Cancer day 1: the thing I’m chanting in my head

18 May 2017

Three hours after Rachel was diagnosed with cancer, she began to process how to position herself to live, cope and parent through the journey ahead.

So the news is about three hours old now. Hubby still doesn’t know, because his phone isn’t working. Helpfully, though, it has meant that I have had plenty of time to process stuff with God first. God is usually my first processor. He gets my raw response, so by the time I get to talking it through with Hubby or friends I sound less like a crazy person. God can take my crazy.

As I was driving home from this ordinary meeting that pressed the ‘Go’ button on a Tough Mudder season of my life, I was chatting out loud to God. I was surprised at what came out of my mouth.

I am not afraid of this cancer. You made my body, and this cancer is nothing to you. Whether you heal me in a moment, guide the medical process to deal with it, or whether this is the thing that kills me. I am not afraid of this cancer.

I am not afraid of this cancer. I am on this earth to love and to grow to be more like you. To be useful in your great and wonderful plans on this earth. To delight in my son, and help him love you and be who you have made him to be. To strengthen my husband and make him laugh as much as I can. To lift other’s hearts and make today a better day for them. To, as much as I can, remove hindrances from people so they can revel in the freedom of relationship with you. I am not afraid of this cancer.

I am not afraid of this cancer. I will die one day. And it may be because of this. But it doesn’t matter whether it is this or not, because I have today. I am so, so grateful for today. I will live it to the best I can. I have no right to demand anything. Everything I have is a gracious gift, including this breath and this moment. I am rich beyond words. I am not afraid of this cancer.

I am not afraid of this cancer. You work all things together for good, so I will look for your weaving in every situation. I will bring hope to every room I walk into. I will cling to joy and laughter. I will ugly cry when I need to, rant with anger and frustration if I feel like it, and get inappropriate for fun sometimes. But I will not hide. I will face this hill and run the race set before me. It won’t be pretty, but it will be full of life. Because you are life, and you have promised to give us life to the full. Regardless of the medical diagnosis. Bring it on. I am not afraid of this cancer.

To read more about Rachel’s journey of cancer, you can read the full journey at

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