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.