But I really don't need to hear it.
First of all, I've heard the Good News. As an atheist, I take a great interest in religion. Whatever variety of it you happen to subscribe to, there's a good chance I know something about it. I'm aware of the truth of the word of God. I'm also aware that there are about 30,000 versions of it (the rough count of Christian denominations in the world), which right there tells any thoughtful person everything they need to know about the obviousness and inviolability of God's word. Come on, you can't grow up in American culture without being saturated with the Christian message.
More to the point, I have been thoroughly churched. My grandfather was a pastor in the Disciples of Christ, with a divinity degree from Texas Christian University. I won all kinds of awards in Sunday school as a child. I was baptized at thirteen. I have a whole shelf of Bibles and concordances here at Nuevo Rancho Lake. I've read the King James Bible from cover to cover. I know the word of God from the inside.
My atheism is a conscious, confident choice. Not an error, not simple ignorance of some better way. A considered position based on a lifetime spent grappling with both faith and reason. While I am pathologically cynical about religion in the public square and in politics, I am absolutely respectful of religion as a private choice and a personal behavior.
My private choice and personal behavior is to be an atheist.
I wouldn't dream of approaching a religious friend who is mortally ill and attempting to convince them how much better their life, and death, would be if they rejected God and turned to the comfort of rational, empirical humanism. Yet I have religious friends who feel compelled to do this very same thing to me. I've been told in so many desperate words that a friend cannot understand how I can face such trials without Jesus in my life.
I know this is motivated out of love and concern. I know that for many Christians (and a number of other religious) proselytization is both a duty and an act of faith. But I'm extremely comfortable with my spiritual stance. What kind of hypocrite would I be to turn away from my intellectual bedrock now, in the face of troubled times?
Besides which, cancer is the Problem of Evil on the hoof. If I came to once again accept belief in God, the first thing I'd do is get into a knock-down, drag-out argument with Him over why He is treating me this way.
So I recognize that you love me when you reach out to me about faith. But really, truly, I've heard it before, and I know what's important to me. Your spiritual truths are not mine. And with a life full of cancer and all its discontents, I don't need that distraction now.