Trusting God Through the Trials We Never Expect

I stare at the screen and let the words sink in.

Probable carcinoma.

Motionless, I try to grasp the meaning of those two words.  

‘Probable’.  Most likely.  Probably.  Chances are, I have cancer.  It’s not confirmed, but the balance is tilted in favor of the C-word.

‘Cancer’.  My first thought is Beth.  My dear friend Beth. We went to the Christian bookstore in Ashland and bought matching Bibles.  Months later, she was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer.  When my firstborn came out, so did all of Beth’s hair.  She sat in my brand-new glider rocker, head wrapped in a scarf, rocking so furiously I feared my weeks-old daughter would get motion sickness.  In many ways, the treatment was worse than the cancer.  She died within a year of the initial diagnosis and has been with Jesus for 28 years.

But I have never foreseen cancer to be part of my story.  It’s nothing I have considered. Cancer is not in my family.  The cancer gene missed us.  I try my best to check off the boxes of healthy living to avoid cancer.  We eat our fruits and veggies, organically when possible.  We buy our meat from local farmers instead of the grocery store, and make all of our meals from scratch with real ingredients.  We drink our delicious well water, void of chemicals.  I  refuse to heat anything in the microwave with plastic.  We walk four miles a day and sleep eight hours a night.

Despite what we do, cancer can rear its ugly head.

My phone rings out my beautiful Mozart Sonata ringtone.  It’s my doctor.  I’m thankful I read MyChart before she called.  I am prepared and calm.  She confirms the words in the report are alarming, yet sends messages of peace.  ‘Probable’ does not mean cancer; it means we need further testing.  ‘Probable’ means biopsy.

Within hours, they call and schedule a biopsy for the next day, Friday.  It’s alarming that they need to see me the next day.  When my knee hurt, it was six weeks before the doctor could schedule me, but with cancer, there is an urgency.  

I sit with my coffee and rock in the same chair Beth sat in decades ago.  Is this it?  Will cancer be my demise?  I am surprisingly calm.  

Lord Jesus, your will be done.

I nod my head.  Yes, that is the right prayer. At age 56, I have lived a full life.  I had an idyllic childhood, with a mom and dad who stayed married, even through the hardest of hards.  I graduated from college and married my best friend.  The Lord blessed me with four of the most amazing people on the planet for children.  He allowed me the privilege of homeschooling them, even though it meant driving rusty old minivans. He protected us in so many ways.  

Yes, Lord, your will be done.

Twenty years ago, I learned my lesson.  I selfishly prayed a Hezekiah prayer. Sick for over four years, I prayed the Lord would spare my life until my youngest graduated from high school.  (2 Kings 20:1-11)

Just let me live for my kiddos.  Don’t let them grow up without a mom.  They need me.

And just as God granted Hezekiah’s request, extending his life for fifteen years, so God allowed me to live a ‘normal’ life through surgeries and medication.  After so many years of selfish pleas to the Lord for Him to do what I want, my heart is now somehow completely surrendered to what He wants.  

What if a cancer diagnosis leads my kiddos into a deeper relationship with Him?  What if people praying for me trust Jesus even more?  What if cancer and treatment mold me and shape me to look like Jesus?  Why would I not want that?  And when I die, I’ll be with the Lord.  I do want that, more than anything. 

But what about Hubby?  I am prepared to meet the Lord today, but that means loneliness and pain for my best friend.  I have often said the best way for us to die would be together, that way neither of us needs to grieve alone, which is probably worse than the pain of dying. 

Heavenly Father, your will be done.

A Friday biopsy means my flesh is sitting in a lab somewhere, preserved for a tech to look at after the weekend break.  Hubby and I sit on the couch, holding hands in silence, Nuka at our feet.  I don’t cry. I remain surprisingly optimistic, even bordering on happy.  My trust in God’s future plans for me prevails over any fear.  He is in control, and He loves me.  Why should I be afraid?

I keep my phone, with the ringer turned on, next to the piano.  I wait. 

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday. 

Friday, the call comes. 

“As hoped for, the biopsy was benign.”

“Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for the Lord God is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation.” (Isaiah 12:2)

First published in Pursuing Perfection on Substack by © Tessa Lind, tessalind.substack.com