plane!" "No, I am!" "But you sat by it last time!" "No, it's my turn. You always sit by the window!" November 10, 1989, 2:07 p.m. The heated argu-ment continues as Stevie Rentz, nearly 7, beats on his dad's back. He's not fighting with his 8-year-old sister, Melissa, but with his 42-year-old father, Steve. Stevie sits on an examining table, hunching over a pillow and arching his back "like a kitty" as Steve pushes on his stomach. Together they concentrate on the disagreement instead of the three-inch-long nee-dle piercing Stevie's spine. Another episode in a 32-month journey filled with pokes, pills and pain. Steve and Nancy Rentz have faced a few tough times in their lO-year marriage. Just weeks after Stevie's birth in 1982, two heart defects showed up. He took Inderal, a blood thinner, for the next four years, and the family waited to see if he would need open-heart surgery. In October 1986, the Rentz family rejoiced when the doctor announced Stevie wouldn't need the surgery. But their relief faded seven months later. On May 1, 1987, they admitted 4-year-old Stevie to Loma Linda University Medical Center with leukemia. Last year they faced another scare when they found out that Michael, now 17 months old, had a hole in his heart. (It has since healed.) Steve and Nancy can honestly attest to God's ever-loving presence amd grace throughout trying times. Looking back, they see their experiences as priceless because of the way God has chiseled and polished them to more closely reflect His image. They believe such growth might not have come without such painful circumstances. Steve works with Campus Crusade staff memberrs to help them raise and maintain their financial support, while Nancy serves as full-time mom to Melissa, 8, Stevie, 7, and Michael. You may won-der, Is there life after leukemia? The Rentz family shouts a resounding, "Yes!" They invite you to share a little of their experience.       Nancy: We felt completely overwhelmed at first. Dr. Antranik Bedros told us that if we didn't start chemotherapy immediately, Stevie would be dead within two or three weeks! We had no control. No one asked, "Is it OK if we inject these drugs into your child?" They simply said, "This is what you're going to do." If we had chosen not to do the chemotherapy, the state could have taken Stevie from us.       Three years of treatment sounded like an eter-nity to me. Stevie looked so healthy! But we knew from Jonathan Davis' experience that we'd watch him slowly get sick and lose his strength, lose his hair, get skinny legs and a big stomach, lose his appetite, gain his appetite, and...all the drugs.       Nancy: The first 31 days with Stevie in the hospital were traumatic. The shots in the legs, the i.v.'s, the screaming.       Steve: I thought, This is a nightmare! Please wake me up! Nancy and I were never home at the same time during that 31 days. At least two or three times a day Melissa asked, "Daddy, do you love me?" She had never asked that before.       The abnormal was not normal for us yet. But from the very beginning, support dropped in around us through friends, neighbors and church members.       Nancy: The first spinal tap done by an intern was terrible. She couldn't get the needle in. Stevie was screaming on the table. It was ripping me apart. The second try didn't work either.       I left the room, furious! I hated her for hurt-ing my child. I searched for Dr. Bedros, but he'd already left. I called for someone at the church to pray for us. After three or four unsuccessful tries, the intern said, "We'll have to try again in an hour." We said, "You can't!" They called Dr. Bedros, and he convinced us that it had to be done. I never prayed so hard in my life--out loud in front of everybody who went into the treatment room. I just held him and cried out to Jesus that she'd get it on the first try. She did.       Clinging to the Lord was the only hope I had, because I didn't trust that intern for a while after that. But she did all the rest of his spinals successfully, and we grew to respect and trust her.       Nancy: Having Stevie home from the hospi-tal was almost harder because he still went back to the clinic four days a week.       Steve: We had to take a pail with us in the car, everywhere. He threw up almost every night at home for the first six weeks.       Steve: Stevie looked like a cue ball from September to December in 1987. My father bought him a Snoopy hat, and that became his favorite thing. I'll save that hat the rest of my life.       Steve: We have some humorous memories, like when he got an infection, and I brought home "horse pills" for him.       Nancy: I remember that with horror. We had to wake him from a sound sleep to give him these humongous pills. He was crying and we were bribing him: "We'll give you ice cream. What do you want? Take this pill!' So at 10:30 p.m. we pulled him around the cul-de-sac in his wagon. He finally swallowed it.       Steve: For 2 1/2 months he took a steroid that made his appetite go crazy. We had to buy a microwave because he woke up starving at two in the morning.       Nancy: We heated lasagna, spaghetti.., he'd eat a loaf of bread in 24 hours. He had these skinny little legs that he couldn't even walk on, and a big stomach. He looked like a pathetic, starving baby in Africa. Melissa carried him or dragged him off if she wanted to play with him.       Nancy: We didn't understand what God was doing. But by choosing to praise Him, He flooded us with His peace and His presence.       Daily I struggled with the temptation to say, "Why is this happening to me? Why is this my child? I can't stand the pain." But as I chose to praise God, those feelings just blew out the window.       Steve: In December 1987 I received a call that one of Stevie's former hospital roommates had died from a brain tumor. Stevie got up on my lap and asked why I was crying. I told him that Shawn had died and gone to be with Jesus. Stevie looked at me and said, "Daddy, am I going to die, too?"       Through my tears I said, "Stevie, Jesus is in control and only He knows. I really don't know." He was satisfied with that answer, but he asked, "If I go to be with Jesus, can I take your checkbook, your briefcase, your Day-Timer...?" He listed several of his favorite things and waited for an answer.       Finally I said, "Jesus will let you take whatever you need to be happy." That was one of my hardest days.       Steve: As committed Christians we can be pretty philosophical, saying our children belong to the Lord. We've had an opportunity to see if we truly believe that or not.       Nancy: As a mother, I always feared, What if something happens to my child? I'm living out that fear now, and God is carrying me through. He has manifested Himself to me in such a unique, wonderful way that I can say to other mothers, "You can face this. God really is there for you."       When I first walked onto the cancer floor and saw all those sick children, I could no longer say, "Lord, why is this happening to my child?" without saying "Why is this happening to Shawn or Amanda or Travis?'       Nancy: When we first started going through these painful treatments, I felt led to tell Stevie about the pain Jesus experienced when He died on the cross. I told him Jesus was in that room with him, and He knew how much it hurt. I didn't know how much he understood.       Stevie is very sensitive to others' pain. If I'm talking on the phone to someone whose child is sick or hurt, he's right there tugging on me, wanting to know who's hurt and when we're going to pray for them.       Steve: The hardest month in our lives was January 1989. We began to fear Stevie had fallen out of remission [the cancer cells had returned]. The same day they ran tests to decide for sure, we found out that Michael would probably need open heart surgery. Waiting for Stevie's test results was the longest 45 minutes of my life.       Thankfully, the test results were good. Since then the hole in Michael's heart has closed. It's been a fascinating life, but our insurance com-pany will be thrilled to know we're not having any more children!       The outlook appears promising. On July 27 this year, Stevie will finish his treatments. Though he won't be considered cured until he reaches July 1994 cancer-free, the prognosis is very positive.       Steve says, "We're living with the possibility that Stevie may die, yet the chances are now far greater that he'll live.       "But, who's to say your child or mine won't be hit by a car today? The only guarantee we have is that we rest in the hands of a sovereign God who will provide the grace we need, whatever our future holds. Meanwhile, we concentrate on memory-making, building our relationships and trusting in God's loving purposes.       "I often tell others that God will use whatever cir-cumstances it takes to conform us to His image. If we try to wiggle out from what God's doing, by leav-ing that job, town or spouse, He'll just use something else. If we accept His conforming process and the strength He provides to see us through it, it truly will work for our good."