Saturday, July 30, 2011


Today marks one year since I received the call from the doctor informing me that the pathology report confirmed non-small cell lung cancer and our journey began. I really wish that I could sit here today and tell you that I understand God's purpose in all of this, but I can't. I can, however, tell you that over the past year, I have seen God's glory on display multiple times. I still do not know how long the journey will be and where it will take me. I only hope that through it all, God will be glorified.

The following is a song by Mercy Me off of the Coming up to Breathe CD. Yeah, I know that is ironic. This song says it better than I ever could.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


"You may get cancer out of your body, but you will never get cancer out of your mind."

Those words were said to me by a friend at one of the very first cancer encouragement groups that we attended. Truer words have never been spoken.

Remembering this past year, I can scarcely remember doubting that I would beat cancer. However, the past week has been a constant battle, and I have been reminded that I am not just in a physical battle but also a spiritual and mental battle as well. We have received word of another person's diagnosis, two friends who are not doing well with their treatments and complications, and one friend losing his battle with cancer. Although I currently have no evidence of disease, cancer has seemingly been on an all-out attack every day, creating doubts and causing me to lose my focus.

In the middle of the beat down, my morning Bible reading took me to the story of Peter walking on the water with Jesus. Peter was doing fine until he noticed the wind, and then he began to sink. All of the news this past week caused me to notice the wind, and I took my focus off Jesus--the very One who has gotten me through the past year.

Jesus will never leave me nor forsake me. I am thankful that when I begin to sink, He is there to grab my hand, too.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

One More Hill

There are times when I ride that I try to see how fast I can go. There are other times that I decide to make it a test of endurance. I was getting tired of riding ten miles and so, this Saturday morning, I decided to test how far I had come by seeing how far I could go.

I have intentionally planned my routes so that there are places I can turn around and head back home, in case I am not feeling up to a long ride. This morning I found myself bypassing the turn offs and riding on roads that I have not ridden in a year. By the time I hit the nine-mile mark, I was committed. I was also out of gas. I stopped on a side street to drink some water and catch my breath. I was trying to decide whether I should call DeLayne to come get me. But I felt that if I gave up now, cancer would win one. I decided that if it took me all day to finish the ride, that's what I would do. Determined, I clipped my feet back on the pedals and continued my ride.

At mile fifteen, I had reached the next to last intersection on the home stretch. I had stopped for the red light and there staring at me, barely a half mile away, was one more hill to climb. I hate this hill! I have to climb this hill on every ride and it is always a struggle. I could hear it taunting me this morning - "You don't have the legs left today." The light turned green, and the first few pedal strokes felt like I was riding in wet concrete. Once I reached the start of the hill, I had to grit my teeth, and it took every bit of what I had left to get up and over, but before I knew it, I was coasting toward home.

As I rode up to our front walk, the odometer clicked to seventeen miles. Half of what I use to do on Saturdays but seven more than usual; I was happy with the effort and did a very sad, weak happy dance. I had once again proven to myself that I may have cancer, but cancer does not have me.