I have always been a planner. If I could be ready for any situation that might come my way, I felt better. Intellectually, I know bad things will come. But I dang sure don’t want them to be my fault when they do. It tears me slap outta my frame when something happens that I could’ve prevented by trying harder.
The teacher might not give us a pop quiz, but I’ll study this chapter just in case. The power might not go out in this ice storm, but I’m gonna fill up this bathtub with water so we can flush if it does (all you Southerners with wells and septic understand that one). Some might call it being controlling. I call it being prepared!
Since my grandmother died of breast cancer at 35 and my mother had it as well, I have done everything I knew to do to dodge that bullet. I avoided every risk factor. I had my babies before I was 30. I nursed them all. I was barely on birth control pills. I watched my weight. I ate (relatively) healthy. I never smoked, never drank. I never took estrogen when I went through menopause. I had annual mammograms starting at 40.
Even though I had a clean 3D mammogram a few months earlier and despite my best efforts, I found a lump and was diagnosed with invasive breast cancer on August 29, 2025. Following a successful lumpectomy and tons of tests, my tumor was nearly twice as big as they first thought, it had spread into a lymph node, and I had a high chance of it coming back somewhere else in my body to finish what it started. Aggressive chemo and radiation will give me the best chance at long term survival.
At first the shock and disbelief hit. SURELY I can’t have cancer while I’m ALREADY going through the second worst valley of my life, right? Details of the other unbelievable dumpster fire I’m dealing with will have to wait for another post, when the Netflix series comes out, or when 48 Hours interviews my sweet husband, my family and friends. And to read up on the “Worse-than-this-Valley circa 2006,” check some of my earlier blogs. This might not be AS bad as 2006, but it’s pert-near.
The shock is wearing off. I’m getting my port this week. Chemo will start the next day. Reality is setting in.
For my last weekend before treatment starts, we came to our beach house for some Vitamin Sea. I knew I needed to get as mentally and spiritually as strong as I can to face this mountain. I walked 6 miles on the beach. I prayed. I played worship music. I sang along. I raised my hands in praise. I cried out to God to help me.
An offshore Nor’easter brought coastal flooding and beach erosion the night before. Overnight, the surf had swept away the beach underneath this boardwalk.
I prayed,
“Lord, I feel like this set of stairs. I feel like the ground has been washed out from underneath me. Some of me is still on solid ground, but some of me is dangling. Not just about having cancer, but about the people who are seeking to hurt me. I can’t fix any of it.”
I heard the Lord speak to me in His still, small voice, like I’ve heard Him so many times before:
You might have done everything you could to avoid cancer, and you might not have done anything to cause people to falsely accuse you; but like this boardwalk will have to wait for someone to fix it, so will you. You’re going to have to let ME be your solid ground. Look to Me and not the wind and the waves. You’ve done all. Now STAND.
I must do my part, but I cannot do HIS part. And although in His power He could, He WILL NOT do my part. Ephesians 6:13 says,
Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to STAND.
I feel completely overwhelmed to be fighting cancer and fighting people who are trying to hurt me at the same time. However, I believe that is where God can shine through in my life the most. If I could get out of this valley on my own, if my dear husband could fix it, we would. And we wouldn’t need God.
Friend, if we live long enough, we’re all going to face a bend in the road. It might not be cancer (and I sure hope it isn’t!), but it will be something that shakes you to your core. When it does, I hope you can remind yourself of something a dear friend said to me once:
A bend in the road is only the END of the road if you fail to make the turn.
Precious Lord Jesus, help me make this turn, this bend in the road, with grace and strength. You have been SO faithful to me my whole life. I can look back on every single trial, every valley, and I see how You carried me, making what I thought was the end of the road just a bend every time. You have never left me alone, and You won’t start now.
When I feel overwhelmed with fear, give me faith. When I am sick, give me strength. You could say the Word and I would be healed, I believe that. I also believe You can use medicine and my oncology team to heal me. Whichever You choose, I will be grateful. Use me to help and encourage others going through this, or any other valley, as I walk through it.
Please strengthen my husband, Todd, as he walks with me through it. Help him, our children, our families and friends, as I know they’re all worried about me too. Comfort them like only You can.
With all my heart, Lord, I want to walk this out right. I want to be an example of Your love and light in a world that is so broken. I want to look back and see I was able to comfort others with the comfort You have given me. And when it’s over, I will be careful to give You all the praise and glory.
In the Mighty and Powerful Name of Jesus I pray, Amen.
The greatest honor of my life was being in the delivery room with my daughter and son-in-law when their precious child was born. I was both excited and humbled to be a part of such a miracle!
I’d been there three times myself, so it shouldn’t be so hard to do, right? Surely childbirth couldn’t have changed that much in the 23 years since I’d done it last!!
Always the planner, I set out to prepare myself. I read up on current childbirth techniques and even watched some birthing videos — not for the weak-stomached! I was prepared to give foot massages and back rubs, get ice chips, encourage, pray, and of course take pictures. All that was left to do was wait for the call to hit the road to Lynchburg.
When the time came, things were going well while we waited for her contractions to get stronger. This was a marathon, not a sprint, and there was a long night ahead of us.
Ahhh but there was one thing I didn’t think about, one thing I hadn’t planned for, one thing I hadn’t prepared to face . . .
All those women giving birth in those videos weren’t MY DAUGHTER.
I wasn’t just watching my grandchild being born — I was watching my daughter be in the most intense pain she’d ever experienced.
Let me be clear — Kaitlyn was handling it wonderfully. She went through labor with the most strength and grace any woman could. She was amazing! Nate was amazing! He was the most fantastic birth coach any woman could ever ask for!
I was the one faltering. I hadn’t bargained for how it would feel to see her in pain. All I could do was beg God not to let me fall apart in front of them. I was careful not to let Kaitlyn see me cry. I needed to be strong for her.
When it came time to push, Nate held her shoulders and breathed with her. I stood at her feet and told her how great she was doing. It wasn’t hard to say because it was true.
I talk to myself — and I’m not ashamed — and this is the conversation I had in my head:
Pretend like you’re not watching your child feel like her bones are coming apart!! Just distract yourself. Remember your own Lamaze class! Get a focal point!! You can’t take away her pain. You can’t go through this for her so GET A GRIP, WOMAN!!
I looked around for something I could focus on. I needed to pay attention to Kaitlyn, so I decided to look at her knee. That was safe, right? I stared at it and tried to gain my composure. Then I realized what I was looking at . . . . .
Not just any knee. This was Kaitlyn’s knee. My baby girl’s knee. There were scars on that knee, and I knew where each one of them had come from . . .
It was a surreal moment. I checked out of that delivery room and went back in time. Kaitlyn was always very active and she loved to be outside, riding her bike or her scooter, playing with the neighborhood kids. She loved sports, especially softball and running track.
One of the scars was from a bike wreck when she was in elementary school. In my mind’s eye, I saw her limp in the back door, tears streaming down her face and blood running down her shin. She tried not to cry as I cleaned the dirt and gravel out of it, covered it up with Neosprorin and put the biggest bandage we had on it. After a kiss to make it all better, she went right back out to play. She was strong . . . just like she’s strong right now.
Another scar was from softball. I was standing at the fence as she rounded 2nd at her coach’s direction to slide into 3rd base. She trusted Ricky’s signals and she never slowed down. She was safe, but not without injury. Again there was blood running down her shin, but she kept her game face. She got right back up to bat. She was strong . . . . just like she’s strong right now.
My heart ached intensely. How could time have gone by so quickly? Wasn’t it yesterday that she got these scars? Wasn’t it just a few minutes ago that I stood at that fence at every ballgame she’d ever played, watching her get sweaty and dirty, doing what she loved? How could it be that my baby was having a baby?
Through wet lashes, I focused again on my surroundings and snapped back into the present. Although it was such an emotional moment, remembering Kaitlyn so vividly as a child, I was also so comforted, so peaceful, and so encouraged.
Those scars were God reminding me that shewas strong . . . . just like she’s strong right now. She was strong enough to get back on her bike, strong enough to get back up to bat, and she was strong enough to do this too — for a much greater prize! Her own child!
I thanked God for showing me her scars and reminding me of who I was dealing with here — my Kaitlyn was a strong woman.
Not too much later, Kinley Raine Bodkin made her grand entrance into our world, changing it in an instant. And just like that, all the pain was forgotten — just as it has been with every woman who’s given birth since the beginning of time. Never had Kaitlyn and Nate known such love — but I did. I’d known it when I’d had my own children, so I knew the intensity of what they were feeling. Ain’t no power on earth as strong as this love.
This bundle of joy is the light of our lives!! Being with Kinley takes away all the worries of the world, and I look forward to every moment with her. If you’re not a grandparent, I highly recommend it!!!
God used Kaitlyn’s scars that day to remind me of the power of love, strength and healing. They were the evidence of grace and mercy to give me hope in the faithfulness of God.
Psalm 147:3 reminds us
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
Since we all have scars, may the Lord show you in your weakest moment that He will bind up your wounds. May your scars be the evidence and reminder of your healing, of grace, mercy and hope in the faithfulness of God. And may He show it to you when you need it most. Whatever you’re facing, you’re gonna make it. You got the scars to prove it.
I love summertime. It’s my hands-down favorite time of year. I love the heat, the sun, a great tan (also known as increasing my freckle collection), and I especially love the ocean.
As much as I love this time of year, the summer of 2006 will go down as the worst few months of my life. So traumatic, in fact, that you’d think I’d want to forget all about it — just wipe it out of my memory altogether. But it’s burned into my mind. I’ll never forget it . . . and believe it or not, I really don’t want to . . .
That week at the beach wasn’t shaping up to be much of a vacation, but I desperately wanted to give the children some semblance of normalcy. Inside, anxiety and fear raged. I walked compulsively up and down the water’s edge for hours on end. I prayed with every step, begging God to show me somehow, someway, that He still loved me — that He saw what was happening, that He cared at all, to assure me He would stop the storm that was brewing.
Just give me a sign, Lord. Anything at all. Let me know it’s going to be okay.
No sign came. Nothing miraculous written in the sand. No perfect sand dollar or rare seashell. No sky writing. No still, small voice as the sun rose or set.
My marriage was in the last throes of the death rattle. We were about to lose our church, our home, our livelihood, and my daddy was sure to die any day. Somehow, someway, I had to find a way to hold it together for my kids.
As I power walked up and down in the sand, a weathered old man stopped me. I was in such a daze that I hadn’t seen him sitting there in his beach chair. Surely he saw the raw fear and desperation on my face.
“Lady, I ain’t never seen nobody walk at the beach as much as you do. You been marching back and forth all week. I’m wore slap out just watchin’ you!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I have a lot on my mind and it helps me to keep moving.”
“Well you might have a lot on your mind, but you ain’t got a lot on your bones, so I hope you sit down soon. Wearin’ out this sand ain’t gonna fix what ails ya. Why doncha just rest a spell?”
Rest!?!? How could I rest when the world was falling apart? I smiled, thanked the crusty old Southerner, even agreed with him that I needed to take a break, but I couldn’t stop. I continued to walk, continued to ask God to speak to me . . . and continued to feel like He didn’t.
Looking back on it now, I think God was speaking after all. He wanted me to rest. Relax. He wanted me to trust Him, have faith, entrust my life and the lives of my children in His care, whether He fixed it the way I wanted Him to or not. Shoot fire, for all I know, that old man on the beach was an angel. The Bible says we encounter angels without knowing it sometimes, you know.
If you’ve read this blog, you know all I feared would happen did. In the next weeks, my children lost their intact family, their church, their home, and their beloved grandpa. I not only couldn’t protect them, I ended up with an all inclusive three day stay in the nervous hospital. A far cry from the way I wanted things to turn out!
Years have passed since that week at the beach. I feel it’s very important for me to remember that summer. I not only survived, I’m actually living again. I look back with great gratitude. If I wiped it out of my memory, I’m doomed to make those same mistakes again. I learned a lot — quite the hard way.
Over and over, the Lord told the Israelites to remember how He had rescued them out of Egypt and brought them into the Promised Land. He wanted them to recall what they had lived in so they would always trust Him to take care of them. Deuteronomy 5:15 is one of many times the Lord told them,
Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and that the Lord your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.
Remember, remember, remember. God wanted them to think about how hard things had been so they would know He saw their pain, their dire situation, and He hadn’t forgotten them. He wanted them to remember it so they’d trust Him the next time they were in a bad place.
On the 10h anniversary of that fateful week at the coast, I went back. That time, however, I only walked up and down the beach once a day — anxiety and fear free. Just a leisurely stroll, hand in hand with my husband of nearly three years. Oh I still prayed as I walked. My prayers were quite different these days.
I took this picture on our first night that week, and as the seagull flew off, I thanked God that I’m as free as this bird. Free from the fear and anxiety that used to hold me captive.
While my life is far from problem-free, I trust God more than I did then. Because I look back and see His faithful rescue, I know He will continue to keep us through whatever valleys the future holds, just like He did the summer of 2006. I now see His guiding hand, holding me and my children, even when I couldn’t see or feel it then. He never let us go.
Maybe you’re in the midst of your own storm. Storms of illness, wayward children, failing marriages, painful family situations, deficient finances, lonely nights and fearful days. I continue to tell my story of God’s grace and mercy to encourage others through their valleys.If God rescued me, He will rescue you.If you have a painful past, look back on it with a heart of gratitude that you survived. It’s my deepest, most earnest prayer for you that you will hang on, trust and believe that God isn’t finished. Tie a knot and hang on to the end of your rope . . .
You see, when we think the world is falling apart, it’s really falling into place.
We had few neighbors growing up. Our grandparents lived across the field. On the other side was the McGee’s who farmed probably a hundred acres. One of the McGee’s lived through the pasture, and behind the pond. That’s what having neighbors means when you live in a farming community.
They had three little girls. The oldest was Sandra, who was in kindergarten when I was in the 5th grade. She caught the bus at my driveway every day.
One cold afternoon as Sandra and I got off the bus, I saw one of our dogs laying on the bank. I ran over to her and quickly realized that although there was hardly any traffic down our dirt road, she’d been hit by a car and didn’t make it. She had been a stray, and we hadn’t had her long, but I was (and remain to this day) a huge dog person, so I was heartbroken.
I knelt beside her and sobbed. Sweet little Sandra put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t cry, Dee. God can fix this. He can make her be okay if you ask Him! Just pray!” Even as a child, I knew I didn’t have the faith to pray that way. I believed He COULD do it, but I didn’t think He would, so I didn’t even ask.
Later, I felt the crushing weight of guilt. Why couldn’t I trust God the way Sandra did? Why hadn’t I prayed God would save my little stray dog? I felt like it was my fault she was dead as much as if I’d been the one driving the car that hit her.
Many years later, dear friends lost their baby. It remains one of the lowest points of my life, and I can’t imagine how much worse it was — and is — for them. As I held her tiny, lifeless body in my arms, I prayed with every fiber of my being that God would breathe life into her. I begged Him for all I was worth to raise her from the dead. I had never prayed so hard for anything in my life.
God didn’t answer that prayer.
After we buried her, I yet again carried a burden of guilt that I didn’t have the faith it took to save little Kaylee. It was truly a life and death situation, and I had failed the faith test.
Where once I felt I had a strong faith, now it seemed so many times in major crisis situations, my prayers were fruitless. I began to cringe inside when someone asked me to pray for them. I wanted to say, “No, please. Get someone else. I’m not the woman of faith you think I am. I’ll only let you down.”
During that low time, my friend Joey (whom I’ve quoted several times in this blog already, and there will surely be more) said while sharing his own experience,”I didn’t havea faith that worked. I had a faith that worked me.”
That’s exactly what I had — a faith that worked ME. My faith was working me to DEATH. And I was exhausted.
A faith that worked me carried the guilt of unanswered prayers. If I had more faith, if I could just have manufactured, strained, squeezed, pulled and pried a mustard seed more, then maybe Kaylee would have lived. Maybe my marriage wouldn’t have failed and my children wouldn’t have had a broken home. Maybe my Daddy wouldn’t have died. What was wrong with me? Did I have some unknown and unconfessed sin? Didn’t I quote enough Scripture? Pray eloquently enough?
I look back on all of that and shake my head. Whew! It makes me tired to even remember it!! I lived in constant fear, worry, guilt and shame. That’s a weight no one can bear.
Today, I’m so much more relaxed. I don’t get so worked up. I don’t feel like it all rides on me. I still carry deep burdens, and I still have some serious prayer concerns for loved ones that remain unanswered, but I don’t feel like I have to manufacture faith that I don’t have anymore.
I still pray! But how different my prayers are today than they were when I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. I now let the only One who can carry it do the work.
If you ask me to pray for you, I’m going to! I’ll ask God along with you to bring your prodigal son back home, to save your marriage, heal your loved one with cancer or your sick pet, help you find a better job, and if need be, raise the dead. I have the faith that God can do ALL of those things!
Will He? That I don’t know and can’t promise. And I’m okay with that. I’m still going to ask, but I’m not taking responsibility for the results. God knows what’s best.
I wish Kaylee hadn’t died, and if I had to do it over again, I’d still beg God to breathe life into her body. However, I no longer think God didn’t save her because of something I did wrong. I’m grateful I no longer feel God is that mean. I don’t know if we’ll know this side of Heaven why she died, but I’m grateful I know we’ll see her again.
Through the most painful of life experiences, I’ve now seen wonderful things come from the darkest times, and although I don’t always understand why things have to be the way they are, I trust God more now than I did then. I realize now that He may have something even better waiting down the road, and if someone doesn’t get the job we prayed for, I know that could mean a better one awaits them.
All that trying and striving couldn’t manufacture faith — it must come from God. Romans 12:3 says,
God has dealt to each one a measure of faith.
That means the burden is on God to give us faith as He sees fit!
And how cool is this? When my faith is low, I can ask for more. In Mark 9, a man who asked for healing for his son knew where faith came from and Who to ask,
I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!
These days I spend a lot of my prayer time simply asking for the knowledge of God’s will, trusting that He knows better than I do, and the power to carry it out.
Somewhere in the latter part of 2010, I found myself content most days. Not in the valley, but not on a mountain top. Life in the middle ain’t such a bad thing. However, I had to be careful not to let something make me cry. Once the tears started, I couldn’t seem to make them stop. As long as I didn’t think about the past too much, about lost hopes and dreams, I could function.
Take for example the night Lindsey thought it would be a good idea to watch Disney’s “Up”. You know, the movie about the couple growing old together and chasing their dreams? As it turns out, not such a good idea. I wept in the fetal position on the couch for an extended period of time. Not quite a hissy fit, but heavy waterworks, nonetheless.
When things like that happened, I was painfully aware I still had deep wounds in places only God could fix. I accepted my healing would take more time, and I was content to live a quiet accountant’s life in rural Virginia, providing an education for my kids.
At Liberty University, there is convocation three times a week — affectionately known as “Convo.” On Wednesday’s, everyone goes. Every student, every faculty member, every employee. The entire campus shuts down. I loved it! I couldn’t believe I was getting paid to hear the best preachers and motivational speakers in the country. I soaked it up every week.
At this particular convo, a man spoke about his ministry of rescuing people from human trafficking, both in America and all over the world. He showed pictures of children being set free from sweatshops and women walking out of brothels, prisoners of the sex trade. Yep, this guy was doing a lot of good things. Very informational! Worthy of support! I didn’t feel it had any real relevance or connection in my life, but I was glad to know someone was called to do it.
He quoted Exodus, and talked of God’s faithfulness in freeing His children from slavery in Egypt. This guy was a modern day Moses, confronting evil captors like they were Pharaoh!
“This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘Let my people go . . .
Then he said — and I can still hear his words so clearly . . .
“Prison isn’t always a jail cell or forced slavery. You can be in prison in your own heart, in your own mind, in your own home.
“Somewhere in this audience there is a single mom who feels unworthy, guilty. You feel ‘less than,’ not part of the Body of Christ, useless and disqualified, afraid of what people think. God knows your heart. He knows what your family has been through.
“Do you think He loves the Israelites more than He loves you? Are you less worthy of rescue than they were?
“Let me tell you something. God is STILL in the redemption business. He’s still setting captives free, still breaking heavy chains of bondage.Let Him make you whole again.“
Instantly, I went from a position of, “This is a great ministry. Such a blessing for those people who need rescue!” to a position of, “Wait . . . what? Is he talking to me?!”
Ever have one of those moments? When you feel like you’re the only person in a room (in this case, a room of 10,000 people), and the speaker is talking just to you? When you sit straight up and look around to see if anyone else is having this out of body experience as well?
Could it be? Did God love me as much as He loved the Israelites?
I sort of believed I DESERVED to live with guilt and shame. Shouldn’t I be ashamed of being divorced? God had already spoken to my friend Karen that He was healing me. I believed that. But could I forgive myself of a failed marriage? Could I not only be healed, but made WHOLE again?
In that moment, I felt a heavy weight lift off my body, off my heart, off my mind. No, I couldn’t go back and fix my broken family. But I COULD start over. I set my mind in that Convo, that very day, that I was going to walk in that freedom — to drop the chains that had me bound. Sitting there, I realized forgiving myself was an essential part of my healing, to not just exist, but MADE WHOLE AGAIN.
Before anyone gets their panties in a wad, slow your roll. In no way am I advocating divorce, and neither was the speaker that day, whoever he was. On the contrary, I wouldn’t wish divorce on my worst enemy. I believe in marriage. I believe in keeping your vows and making it work when the road is hard. As happy as Todd and I are, as much as we love each other, we both wish we could have had intact, healthy, happy families for our children. We wish we weren’t divorced. But we’re making the most of the cards we’ve been dealt instead of being held captive by the past.
If you’re looking at divorce in your rear view mirror (or you know someone who is!), let me share a few tidbits of encouragement that I learned from my journey.
Although God hates divorce, He loves divorced people.
Jesus didn’t die for marriage. He died for the individual. God sees you as His child, His beloved. You aren’t less important to Him now that you’re single again!
Don’t soothe your pain with another human being. Jumping into a relationship slows the healing process. No human being can fix your broken heart — only God can. I’m thankful for my years of being single. It freed me from distraction!
Forgive the pain! Let it go! Give up trying to improve your past!
If you have children, PAY ATTENTION TO THEM. They’ve never needed you more. They need to know you’ll never leave them. Provide as much stability as you possibly can. Prioritize their health and healing.
And most importantly,
You aren’t disqualified from use in God’s kingdom. If you’ve survived the trauma of divorce, you can relate. Comfort them that God still has a plan for their good, for their success! Be positive and encouraging. No one wants to be around negativity!
Lest you think this post doesn’t pertain to you because you’re not divorced, hold up! Your prison cell might be one of addiction, fear, unforgiveness, anger, bitterness, anxiety or defeat. Go back and insert your presenting problem into each one of those bullet statements, and find encouragement to start where you are, right where you sit, to walk in FREEDOM and FORGIVENESS. Look around you and say, “This looks like a good place to start.” God loves you as much as He loves the Israelites. You, too, can be made whole again.
I prayed for twins when I was pregnant with my son. I’m sure I would have been given the strength to handle two busy boys, but let’s be real — Thank You, Jesus, for letting that one slide . .
We had two girls, and I thought surely we needed a boy. I believe in praying Scripture, so I prayed Hannah’s prayer in I Samuel 1:11:
O Lord Almighty, if you won’t forget me, but give me a son, I will give him back to You for all the days of his life.
The Lord answered that prayer, and I kept my end of the bargain — I dedicated my son to Him for all of his life, as I had done both of my girls.
When Daniel was 8 months old, I noticed a little knot on the back of his head. I wasn’t overly concerned, but I wanted my pediatrician to take a look. He wasn’t overly concerned either. He said it was just a cyst and it would go away. Within a couple of months, it had grown to 3x it’s size. I took him back to the doctor. He again calmed my fears and said not to worry — cysts grow.
By the time a few more weeks had passed, it had begun to cluster off like a bunch of grapes. I no longer believed this was a cyst, and wanted a second opinion. So did the doctor. He sent me to a pediatric surgeon, who also assured me there was nothing to worry about, but he said it needed to be removed since it was growing quickly. We scheduled our 13 month old son to have surgery the next week.
I was beside myself, to put it mildly. Not only was my baby about to be put to sleep and have his head opened up, but I was in the frozen tundra with not one family member. I felt very alone and afraid.
We put him on every prayer chain we could, all over the world. But I couldn’t get peace. Standing over his crib the night before his surgery, watching him sleep, I wept. I reminded the Lord of the prayer I had prayed, and how I had given Daniel to Him.
Lord, I said I would give him to you all the days of his life. Please don’t let his days be this short.
It was all I knew to pray. I never slept a wink that night.
His dad and I waited in the family room at Providence Hospital in Anchorage during his surgery. A friend watched our girls. Our pastor came, and another friend from church. Minutes turned to hours, and I was keenly aware that it was taking much longer than the surgeon anticipated. Hours longer.
After what seemed surely an eternity, Dr. Bleicher walked into the waiting room. He looked at us with tears in his eyes. If I’d ever known true fear in my life, it was watching that doctor try to compose himself enough to speak. I’ll never forget his words as long as I live:
It’s never easy to tell someone their child has cancer.
The next week was a blur as we waited for the pathology report so we would know how best to treat our baby. I sat at Dr. Bleicher’s desk, a hot mess I’m sure (I’m not an attractive crier). He said he had good news and bad news. The good news was the initial pathology report showed it probably was not cancer! But the bad news was, they hadn’t gotten it all. They needed to do another, more extensive surgery, in case it WAS cancer so they could remove the rest of this aggressive tumor.
Again we alerted every prayer chain. Although I felt MUCH relief that the doctor didn’t believe Daniel was going to die, or even need treatment past the second surgery, I was still all to pieces at him having to go through that again.
The next time I sat in Dr. Bleicher’s office, he said he hoped I wouldn’t be mad, but the pathology report from the second surgery showed no tumor cells at all. They had removed only healthy flesh from his skull. He apologized and said he didn’t know how that could have happened, because he had seen for himself that the tumor cells had gone all the way past the edges of what he had removed the first time. He waited for my reaction, figuring this Mama Bear was going to be livid that her son had to undergo another surgery, leaving him with a scar all the way down the back of his head.
“I have no explanation,” he said.
I smiled and said, “Oh I do. We would never have known God healed him if you hadn’t done the second surgery. I’m not mad, Dr. Bleicher. I’m thankful God used you to show off!”
After that, my little butterball baby boy was the picture of health, and those two surgeries were the beginning of many stitches his head would incur at the hands of fireplace hearths, playgrounds, baseball bats, and tile floors.
With the spiritual high of the healing of my son, I guess I thought healing came if you prayed hard, and got enough other people praying. (As you probably already know, I only had a short ride on that high horse!).
A year or two later, we had moved back to NC, and a dear pastor friend asked me to share that story at his church in Virginia. I’m sure I was careful to give God all the glory for healing our son, and I’m sure I talked about prayer, and faith — I really don’t remember exactly what I said. What I do remember is a lady standing up and walking out in tears. I had no idea what I’d said, but whatever it was sure upset her.
Afterwards, I asked Jimmy what was wrong with that woman. He said her son was about the same age as Daniel, and he had a tumor too. They had prayed and prayed, but her little boy died.
Her little boy died . . . .
Confusion swirled in my brain . . . . Why would my son be spared, and not hers? I didn’t know the answer to that question, and honestly, I don’t think I wanted to. I felt terribly guilty.
Fast forward 12 or 13 years. My life was in shambles, an utter failure. I was barely hanging on to the cliff, and my hands were slipping. I’d gone to a prayer meeting at my church, but truth be told, I was prayed out. I was too empty to keep trying.
The pastor asked for praise reports, and a lady I didn’t know stood up and shared the story of her niece who had been on the verge of divorce. Her family and Sunday School class had prayed, and God restored their marriage. She exclaimed (in the best Southern drawl you can imagine),
“Y’all, if you know somebody who’s about to get divorced, ALL YOU GOTTA DO is watch ‘Fireproof’ and pray! You watch and see if God don’t put it back together, better’n ever!”
Really? That’s it? That’s all ya gotta do? Watch ‘Fireproof’ and pray? Why didn’t I think of that?!?!
Now it was MY turn to get up and walk out — and that’s just what I did.
Oh I don’t think that lady meant to hurt me, any more than I meant to hurt the lady who’s son had died. On the contrary, I’m sure she was doing her best to encourage those with troubled marriages not to give up. I think “Fireproof” is a good movie, and I believe in the power of prayer. It hadn’t worked out for me like it had for that family. It hadn’t been that simple.
I had good intentions in sharing my story about Daniel’s tumor as well. After seeing the pain on that young mother’s face in that little country church in rural Virginia, I’ve been careful not to over simplify God’s healing power. I don’t know why God healed Daniel, yet seemingly didn’t answer my other prayers. There is no secret formula to get God to perform like you want Him to. Matter of fact, if someone else tries to tell you there is, be very careful. Ain’t no such thing.
I’m thankful I’ve seen the miraculous hand of God in my son in this life, and even though I couldn’t see it then, I’m thankful I’ve been on the other side as well, when my most earnest prayers weren’t answered like I wanted them to be. I’m stronger today than I was then because of it.
I still pray Hannah’s prayer for all my children. They’re Yours, Lord, for all the days of their lives. I can’t be with them all the time, but God can. They belong to Him.
If you’re praying, waiting for healing, whether physically or in your heart, for yourself or someone else, be encouraged, my friend. Healing is coming, in one form or another, sooner or later. You might not feel it or see it, but you’re stronger. Great strength can only be earned by great pain.
Southern Fried Encouragement 