Just shy of my son's third birthday, tests revealed that his kidneys were spilling large amounts of protein. A biopsy confirmed that he had kidney disease. We were told that DT had roughly five years to live.

My nephew had died of childhood leukemia when he was only eight years old. The news of my son's illness brought a flood of terrible memories and fears, but my husband and I tried to remain hopeful.

Prednisone treatments were prescribed at first, but they didn't help, so the doctors tried a much more aggressive treatment. We were waiting to hear words like "cure" and "recovery." But their hope was more modest: to slow the rate of protein being spilled, and give DT a fighting chance at keeping his own kidneys until he was old enough for transplants.

I was devastated, but tried to be in good spirits for my little boy. The one-on-one time DT and I shared as we drove the thirty miles to and from the hospital was the best part. I made him a Superman cape, and he learned his ABCs during those trips. The cape helped him to be brave, and the ABCs helped distract him while he was being poked with needles.

Both my parents and my husband's parents live over five hundred miles away, but they came to help as often as time and money permitted. Our church family did laundry, fixed meals, delivered prescriptions, and visited us in the hospital. Many of them donated blood in honor of DT.

When we weren't with our boy, my husband and I spent as much time as we could reading the Bible and praying. We surrendered our child completely to God's care. Six weeks into the three month treatment - DT completely quit spilling protein. We were overjoyed - and the doctors were amazed! DT continued weekly blood tests for the next three months. For the next year, he was required to have monthly tests. After another year, he was required to have annual tests. And finally, the doctor said the words we had been waiting to hear: "Full recovery!"