I’ve found myself contemplating what God actually wants with me after he’s carried me through this last year and a half of my life. I would love to say that He has revealed Himself and His purposes to me in such a clear-cut way that there is no question as to why he allowed this trial in my life, but that isn’t the whole truth. While I’ve had glimpses and snippets into how my experiences can be used to encourage, uplift, and speak truth to people, I don’t always feel that the hardship I endured made me better or stronger. The truth is, while people have called me “brave” or “strong” for enduring the unimaginable for a woman under 40 with a family, I don’t always see it that way. Yes, I did choose to embrace a positive outlook and trust the Lord through an extraordinarily scary season, but the reality is, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. I had to be brave when confronted with a scary diagnosis, and I had to be strong for my husband and kids, even when my body was being internally battered by toxic chemicals meant to save my life. Am I really a force to be reckoned with when my options are move forward in faith or die?

People often say that survivorship is the harder part of the deal, and I would have to agree. Cancer was basically my entire personality for the last year and a half, and now what? I finish treatment and move on with life like normal? What is normal anymore? And where am I moving forward to?

In the wake of the tumultuous chaos of 2025, I sometimes feel more unmoored than I did when actively in treatment. Each day can feel like an overwhelming battle with my anxiety, and I can find myself questioning the depth of my faith. Do I actually trust God when I give in to my fear about my health, or am I wrestling with the physiological fallout of posttraumatic stress? Where do faith and freedom from our internal struggles actually intersect?

I know I’m not the only one who has experienced an existential loss of security that upends your entire equilibrium. Whether you’ve dealt with your own health struggle, watched someone you love battle through something, or experienced a traumatic event or loss that leaves you feeling utterly broken, pain and suffering are universal. This world is under a curse because of the brokenness of sin, and the only hope we have is in the restoration through Jesus.

We are all, in some way, living in survivorship. While our struggles may not be the same, we’re all fighting to move forward faithfully. Too often, though, we place an overarching expectation on ourselves to achieve on our own. As if, because we experienced or overcame something difficult, we are therefore expected to work even harder to give our lives purpose. The problem with this mentality is that it places all the expected work on us rather than on the sovereignty of God. “I should have more faith…” “I should trust God more…” The list of “I shoulds” or “you shoulds” can feel endless when you’re wading through a season of hardship or uncertainty. The reality is, God doesn’t expect us to work harder to achieve or receive anything. God doesn’t see my ongoing struggle with anxiety and think, “Well, she’s no longer worthy of healing because she hasn’t learned to trust me more.” God is patiently waiting for me to turn my face toward him and let go, because He has done all the work.

We, as broken people, desire to make sense of every moment in our lives. Why do you think we exist in a society where anyone can become an influencer based on their current circumstances? We want to create value from pain or from just our normal existence. We want to manifest the next best thing to make sense of what we’re supposed to do with the precious years we have on this earth. We crave meaning. Now, some have true callings on their lives where God uses a season of pain or hardship for fruitful gain. We all know those stories, and it can make our personal journeys feel somewhat smaller or insignificant in the eyes of God. But that is not true. My meaning and purpose come from being a daughter of the King.

God has been revealing to me in this season of wandering and questioning that sometimes the best thing I need to do is move faithfully forward where God has already planted me. I can show up for my kids and be a mom who loves and pours into them. Invest in my marriage and love my husband well. Be responsible and faithful in my job, and try to care for my coworkers. These may not be influencer-type, life-altering things, but that’s okay. God’s work in me can be quiet, slow and purposeful. It doesn’t have to be immediate or groundbreaking.

Don’t get me wrong, I am like the blind leading the blind. God is continually working on me, and I find myself needing to repent daily for my covetous heart that looks at other lives, wondering, “Why me?” Well, why not me? Podcaster and author Allie Beth Stuckey uses this phrase that I love: “God’s eternal plan of redemption is going off without a hitch.” I am not the main character in this story; God’s redemptive work is. May God grant me the peace and wisdom to understand his ways better and seek after Him, even when I can’t see the full picture. Each day, my prayer is that I can move faithfully forward.

Quick Update:

Since I want to write about where my heart is, and not just about my cancer journey, here’s a quick recap of everything I’ve done since I last wrote.

1. I finished active treatment! I had my last immunotherapy shot on June 3, and now I stay in surveillance.

2. I had my final reconstruction surgery right before vacation, and finally got new breasts! Not as nice as the others, but definitely less affected by gravity.

3. I had my port removed! My boys are beyond thrilled to no longer see the port on my chest, and it makes everything feel more final.

4. We had a much-needed vacation with my family, visiting the Disney parks and a Disney cruise, and then ventured as a family of four up to Savannah and Charleston.

For those who have been praying for me, thank you! I would covet your continued prayers as I navigate the new norms of life post-cancer.

Hebrews 4:12-16

¹² For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. ¹³ And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.

¹⁴ Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. ¹⁵ For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. ¹⁶ Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Psalm 57:1-5

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,
for in you my soul takes refuge;
in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge,
till the storms of destruction pass by.
² I cry out to God Most High,
to God who fulfills his purpose for me.
³ He will send from heaven and save me;
he will put to shame him who tramples on me. Selah
God will send out his steadfast love and his faithfulness!

⁴ My soul is in the midst of lions;
I lie down amid fiery beasts—
the children of man, whose teeth are spears and arrows,
whose tongues are sharp swords.

⁵ Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!
Let your glory be over all the earth!

Happy New Year! Yes, I know it’s March 8 and a bit late to be reflecting on the New Year, but true to cancer survivor style, it’s taken me this long to accept that 2025 is over and we’re already three months into 2026. So, go along with me on this one because I promise I’m going somewhere.

Earlier this year, we joined in on a friend’s birthday celebration, and while at dinner together, he asked us about our New Year’s resolutions. In true Mindy, dark humor fashion, I said, “not have cancer.” Our friend, to his credit, was not phased in the least by my slightly bitter answer, and nicely replied, “That seems like something that’s out of your control.” Little did my friend know that his response was a foreshadowing of this year’s central theme for my life, learning to relinquish my desire for control. And boy, have I NOT enjoyed it thus far.

While I would never have self-identified as a control freak (denial, anyone?), this past year has revealed a dark undercurrent of desire to keep everything peaceful and in harmony. More specifically, my struggle with control shows up as a hyperfixation on my health and my family’s health, along with a desire for a comfortable, pain-free life. So, imagine someone who has already struggled with being a hypochondriac before their worst fear, like cancer, actually happens, now dealing with the fallout and trying not to go completely insane by ruminating on every small oddity. Scary, I know. God bless my husband, who calmly and patiently talks me down from an emotional cliff regularly.

Funny enough, I feel like I was better off mentally and emotionally during active treatment last summer than I am now—even if we didn’t know what the outcome was going to be. While I’m still getting immunotherapy every three weeks, life as we know it has been normal. But normal no longer feels comfortable. Normal now feels somewhat frightening. It seems like the other shoe could drop at any moment. Normal makes me feel like I need to brace for the worst—especially as I near my one-year anniversary of being diagnosed. The moment when my entire world shifted is forever etched on my heart and mind; the loss of “me before cancer.” So in many ways, my body seems to be trying to protect itself from experiencing that deep well of grief and pain.

That’s the strange thing about a cancer diagnosis: you can feel both powerless and in control at the same time. While the first few months following my diagnosis felt overwhelming and terrifying, once I started treatment and established a structured routine, it gave me a false sense of control. Life became predictable between chemo cycles. Yet, when I finished my last round before surgery, I experienced my first taste of control withdrawals. Now, as I get closer to finishing immunotherapy in May (sooner than I expected), I’m feeling the same emotions. When my doctor came in to report that I would, in fact, be done in May, since it marks one complete year of Herceptin and Perjeta, I didn’t feel excited; I felt anxious and cried. I suddenly found myself battling a flood of feelings and emotions: “I’m not prepared to be done, what if the cancer is not completely gone? How am I supposed to go on living like life is normal?”

After processing my feelings about finishing treatment, my emotions shifted to survivor’s guilt. How could I be so ungrateful for completing treatment when some people will never be free? Survivor’s shame became especially intense when I learned that a young woman my brother knew, diagnosed at 32 with triple-negative breast cancer around the same time, had just passed away. Although I didn’t know her personally, I mourned for her family and friends, and for the unfairness of suffering in this life. How could two similar stories have such drastically different endings?

Grief isn’t linear. It’s complex and messy. In many ways, my fear and avoidance of dealing with my grief manifests as control. My weak-minded brain tricks me into thinking that anxiety and worry mean I am “being on top of” my health and well-being, and will therefore avoid any more pain and suffering. I deceive myself into believing, “I will stay well because I’m hyper-focused on my physical body.” But truly, my inability to relinquish my anxiety and worry to Jesus is robbing me of a full life. Additionally, my fear traps me into a perpetual cycle of discontentment and diverts my attention away from all the incredible blessings in my life—and there are many.

The truth is, aging is a gift. I may not have felt that way before cancer, but now that I’m turning 40, I can truly see how blessed I am to be growing older. Although I sometimes feel overwhelmed by daily worries like work or my physical body, just waking up and living another day is a blessing from God. Having the ability to watch my boys grow and learn is a gift, even when they are driving me crazy. The extra wrinkles on my face from laughing with friends or smiling at my handsome husband are physical reminders of a joyful life, even if they aren’t a desirable part of life these days. Life is meant to be lived with purpose and joy, and I hope I can always keep that in perspective.

So, what’s the answer? I wish I could say that, like my body, God has miraculously healed this part of my heart and soul, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. The process God is using to transform me from within is much slower and more painstaking. It reminds me of a passage from C.S. Lewis’s Voyage of the Dawn Treader, where Eustace, because of his selfishness, turns into a dragon. Despite his discomfort and suffering, this form begins to refine his character. However, it isn’t until he meets Aslan and fully surrenders that he is completely changed, though not without Aslan’s help.

Similar to Eustace’s “undragoning,” God is slowly removing my scales, cleansing me from within. He has used and will continue to use my suffering as a reminder of His sustaining love and faithfulness. I simply need to be willing to feel tender and vulnerable so I can rest in His goodness instead of trying to “manifest” my own destiny. Because the truth is, there is no escaping His will. We either walk willingly with Him through both joy and sorrow, or find ourselves bitterly fighting against the current.

You might be thinking: “Aren’t you going to discuss the new year and moving forward?” Yes, I am, but before that, I need to reflect on my past self from last year. To truly step into this new year and focus on God’s refining work on my desire for control, I must acknowledge, thank, and release parts of myself from last year. So, here we go:

• To the version of me before being diagnosed, you didn’t realize at the time, but this marked the end of your carefree life. I envy the simplicity of your life and wish I could tell you to be grateful and not get overwhelmed by minor inconveniences. However, to move forward and avoid getting trapped in envy and resentment, I thank you and wish you well.

• To the scared woman who was reeling from a life-changing phone call in March 2025, I’m proud of you for staying strong for your children, even when you felt like hiding away. I truly never want to be in your position again, but I’m very grateful for your strength and resilience during such a dark time.

• To the bald badass going through chemo, thank you for staying so positive despite losing everything that physically made you you. While I never want to be you again, the body God gave you helped you get through weeks of toxic chemicals with minor side effects. Thank you for holding onto your strength and finding confidence in who God made you.

• To the woman with normal breasts before having them removed, you might not realize it, but the transition will be more difficult than you expect. It will be hard to look at yourself, and you may feel like a stranger in your own body, but this is a small challenge for long-term benefit. You will come out of this experience with a better understanding of how you find satisfaction with your body.

• To the woman crying on Christmas Day, overwhelmed with gratitude to be alive and celebrating with your family when so many others don’t get the chance. It’s okay to struggle and feel conflicted, but don’t let that taint your desire to live or steal your joy.

To all these 2025 versions of myself, thank you and goodbye. I wouldn’t be where I am today without experiencing each of these moments with my Savior. Am I still struggling my way forward with God’s help? Yes. Has God carried me every step of the way? Yes. And will He ever abandon me, even when I try to take control? No.

Despite my efforts, God remains faithful to His promises and longs for our spiritual renewal. I pray that, through my struggles, I will continually be open to Him removing my old self, layer after layer, so that my renewed self can bring Him glory and honor for the rest of my days, however long they may be.

Matthew 6:25-34

²⁵ “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? ²⁶ Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? ²⁷ And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?^{[a] 28} And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, ²⁹ yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ³⁰ But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? ³¹ Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ ³² For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. ³³ But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

³⁴ “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

Before I unleash the torrent of my complex emotions in this Substack, let me first get you up to speed on where I’m at in the no-more-cancer journey.

Today, I am officially done with radiation! Hurray! Based on my body’s complete pathological response and the fact that they didn’t want to over-radiate my thyroid (which I agree was a good plan), I only had to do 15 consecutive business days (no weekends) of radiation. While 15 days doesn’t seem like a significant amount of time, the constant slog of driving to the oncology office, changing, sitting in the waiting room with all the other 70 & 80-year-olds, lying on the table while being blasted with radioactive beams, and then going home to continue my day as usual was exhausting. I would agree with others who have said that radiation is nothing in comparison to chemotherapy in terms of the toll it takes on your body. However, between the daily visits and the radioactive build-up, I am definitely tired, and I didn’t even come out of this experience with less armpit hair—such a shame.

Despite the monotony of daily appointments, the radiation experience was fascinating, and the technology is remarkable. The table/bed I’m sitting on in the picture is where I would lie, with my arms above my head. (Which I told the techs it reminded me of the scene with Rose asking to be painted like a French girl). Everything about my body's positioning was precise, and during treatment, the lasers were pointed at my upper right quadrant to indicate the targeted sections. The entire machine rotated around my body, and an internal component creates shapes to deliver the targeted radiation to each designated section. The craziest thing about it was that I could smell when the radiation beam was on. Overall, the experience was a further reminder that scientific advancements are a gift from God.

In addition to radiation, I started up my every-three-weeks immunotherapy again. This is a continuation of the HER2 targeted therapies I was receiving with the big chemo drugs over the summer, but the good news is, it’s a shot this time. (Cue LMFAO song “Shots” playing in the background of your mind.) Yay for time-efficient treatments! The downside is that the shot actually hurts like the dickens. Unfortunately, this isn't like the quick, easy flu shots you get in the arm. PHESGO gets injected into the thigh at a glacial speed and burns like hell. I have now endured two of these injections, and the last time I was at the infusion center with a needle in my leg for 10 minutes, I had to find a different gear of gratitude because the reality of doing it every three weeks for the next year dredged up some unwanted anxiety.

Alongside my year-long immunotherapy maintenance plan, I will start hormone therapy to suppress my ovaries since my cancer was hormone-positive. This will effectively put me into menopause at 39 to ensure that we’re not providing any fuel for an unwanted fire. Basically, we’re going to torment my ovaries even more (which are already fried from chemo) and tell them they can kick rocks.

On a positive note, my hair is growing back! I’ve been told I am effectively pulling off an edgy 90s look that gives the impression that my hairstyle is a choice, not a medical condition. Right now, my hair is still pretty blonde but stick-straight. So who knows what it will actually look like when it’s longer, but it has been a nice relief to look in the mirror and feel like I have dimension to my face again. However, I haven’t missed needing to shave my legs.

Dealing With Radioactive Emotions

As you probably could have picked up on from my last post, the emotional fallout after my surgery and positive pathology results has been mixed and confusing. It felt like a dam breaking open that I couldn't stop—I just had to find ways to process it. As I reflected on previously, you would think I could be happy and move on with life as usual, but the reality is, my life will never feel ‘normal’ again. There will always be a pre-cancer Mindy and a post-cancer Mindy. The two are the same, yet drastically different.

While decorating for Christmas, we were putting ornaments on the tree that represent memories from family trips, and pulled out the San Diego Zoo ornament from the week I was diagnosed. Both Erik and I had similar, but different feelings in that moment. Erik looked at the ornament and felt relieved. His take was, “Thank you, God, that we no longer have to feel the way we felt when we bought that.” I, however, was grateful to be healed, yet felt the weight of grief from losing my pre-cancer normalcy. I was mourning the loss of the blissfully ignorant woman I was last Christmas before being diagnosed.

It can be hard for a partner (or family and friends) who has been in the trenches with you to understand the wake left by tragic events or suffering fully. My husband has been my rock this year, but it’s still tough for him to watch me struggle, so he finds more comfort in the triumphant place we’re in post-cancer (as one should). Erik’s more positive perspective doesn’t limit my ability to feel my grief and pain alongside him; in fact, it can help ensure I don’t let those negative emotions overwhelm me. While he wants to know how I’m feeling or thinking and wishes to share that burden, it’s also not fair for him to be the only one carrying the weight of my internal anguish. Counseling has played a vital role in providing me with a healthier outlet. Having someone neutral to listen and engage with my processing reduces the burden on my loved ones. It has forced me to learn how to accept and navigate the waves of grief successfully so I don’t get caught in the surf of my own turbulent feelings.

Grief and the Holidays

As we welcome in a time of celebration, I’ve been humbled by the reality that grief is a very constant and present friend for those who have suffered incredible loss or are in a difficult season of life. I’ve always loved Christmas, but I will be honest: I haven't been very understanding or empathetic toward those who may not be entering this season with joy in their hearts. While I have always had a heart for hospitality and welcoming people into our home, I didn’t really get why someone wouldn’t love Christmas. But, I do now. Don’t get me wrong, I am still a Christmas fanatic. However, I have a deeper understanding of the complex emotions one might feel during the holidays.

Feelings of grief when surrounded by joy and abundant blessings can be confusing and feel somewhat radioactive—too dangerous to touch without the proper safety measures in place. I can often struggle with feeling like I’m ungrateful for my outcome in moments where I should feel more “happy,” and that typically comes with a dose of shame and survivor’s guilt. Truly, it sounds like I’m being overdramatic, but it’s the reality of my complex emotional well-being right now.

While having dinner with friends, I shared that I hope people won’t stop caring now that I’m through “the worst of it.” Not because I want attention, expect pity, or am trying to boost my ego, but because I want others to understand that just because I’m technically cancer-free doesn’t mean I’m okay. The truth is, I’m not. While God has used this year to help me grow in unexpected, beautiful ways, it has also broken me. I know that my brokenness can and will lead to new growth, but it will require me to actively trust the Lord to help me wade through the emotional and psychological damage.

Yesterday, as I was reading my devotion for the first day of Advent, I was reminded how often my expectations supersede my expectancy for God’s faithful work in my life. I place my own desires above God’s plan because it feels “safer” or more “controlled,” and my expectations for others have similarly hindered my ability to connect with or care for them. This season of my life has been very challenging for many reasons. Yet, I am truly thankful for how it has revealed the ways I protect myself from discomfort and, instead, has expanded my capacity for love and compassion for those facing hardships. While I may not always say the ‘right thing’ or fully understand what someone might be feeling or thinking during their trial, I feel a kinship with those who have experienced profound pain, and it makes me truly grateful for God's gift of connection. I was reminded of the importance of changing my posture not only towards others, but also with God.

As we enter the Christmas season, I want us to welcome all the complex emotions it brings and offer them up to the Lord. He is greater and more able to carry our heavy burdens, and the gift of his Son was in preparation to take the heaviest burden of all: our sin and shame.

My friends, thanks for sticking with me and for allowing me to share this journey with you. I am extraordinarily grateful for your loving kindness. Until next time!

1 John 1:1-4

1 That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life— ² the life was made manifest, and we have seen it, and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was made manifest to us— ³that which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed ^jour fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. ⁴ And we are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.

What does clear pathology mean, you ask? Well, in clinical terms, it means that my body had a “pathological complete response” to treatment. Chemo and immunotherapy did their job! Does this mean that I don’t have to do radiation or other treatment? Unfortunately, not. However, in another miraculous turn of events, a nationwide report concerning standards of care in radiation oncology came out eight days before I consulted with my referred RadOnc. This report essentially condenses years of research and identifies the recommended approaches to radiation treatment (number of days, etc.). Because I fall into the category of the “under 40” demographic, radiation is considered strongly recommended—if not expected—even with clear pathology to ensure longevity of survivorship. The good news, however, is that since I showed no remaining signs of cancer, I will only need to do the minimum number of days, which is 16. Only sixteen consecutive days in a row of radiation, and then I’ve surpassed the most challenging physical parts of this medical diagnosis. Did you catch that caveat, the physical parts? While radiation is the next step in my physical healing, the mental/emotional healing has a ways to go.

When someone asks me how I’m doing post-surgery, I’ve developed a somewhat wry response that goes something like this: “Physically, I’m healing well and technically cancer-free, but I’m still hanging on to my mental instability.” Some of you might be surprised to learn that dark humor has always been part of my personality... maybe it’s my October birthday that predisposed me to this sense of humor. Either way, it’s often a coping mechanism to ensure that the depth of my anxiety or emotional angst doesn’t get the better of me. And lately, I’ve been navigating the fallout of being on the other side of a life-altering diagnosis and not quite knowing how to move forward without worry as a constant companion.

You might expect me to feel pure happiness upon learning that my treatment was successful, and honestly, I do feel that way. But I also have a great fear of saying I’m cancer-free and then finding out it is not actually the truth. As if sharing it with the world might somehow jinx this too-good-to-be-true statement. I have also been humbled by how quickly I began to focus on other sources of discontent, worry, and frustration, and how often I directed those toward God. Although I celebrated my good news and thanked Jesus for His mercy, I have been humbled to realize how much I need to repent for idolizing a comfortable, healthy life. Not only that, but my anxiety about more suffering makes me feel guilty and ungrateful for God’s answer to my plea for healing. This leads me to struggle with reconciling my understanding of God’s love and my belief in His goodness as I navigate the murky waters of post-diagnosis fear, along with my anger about enduring other hardships that make life feel deeply unfair. The reality is that life is not fair, but this doesn’t mean God is not good or loving. Yet, if I were to believe that my feelings were the ultimate expression of truth, I could justify a lot of undesirable behavior because I received a difficult hand in life.

However, the truth is that my life is incredibly blessed. I have so much more than I could ever ask for, yet I find myself fixating on things that don’t match my expectations for my life. Look, I’m not saying that what I went through (and am still going through) wasn’t difficult and that I don’t have a right to feel angry, sad, or grief about my new reality. Life is hard, and we are built with the ability to feel and express ourselves in both joyful and sorrowful moments; this capacity should never be overlooked. I am saying, however, that it will take me time to process and navigate my new emotional state, making sense of everything I’ve experienced so I can take healthy, productive next steps. And the most important part of this healthy new dynamic for me is ensuring I don’t forget where God fits into navigating my new emotional pathways. God has changed me and will continue to work in and through me, thanks to this year’s experiences, but I must be willing to receive and accept His love for me.

My amazing husband gave me a pep talk last night during another meltdown (on his birthday, no less), reminding me that while I’m good at giving everyone else around me grace, I’m absolutely terrible at accepting it. And he’s right. While God has sustained me this year by His grace alone, during my moments of grief and doubt, I tend to reject that grace and get frustrated with myself for not living up to my standards of faith. Funny enough, I can’t see the irony in those moments where my will and expectations replace what God’s truth reflects through His word.

2 Corinthians 12:9

⁹ But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Here’s the problem: I don’t like to boast about my weaknesses. In fact, I hate showing weakness. It’s an extremely vulnerable place to be. I often get so caught up trying to present myself as a composed, rock-solid person, when the truth is, I’m standing with the strength of a sandcastle at high tide. Still, God, in His kindness, reminds us that His grace is enough for us and that His power is made perfect through our weakness. He knows every thought and feeling I have, and is not surprised by my petulant attitude. He doesn't look down on me or feel regret for healing me because I’m struggling with anxiety about my health and well-being. Instead, he embraces me further with his loving compassion for my plight and desires to use my brokenness for his greater purpose. Instead of giving in to my prideful feelings of needing to “get myself together” before coming before my Savior, I need to be willing to submit myself, weakness and all, and let Him continue to work in me, even when I’m not ready.

While I’m currently considered “cancer-free,” I will never truly be free from cancer. It will always be part of my story, but it doesn’t have to weigh me down as an anchor. Right now, I don’t fully know what that looks or feels like. However, I trust that God won’t let my weakness go to waste, nor will He abandon me in my despair. He will keep walking alongside me and teach me what it means to be okay with not being okay. And someday, I believe I’ll look back on this chapter of my life and finally see the bigger picture of how God was working.

So What’s Next?

My friends, my next step is getting ready for radiation. I should hopefully get my surgical drains out tomorrow followed by my CT for radiation mapping on Friday. By early next week, I should have a sense of when I will start (and finish) my radiation treatment. Radiation, unfortunately, does not come with superpowers. However, I have heard that it might obliterate armpit hair, which would be a plus. I will continue immunotherapy for the next year and then start medical-induced menopause (yay for me!).

Thanks for reading and indulging my somewhat maniacal musings. It is truly a gift to share my heart and have someone care.

Until next time,

Love, Mindy

Ephesians 2:4-10

⁴ But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, ⁵ even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— ⁶ and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, ⁷ so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. ⁸ For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, ⁹ not a result of works, so that no one may boast. ¹⁰ For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Although you may not have played a significant role in my life, you've been a part of it since I was 14. You helped balance my figure, especially since I'm genetically predisposed to a more prominent gluteus maximus. Without you, my figure would be more pear-shaped than hourglass. So, a big shout-out to you for helping me look good in various outfits and holding up well during workouts.

On a more personal note, I will always be grateful for your sacrifice of comfort and personal space to ensure that my two babies received the nutrients they needed to stay healthy and grow. Sure, you may have experienced moments of uncomfortable engorgement (living out that Dolly Parton fantasy?) and definitely endured a bite or two from teething babies. Still, you managed to breastfeed for a total of 20 months between both kids. Your current state is a testament to how hard you worked during those years of raising babies, and I will always remember that time with gratitude and nostalgia.

Although you may have tried to kill me, I forgive you for the betrayal. Yes, I’ve certainly had moments where I was furious about the way things are, but the truth is, I’ve learned a great deal from this journey. So, thank you for allowing me to grow — and not just in bust size.

As I say my final farewell, I might feel a bit nervous, but I’m not sad to see you go. I’m ready to move on and build a healthier relationship with my so-called new breast friends.

We have arrived at the end of September, and I find myself finally in surgery week! Crazy enough, six weeks have already flown by, and on Thursday, October 2, I will finally say farewell (more like good riddance) to my breasts. I’m not going to lie, the past few weeks have been a strange transition between finishing chemo and now, which has led me to do a lot of thinking and self-reflection.

Don’t get me wrong, being done with chemo has been amazing, yet it has thrown me into this strange emotional dichotomy. On the one hand, I am relieved and proud of myself for completing a tough chapter of treatment and can finally take a breath. Yet, on the other hand, I still have a long road ahead of me in this journey. Needless to say, the weekend right after chemo brought waves of relief mixed with grief and anxiety for all the unknowns still waiting for me. Basically, I cried a lot and consistently existed on the verge of tears. And to be honest, I was afraid that in the waiting, I would be swallowed up by my fear.

Thankfully, the Lord met me in that dark place, rescued me from drowning in the waves of grief, reminded me to keep my eyes on Him, and restored in me a heart of peace and joy over these last few weeks. And I have genuinely had a lot to enjoy and be grateful for during this period of waiting. We had the chance to escape to Prescott, travel to California to celebrate my nephews’ birthdays (we love you, Jackson and Levi) and to spend time with family, started meeting with our regular Lifegroup again, and Erik and I were blessed with a few days away last week by dear friends who have been walking alongside us since before we were married. (Thank you, Greg and Marilynn!) The continued kindness of our God and the support of my family and friends have made the past several weeks fly by, and now I find myself at the threshold of my next adventure.

While I would love to say that I’m facing the events of this week anxiety-free, that would be a lie. Life has been heavy lately. If you’ve spent any time watching the news, it can feel like the whole world is gradually slipping into chaos and madness while we’re left trying to understand it all. And in moments following a tragedy or particularly heartbreaking event, hearing someone offer “thoughts and prayers” can be seen as a meaningless platitude—mainly because it often provides no immediate actionable solution. For many, the offer to pray can leave them wondering (often in anger and confusion) how prayer can make a difference after something tragic happens, or what good prayer does if it can’t prevent pain and destruction. My own life experiences have shown me just how easy it is not to believe in the power of prayer or feel like my cries for help are being ignored because God is not responding in the way I want or expect.

The truth of the matter is that the purpose of prayer is often highly misunderstood and misused for our own gain—me being chief among most in this regard. Because we are inherently selfish, broken people, prayer can easily become a magical wish list that we expect God to answer in the exact way we want. And if there’s anything my current situation has taught me, it’s that at the core of our being, we all have expectations for how our lives and the world around us should operate. For example, my prayer at the beginning of all this was that God would rescue me from a life of suffering and sickness. Yet, God, in His infinite wisdom, didn’t prevent me from experiencing this trial because He loves me enough to use the effects of sin in this world to help me grow and deepen my understanding of Him. Particularly in how I engage in regular communication with Him.

While some of you may read the paragraph above and use it as a confirmation bias to prove that God is in fact absent and doesn’t actually hear us (or care), let’s first clarify that while God may not have answered my prayer that my biopsy would not show cancer, He has responded to many other requests along the way, both big and small, and has shown up in numerous unexpected ways. His care for me goes beyond my limited understanding of how He chooses to work in and through my experiences, and His presence during this journey has been undeniable, even if He hasn’t responded exactly how I would have wanted from the beginning.

Prayer gives us the ability to communicate with our Creator, a truly exceptional gift. While Jesus provides us with a general structure for prayer during his sermon on the mount, prayer doesn’t need to be a stiff and rigid dialogue. Actually, if you’ve ever read the Psalms, you'll get a much clearer idea of the range in which believers before us have spoken with God. Spoiler alert, it’s not just cheerful, flowery talk. Honestly, I have never had a greater appreciation for Psalms than I have during this season. God obviously knew we would need an example of what it’s like to have a raw, genuine relationship with Him as broken people.

This season of my life has helped me better understand what it means to approach God with actual vulnerability and my visceral emotions. While God sees and understands the deepest desires of our hearts, He wants a relationship with us where we come to Him to repent of our sin, to worship and adore Him, to lament the brokenness of this world, and to ask Him to be near to us in times of joy and in times of sorrow. Prayer is a dynamic conversation, and we severely limit ourselves if we only view it as a request funnel. If prayer were only a means to an end, it would certainly make sense why one would give up crying out to God if we didn’t get the answer we wanted.

However, the good news is that God loves us even more than we can imagine. While our lives, on this side of Heaven, will not be free of heartache, God’s redemption story began long before us. The sacrifice Jesus made on the cross shows us that there is hope beyond our limited suffering here on earth, and that God is working in us to complete His work of sanctification. We do not need to be anxious because God sees us and knows everything we need.

Luke 12:22-31

²² And he said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on. ²³ For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. ²⁴ Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! ²⁵ And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? ²⁶ If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest? ²⁷ Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ²⁸ But if God so clothes the grass, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! ²⁹ And do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, nor be worried. ³⁰ For all the nations of the world seek after these things, and your Father knows that you need them. ³¹ Instead, seek his kingdom, and these things will be added to you.

Friends, this passage is not meant to condemn us for feeling anxious or imply that we won’t worry, because, unfortunately, we’re human. Anxiety is a real part of life, but we are encouraged to rest in the truth that God sees us, loves us, and provides for us when we are tempted to believe that He has abandoned us. Turning our eyes to Him and seeking His will for our lives can and will help us see beyond our own pain and suffering.

I certainly am not an expert on the aforementioned attitude of faith. I fail every single day. Hell, I had an anxiety attack peeling shrimp yesterday for dinner because I suddenly became overwhelmed with the fear that I would get food poisoning and have to cancel my surgery. (Talk about unhinged!) Yet, God, in His kindness, continually reminds and encourages me through His word and family and friends, that his grace and strength are sufficient for me. My ultimate desire is that my life will reflect not perfection, but a consistent striving toward the finish line so that in the end, He will be glorified.

Friends, thank you for your kindness as you’ve encouraged and consistently prayed alongside my family and me during this journey. Your intercession has been felt, and we are deeply comforted and humbled by the many requests made on our behalf. Our prayer is that the surgery goes well and that the final pathology comes back with no cancer. Following surgery, my next steps are radiation and ongoing immunotherapy. I will begin my radiation treatments with a CT scan on October 24, and the number of sessions I need will be determined by the surgical pathology. We believe God is good no matter what, and I’m praying that I will have the faith to continually praise Him in the storm.

A final encouragement

May we continue to be fervent praying people in an age where prayer has often become a mere sentiment. May we continue to lift up those around us, including those with whom we may disagree or dislike. May we not limit God to our own desires or expectations for our lives, but instead live with constant faith and belief that our Heavenly Father knows what we need and how He desires to grow and use us.

Until next time!

Love,

Mindy

Ephesians 3:14-21

¹⁴ For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, ¹⁵ from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, ¹⁶ that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, ¹⁷ so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, ¹⁸ may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, ¹⁹ and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

²⁰ Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, ²¹ to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Today is my last day of chemo! Even as I’m writing it, it’s hard to believe that I’m finally at this point when this journey started in early February. There have been numerous emotional ups and downs to this point, but one thing has remained constant: God has been faithful throughout, even when I have my doubts.

Now, as I find myself preparing to be done with chemotherapy (Lord willing for the remainder of my life), the closing of this chapter comes with mixed emotions. While I am elated to be done with this hard-hitting, cancer-destroying medical regimen that has stolen my hair, zapped me of my energy, and given me a whole host of fun GI difficulties, chemo has offered a strange sense of comfort. Strangely enough, knowing that I am receiving treatment that is designed to kill and prevent fast-growing cells from thriving has provided a false sense of control in this tumultuous season of life. One could say that it somewhat redirected my attention away from my desperate need for God’s healing hand on my life. Over the course of the last few months, I’ve been reminded of how easy it is to shift our hope to earthly things rather than continuing to rest in our ultimate promise and hope that Jesus offers beyond this pain-filled life. And as I’m sliding into home base, I find myself wrestling with my ability to balance my fear and anxiety of the unknown with the knowledge that God has never left my side and has been faithful each step of this painful journey, even in moments when I’ve had gospel amnesia.

The truth is, I’m still terrified about the uncontrollable aspects of this cancer journey. While there is evidence that this treatment is effectively destroying the enemy “inside the building,” many unknowns still exist. Following my last treatment today, I have six weeks to recover and recuperate my strength before surgery on October 2. With my double mastectomy and reconstruction, they will take the breast tissue samples and biopsy them to see whether any residual cancer exists—and that is a scary thought for me. Being off chemo for six weeks brings along many fearful, intrusive thoughts like, what if it comes back, what if something is happening inside my body we don’t know about and we were using the wrong treatment, or what if I will have to do chemo again? All of these anxious thoughts can quickly overwhelm and weigh me down, and in that pit of despair, I revert to my “why would you do this to me, God” bad attitude. The reality is, I don’t know if any of these fearful thoughts are actually true, yet it is so easy to give so much power to them in that moment where I’m spinning out of emotional control.

I was talking through my feelings with my mom the other day, and it dawned on me that walking through a pain-filled season is like having a raw nerve that becomes easily aggravated if it gets bumped in just the right way. Sometimes that nerve pain is manageable, and you can move about life with ease, not noticing any acute discomfort. And then suddenly, you bonk that part of your body in just the right way that suddenly brings that feeling of pain back to the forefront of your mind quickly and sharply. The question is, how do you respond? I would probably swear under my breath while silently cursing the mere existence of the item I bumped into before regaining my composure.

While the feelings in that moment are real and visceral, you would probably think it wasn’t healthy if I were constantly fixating on that pain day in and day out. The same thing goes for my anxiety about the unknown. While it can sometimes be easier to give in to worry and concern, I have to choose to redirect my thoughts to what I know to be true: that God is continually walking with me through this journey, and He hasn’t abandoned me yet, nor will He. That doesn’t mean that I won’t struggle or stop feeling concerned at various times, but instead, I need to take my lament to Him and cry out for His help in times of need.

As I close out this chapter of the cancer book (worst book ever—don’t recommend), I can’t help but be so grateful for all the ways God has provided people in my life that have shown up for me both personally and professionally. Between our families, church friends, the doctors and nurses at the infusion center, the other patients I’ve met along the way, my work friends, and you all, we’ve had so much love and care showered on us. The prayer, encouragement, kindness, and understanding have carried us through this crazy season of life, and I will be forever thankful.

My Next Steps

Now that I’m done with chemo, you might be wondering what my next steps will be. Over the next six weeks, I will have time to recover before my surgery on October 2. After the surgery, I will meet with my oncologist to determine the specific immunotherapy I will be on for the upcoming year, and also consult with a radiation oncologist to discuss the required treatment. For my reconstruction, they will begin the process during my double mastectomy by placing expanders that will help protect my skin and allow it to heal. I will periodically see the plastic surgeon to have the expanders filled until I feel comfortable, and then we will schedule the final reconstruction surgery when I am ready.

The biggest things I’m looking forward to after finishing chemo are my hair coming back (although I have enjoyed the limited time commitment to getting ready) and my body actually healing better. My boys, especially, are pretty stoked that Mom is done with her big medicine today and that my hair will hopefully be making a comeback over the next few months. However, if I still have very little hair by Halloween, our friends have discussed all dressing up as Pitbull (Mr. Worldwide). In terms of healing, I’ve had a perpetual split lip that will not completely go away because by the time it’s close to closing up, my next round is right around the corner, and the whole process starts over. So, I am beyond thrilled to have time for my body to recuperate and hopefully give this split lip the boot for good!

So, while I’m saying a happy farewell to chemo, I still have a journey ahead of me and will have lots of thoughts to share. If you are so inclined to stick around, it would be an honor for you to continue this journey with me.

Moving forward, I’d love it if you would continue to pray and think positively alongside us as we get ready for my next phase of this cancer detour. Specifically, we would appreciate it if you could pray for a clean pathology report and that there is no residual cancer. We believe God is good, no matter what, but it would be such a point of rejoicing to have the results come back clean. Additionally, please pray for my strength and resilience for the upcoming radiation and immunotherapy, and that my body will continue to tolerate the meds well.

Thank you for reading and walking alongside me. As always, I look forward to checking in with you all soon.

With love,

Mindy

Psalm 34

¹ I will bless the Lord at all times;
his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
² My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
let the humble hear and be glad.
³ Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!

⁴ I sought the Lord, and he answered me
and delivered me from all my fears.
⁵ Those who look to him are radiant,
and their faces shall never be ashamed.
⁶ This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him
and saved him out of all his troubles.
⁷ The angel of the Lord encamps
around those who fear him, and delivers them.

⁸ Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
⁹ Oh, fear the Lord, you his saints,
for those who fear him have no lack!
¹⁰ The young lions suffer want and hunger;
but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.

¹¹ Come, O children, listen to me;
I will teach you the fear of the Lord.
¹² What man is there who desires life
and loves many days, that he may see good?
¹³ Keep your tongue from evil
and your lips from speaking deceit.
¹⁴ Turn away from evil and do good;
seek peace and pursue it.

¹⁵ The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous
and his ears toward their cry.
¹⁶ The face of the Lord is against those who do evil,
to cut off the memory of them from the earth.
¹⁷ When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears
and delivers them out of all their troubles.
¹⁸ The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
and saves the crushed in spirit.

¹⁹ Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
but the Lord delivers him out of them all.
²⁰ He keeps all his bones;
not one of them is broken.
²¹ Affliction will slay the wicked,
and those who hate the righteous will be condemned.
²² The Lord redeems the life of his servants;
none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.

Hello from my infusion chair at treatment #5! We’re making this a regular ole’ tradition for me to check in and reflect on all that’s happened in the past three weeks, while I’m preparing to restart the recovery journey all over again. But hey, we’re celebrating small successes, and rounding the corner toward the finish line of this treatment chapter is a huge encouragement boost.

Post-Treatment #4 Updates

The last time we spoke, I was in the infusion chair at my fourth treatment and officially on the downhill slope for chemo. While I was elated to be one step closer to the end, my recovery after each session has gotten a little heavier and more emotionally taxing. The fatigue, brain fog, and general stomach discomfort have persisted longer and been more intense overall following each infusion, because the process is cumulative. So, while I’m on a 21-day cycle for six total rounds, the buildup in my system magnifies my symptoms.

Aside from the fatigue, one of the most frustrating aspects is the brain fog and general exhaustion. If you’ve ever experienced brain fog, it’s like part of you is existing outside of yourself while you’re attempting to focus on the here and now. The fuzzy-brain experience makes simple tasks difficult, and I find that I can’t think as sharply as I usually do at work or stay on track with a train of thought because I feel like I’m mentally wading through muck and mire. However, you have to laugh at some of the crazy moments, like when I forgot to turn off a hose and left it running all day, and then sank down to my ankles in literal mud because the ground was so wet. But, hey, at least the plants around the water were happy!

Part of my recovery after each cycle, apart from the physical side effects, has been the emotional processing. For some reason, the last few weeks I’ve been experiencing a lot of ups and downs with my feelings, and I’ve generally felt tired and disheartened. I don’t like feeling ‘out of control’ in any part of my life, and it’s especially frustrating when I can’t seem to manage my feelings, or feel like I’m one “how are you doing?” question away from falling apart. While nothing has changed remarkably in my day-to-day life, we’ve had so much going on in my immediate and extended family that my threshold for managing my emotions is very low at this point. And between dealing with my physical ineptitudes that have continued to become more pronounced (particularly muscle fatigue) and managing the daily interactions with people out in the world, it can feel overwhelming.

You might be wondering what I mean by ‘managing daily interactions.’ Keep in mind that I say this with the utmost understanding and appreciation that people are doing their best to be kind, empathetic, and considerate; however, sometimes we, as humans, can be uncomfortable or struggle to engage with people in challenging circumstances. People, in an attempt to make me feel better or relate to my current situation, will bring up a story of a loved one or acquaintance who dealt with cancer, but then will share that they died. Or sometimes, people don’t know what to say, so I get the second quizzical looks, wondering why I look so different, and then I feel obligated to share what’s going on and comfort that person, telling them that everything will be okay in the end. Part of my interactions with others is my responsibility, as I probably care too much about how others feel. However, it can feel very exhausting to be out in the world looking like I do now because it invites questions, and it makes me feel exposed.

I don’t want to share this to judge or criticize others who are just doing their best to find the right way to comfort and relate during a difficult time in life. Wading into the trauma and hardship of others is hard and uncomfortable, and often puts us in a place where we just don’t know what to do or say. Trust me, I have been (and still can be) this person. And it has only been within recent years that the Lord has truly revealed this glaring gap in my ability to engage with and love others who are experiencing hardship. I have been working on doing my best to learn how to show up in ways that they need, rather than focusing on my comfort.

Being in this situation that I am in now, it has caused me to reflect on the helpful ways people can reach out and support someone in crisis. And even though you may not have asked for advice, I’m going to offer it to you.

1. Sometimes, showing up for someone can be as simple as sending a note that you are thinking about them and or praying for them. '

I remember when we were in the thick of the chaos after my diagnosis and how comforting it was to get letters and general notes of encouragement that didn’t require me to respond. It made me feel loved and supported, without being burdened by the need to write back immediately. The power of being present, whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually, for someone is so incredibly impactful. Knowing that we have a community that is praying for us, sending us encouragement, and checking in on us is extremely humbling. It has gotten us through the most challenging moments, knowing we are not alone. Lean into your gifts and find a way to reach out.

2. Providing simple day-to-day care needs can make a significant impact for someone struggling through loss, rejoicing after welcoming a new baby, or enduring through a complex medical issue.

The meals, financial gifts, and DoorDash gift cards have been such an extraordinary blessing for us during this ongoing journey. Even if I can’t enjoy the food as much in the first week after treatment, I’m still a mom trying to provide for my family, and having the load lightened in this one particular area has been a godsend.

3. If possible, try to stay engaged after the ‘hard’ period of life.

For many people who have experienced a significant life shake-up, whether good or bad, it’s often the “after” period that can be more challenging. After the meals stop, after you’re through treatment, after you are out of the first few months of the newborn phase. We were created for community, and community shouldn’t have an endpoint. Now, we can’t always be everything to everyone, nor should we try, but we can always find ways to be more engaged with the people around us. Particularly in a world that is increasingly becoming more isolated and individualistic.

Now, I hope you don’t find these points discouraging or critical. I am learning just as much in this journey how to love others better. My hope is that I can emerge from this season with a deeper understanding of how to embrace, encourage, and love those around me, knowing I won’t always get it right, but that I won’t let that stop me from trying.

Reflecting On The Little Blessings

While most people who know me will say to me, “You’ve handled this unexpected journey so well.” And yes, the reality is God has given me an extraordinary encouragement that I am incredibly grateful for, but it has still been so tough. While I’m almost done with this chapter of my breast cancer story, I still have a road ahead of me, and that can often feel very daunting and exhausting. And when I’m having tough weeks, I can feel all consumed by anxiety about the future, about all the unknowns, and feel generally mad about the circumstances I’m facing. It can feel so unfair.

Yes, I know I am allowed to have bad days and be generally bummed about my current life, but the reality is that living in that frame of mind does no good for my body or soul. It also distracts me from the many beautiful blessings and small joys that God has provided over the last several months. God has shown his steadfast love and faithfulness in more ways than I can even begin to express, yet I often get stuck and distracted by my expectations of what I believe my life should be. This is why I am so grateful for my beloved husband for always being a sounding board of truth for me. He, among so many others, has helped me by giving me space to feel my feelings, while still lovingly redirecting my gaze to Jesus. This is what a loving, supportive Christian community does, and I am so beyond grateful.

God is still good on the darkest of days. That truth remains and will never change. While we may feel that He has abandoned us or cannot be a loving God because of what this fallen world brings into our lives, the truth is that it is we who walk away from Him. We choose to turn our gaze to the world to save us, rather than our loving Savior. So take it from a girl dealing with cancer: be mad, feel your feelings, but then come back to Jesus because it is only He who offers us an eternal hope beyond the tragedies of this world.

With love, my friends,

Mindy

Psalm 40: 16-17

But may all who see you

Rejoice and be glad in you

May those who love your salvation

Say continually, “Great is the Lord!”

As for me, I am poor and needy,

But the Lord takes thought for me

You are my help and my deliverer

Do not delay, O my God!

Hello from the chemo chair at treatment #4! I’m over halfway done with my chemo treatments, and even though I’m on the downhill slope, there are still so many emotions that ebb and flow regularly. Particularly when it comes to missing out on special occasions, as I’m writing this at the infusion center, my boys are all in Houston celebrating Katie and Andrew’s wedding—and I couldn’t be more bummed to miss out. However, I am still learning to hold both the grief of missing out on life's events and best-laid plans, while still finding joy and gratitude for my current situation and how God has shown up for me and my family.

I know it’s taken me a while to finally get around to writing an update, and, boy, we’ve had a lot going on in these last three weeks. Before I get ahead of myself and delve too much into all the deep feels, let me provide a brief overview of the highlights.

Post Treatment #3

My last treatment marked the halfway mark of my chemo journey, and my dad flew out to sit with me in the treatment room. It was a truly special experience for him to witness the encouraging environment that the oncology nurses create while he sat for over 5 hours. We had the chance to talk with each other, read and not talk (shout out to all my introverts), take a short nap (and snore—well, Dad did), and chat with other people around us who are going through similar journeys. The one beautiful thing about being a part of the worst club ever (the cancer club) is that you have an automatic connection with people managing the fallout of this crazy disease. While our stories might not be identical, we can easily empathize with the surge of emotions you feel as you navigate the derailment of all your plans for the year and learn the essential lesson of flexibility. But there is also humor and joy to be found in the little things, and in the shared camaraderie of looking forward to seeing your chemo buddies.

The day after my treatment, my dad flew out to CA with my boys for a week spent with their cousins (and extended cousins), beloved Uncle T and Auntie Leah, and Grandma and Grandpa. It was a fantastic week for Jameson and Colton to spend time with their family tribe, have people invest in and love them every day, and engage in various fun activities, including Legoland, VBS, visiting the beach, and swimming every day in Grandma and Grandpa’s pool. The week was an extraordinary blessing for both Jameson and Colton, allowing them to experience joy, fun, and a break from the realities of life at home. While they’ve both managed this bump in the road exceptionally well, it was a gift for them to have a week away from the constant reminder of Mom needing medicine. Not only did they have the most incredible family surrounding them (shout-out to my brother and sister-in-law!), but they also made the most important decision of their lives: to give their hearts to Jesus and follow Him while at VBS.

The boys' time away at Cousin camp was also a good week for Erik and me to spend at home, giving us time to rest. While I’ve managed most of the post-chemo fallout relatively well, treatment #3 brought a little more nausea and general discomfort than the previous two infusions. Because the first few days post-treatment, I’m so hopped up on steroids, sometimes the fallout can be a little unexpected. And in this case, I was overcome with severe nausea on the Tuesday following treatment and spent the better part of five hours on the couch before heading to bed, throwing up, and then getting back into bed. Many tears followed that night, but I was thankful for Erik, who has continued to be a rock and a constant source of encouragement for me. Thankfully, the anti-nausea meds I take at night helped to manage the side effects over the subsequent days.

When people ask me how I’m managing, I generally tell them that I'm doing relatively well and don’t have too much to complain about, because, overall, I’m probably far better off than most. I’m still able to be an active participant in my family’s lives, work my full-time job, and still find time to spend with friends. I feel blessed that while this period of my life has had its difficulties, I have still been able to live a relatively “normal” life. However, dealing with unexpected dips in my well-being is a sobering reminder that my body is still undergoing a significant amount of stress and intense medication, and that I need to accept that giving myself some grace and space not to be okay is essential for my mental health. Given that I have always had high expectations of myself, this season has been a constant reminder that I don’t have to be at my best all the time.

Treatment #4

Now that I’m on the downhill slope toward finishing chemo, I’ve been oddly a lot more emotional and anxious leading up to treatment. In particular, a lot of my anxiety is self-induced because I look at my bloodwork without any basic understanding of what it means. In general, my bloodwork is good overall, but, of course, my interpretation of two “abnormal” results based on the bad decision to Google Doctor the information produces fear of treatment delays and elongating this short period of my life. Not only that, seeing my bloodwork is a reminder of the toll the meds can take on my body.

In addition to body well-being concerns, having to miss out on fun activities and time with family has rocked me emotionally these last few weeks. Even this morning, I was brought to tears while FaceTiming with my family, who are in Houston celebrating a wedding, because I’m just so bummed that cancer has stolen opportunities to make memories together with my family. While I’m still sad that I won’t be able to attend various events this summer, I have chosen to reflect on all that God has done for me and my family during this unexpected health journey. I am reminded time and again that God is ever-present, and His faithfulness and steadfast love remain unshakeable, despite my frequent moments of anger and frustration about my situation. Lamenting is an emotion I’m learning to be okay with, as long as I find my way back to Jesus. And I’m thankful for my family and friends who continue to encourage and remind me of these enduring truths. (Shout out to my auntie Cathy for this adorable mug)

Treatment today has been quite lovely for many reasons. One, my mom has been here with me in the infusion room and is staying at the house while Erik is away with the boys to ensure I’m okay post-treatment. Two, I again had the opportunity to have some wonderful conversations with my chemo buddies who are on the same 21-day cycle. It has been encouraging to discuss our similar challenges and know that we will all celebrate the end of chemotherapy in just two short sessions from now. Lastly, one of the amazing oncology nurses brought in her 13-week-old Bassett hound puppy, named Hogan. He was a cute distraction from the multi-drug cocktail for today. I mean, how adorable is he?!?

If you think of it, can you pray with me that my body tolerates this round fairly well and that I can continue to bounce back well enough to manage my last two treatments?

Reflecting On Suffering

2025 has honestly been one of the craziest, unexpected years in our extended family’s history. We have been so inundated with unexpected health challenges both in my immediate and extended family, it’s almost comical. Yet, I know suffering is not exclusive to us. The most recent flooding in Texas and the fallout of grief and loss that is plaguing so many families has made me reflect on the problem of suffering in this life and how often it becomes a deterrent to embracing and believing in a loving God. Suffering, pain, and injustice are regular slippery slope problems that cause many of us to question the existence of God and His ultimate sovereignty over our lives. And trust me, I get it. In this broken world, we will never be free of pain, and that just plain sucks. Yet, while in this season of traversing a seemingly unfair medical diagnosis, I’ve had time to reflect on the many ways we encounter and process suffering in our lives. Blame and anger are two of the regular companions that accompany the processing of tragedy, yet they bring no comfort. In fact, in my opinion and experience, blame only fuels the fire of bitterness and resentment. While it may seem like a natural process to make sense of the problems surrounding us, it’s not a productive or helpful way to address our issues. This is where God comes into play.

For me, having a relationship with Jesus has enabled me to experience genuine emotions about our current suffering in a safe and hopeful environment. I still have moments of anger, frustration, grief, and questioning, but it’s balanced by my belief that God designs nothing in this life to produce pain and suffering. This broken world was never His design or desire for us, but sin came in and wrecked it all. Yet, He has chosen to pursue us, redeem our stories (even when it doesn’t feel like it), and provide a hope for the future. Hope that this pain-filled world is not all there is.

Pain and suffering will always exist here on earth until Jesus comes again and brings forth His new creation. My encouragement to us is that we choose to view hardship moments in our lives as opportunities to become better, rather than bitter. Choose to allow pain to deepen our reserves of kindness and love for others. Choose to allow suffering to soften us to the plight of others, and embrace the lessons that come with it. It isn’t easy, but it will be worth it.

With that, my friends, I’m signing off and will check in with you soon. Until then, may God be near to the broken-hearted and may you feel God’s steadfast love and faithfulness in your life.

Love,

Mindy

2 Corinthians 1:3-7

³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. ⁵ For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.^{[a] 6} If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. ⁷ Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort.

Since we last spoke, a lot has happened. First, I am two chemo treatments down, and my third one is this Friday! My mom was kind enough to fly and come with me to treatment number two, and it was so lovely to have her with me. Overall, I managed reasonably well after round two. The exhaustion and brain fog hit me pretty hard, with some minor bouts of nausea, but thankfully, I could manage that with medication. Erik and I “celebrated” 11 years of marriage the day after chemo—but by celebrate, I mean we acknowledged it was our anniversary. Thankfully, we had some kind friends who gifted us a night stay at a hotel in Phoenix, allowing us to have a delayed celebration last weekend in addition to celebrating Father’s Day. (Thanks, Jeff and Julia!)

For my next treatment on Friday, my dad is planning to sit with me, so this whole chemo thing is turning into a family affair. The remarkable part is that, after this Friday, I will officially be halfway done, which is amazing. I’ll only have three more rounds to go before I’m done with chemo. Another piece of good news is that I already have a tentative surgery date for October 2! I know there is still a road ahead, but the fact that I have only four more treatments left and a surgery date on the calendar is encouraging.

Additionally, God has been so faithful to hear and respond to our plea for healing. Both my medical oncologist and surgical oncologist were extremely pleased by how my body and the cancer are responding. My large mass is mainly gone, with only a minor bump remaining (for reference, it was 6 cm in size), and my lymph node is no longer large enough to be palpated by hand examination. This is such a testament to God’s miraculous healing hand and the effectiveness of the treatment plan I’m on. I am still praying and hopeful that the following four treatments will completely eradicate the remaining cancer, so there is no evidence of disease at surgery. Yet, God is still good even if there are additional hoops I’ll have to go through to get to my “after cancer” story. I am so extraordinarily grateful for God’s grace and mercy.

Second, I no longer have hair! This is undoubtedly a massive shift from my normal curly mane, but between my scalp becoming extremely tender and my hair coming out in handfuls at the slightest tug, it was time to bite the bullet and get rid of it. I am grateful to report that my head has a nice shape to it, and I don’t look too alien-esque. However, I do look A LOT like my little brother, which is both strange and funny at the same time. I mean, don’t get me wrong—he’s a good-looking guy, but it's a little odd to talk with him on FaceTime with both of us on the screen when there isn’t much that differentiates us aside from gender-specific features.

While I’ve handled the loss of my hair relatively well, my primary concern has been the impact on my boys. Thankfully, God, in His great mercy, has been kind to care for and uplift them during this time in our lives. Each of them has handled this significant shift for our family extraordinarily well. While there have been little moments here and there, and both of them would prefer I have hair and not need medicine, they have been kind, loving, and encouraging throughout it all. Jameson even told me the other day that he’s going to be so used to me without hair that it will be weird when it finally comes back.

The strange and uncomfortable part of not having hair is that this deeply personal experience (well, not exactly private—but you know what I mean) is on display for everyone to see and speculate about. When I first shaved my head, it looked just edgy enough to potentially seem like a “I’m trying a new look” phase. Now, because my hair was becoming so patchy, I’ve shaved it a lot shorter, so it now just looks like I’m going through a medical issue. I mean, I am going through a medical issue, but it’s the second looks from people in public spaces that sometimes are funny.

Kids, particularly, are the most amusing interactions because they are so raw in their expressions and experience things so outwardly—you have to laugh. My favorite moment so far was with our dear friends’ daughter, Ruth. I had the chance to see her on a Friday and show her my newly shaved head, but two days later, on a Sunday, I wore a wig to church. I found so much humor in watching her confused expression as she looked at me, trying to figure out how it was possible that I had hair again. Thankfully, I had the opportunity to talk and show her that it was fake hair, but the whole interaction left me smiling.

I have personally reached a point where my bald head no longer bothers me. Thankfully, my amazing husband has been extremely encouraging about the whole affair, reminding me daily that he thinks I look amazing just the way I am. Because of his support and encouragement, I didn’t even wear a wig or head cover when Erik and I went to dinner at a hotel we stayed at in Phoenix for our anniversary, courtesy of our dear friends. However, I am aware that my lack of hair can be deeply uncomfortable for others as they try to gauge whether to ask me what’s going on, encourage me, pity me, or treat me like nothing is different.

I have a lot of empathy for the feelings my appearance may evoke in others, as I know how challenging it can be to decipher how to interact with someone who is going through a hardship in life. Often, we’re so afraid of saying the wrong thing or not knowing what to say when confronted with raw emotion that we don’t say anything at all or completely disengage. Trust me, I know, I’ve been in that spot before. Ironically, this is an area that God has been working on in my heart. As a people pleaser, I have always been so afraid of upsetting the apple cart that at any sign of turbulence, I was gone. Yet, God has been slowly encouraging me over the years to think less of myself and push past my discomfort, finding ways to reach out and care for others, because it truly makes a meaningful impact. And now, as someone who has received care from others, I can appreciate the gift of others engaging with me even more.

Life for me right now feels much more exposed than I ever imagined it would. Not only is my journey with breast cancer out there for everyone to see, but God has also been revealing the areas of my heart that need help. And let me tell you, there have been some surprising and ugly things that I’ve had to lay at His feet over the past several weeks. Being confronted with my sinful, broken heart that quickly forgets God’s faithfulness and steadfast love is not easy. Yet, when life is in a rhythm and seemingly under control, it’s easy to suffer from “spiritual amnesia” and forget who is truly in control and where our ultimate hope lies. In His kindness, God has continued to show me the areas where I still desire my own will and vision for my life, rather than His. God is not unkind for allowing this period of hardship in my life. It is because of His kindness that He is walking with me through this journey, refining me for His ultimate glory and majesty.

I know that is not an easy concept to grasp because our finite minds cannot comprehend how a good God can allow such pain and suffering. Hell, I don’t even fully understand it some days. However, the short answer is that God never desired this reality for us; yet, He is actively working to redeem us until we are made whole again for eternity with Him. I’ve been reminded time and again through His Word about His true nature. Don’t just take it from me, read it for yourself:

Exodus 34:6-7a

“The LORD passed before Moses and proclaimed, the LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin.”

Time and again, God reveals His nature through similar words used to describe Him: steadfast love, mercy, and faithfulness. I can honestly say that God has never been more real to me than He is today. Not only that, but my love for Him and my relationship with Him have never been more raw and unfiltered than it is today. And that is a true testament to the work he is doing in my life right now. Sure, I would rather not be fighting cancer to get to this point, but I don’t think I would trade the opportunity to know Him better and make an impact on my kids and those around me. I hope that nothing in my life goes to waste. And if my life must be exposed to make an impact on someone else, then by all means, I’m willing to endure the tough times to do it.

If you think of it, please pray for my blood work tomorrow and the third round on Friday. And since not everyone has the luxury of living out their pain so vividly as I do, please share in the comments if there are things I can pray for you. Life is not meant to be lived alone, but in community.

Until next time, my friends!

2 Corinthians 4:7-12

⁷ But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. ⁸ We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; ¹⁰ always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. ¹¹ For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. ¹² So death is at work in us, but life in you.

Now to the fun stuff. First of all, I’m doing well overall. I’ve had a few annoying symptoms, such as a rash that came and went, but for the most part, I’ve felt like myself this week. This was particularly wonderful because we celebrated the boys’ last day of school on Wednesday, and Colton’s ‘graduation’ from preschool. It’s hard to believe we are going to have a Kindergartener and a third grader in the house! The boys have been enjoying the first days of summer and have had fun playing in the pool, riding their bikes outside, playing video games, and watching movies. If only all adults could enjoy a summer break!

After our long weekend, I’ll have a few days before treatment #2, which is scheduled for Friday, May 30. Which means, I’ll only have four treatment cycles left after Friday. Crazy! As usual, this week will consist of blood work and a meeting with the doctor before I receive the cancer-killing drugs on Friday. So, we’re praying my blood work looks good and that there are no additional surprises along the way.

The good news (and somewhat bad news) is that we know the chemotherapy drugs are working because my hair is officially starting to fall out. So, by the beginning of next week, I’ll probably shave my head and be officially bald for the first time in my life. Thankfully, my lovely friend and hairdresser, Aurora, has offered to shave my head, which will hopefully make it a little less traumatic. While I haven’t been overly emotional about it, it will certainly be strange to see myself without the key elements of my personhood. My hair has always been a core feature of my identity (I mean, my license plate says GLDLCKS), so it will challenge me to look to Jesus for this fulfillment rather than relying on my external features.

On a lighter note, my brother and I have been joking that my having no hair will only make us look more alike than we already do. I told my dad today that if this is truly the case, it will be my chance to see if I can break into his phone using Face ID, which may or may not be somewhat demoralizing for me if it works. However, it would be worth it for the laughs! Now, before you gasp in horror at the idea of breaking into someone else’s phone, my brother is notorious for taking my dad’s phone and texting me or others in our family, so it’s only fair that it’s his turn.

Since I'll be rocking the no-hair look for the summer, if you have any recommendations for cute scarves or hats that I can wear, I'd love to hear them! My lovely friend from work, Katie, graciously helped me with a few cute wigs for special occasions, but since it’s so hot here during the summer, I’ll probably save those for indoor events. I’ve found a few head wraps, but I’m always open to cute recommendations. My primary goal is not to look like Michael Scott from the office when he’s talking about his stint in “prison” with the dementors.

One fun fact about chemo is that it loves to attack fast-growing stuff, which is why it’s so effective at killing cancer, but that also means it doesn’t discriminate. So, in addition to losing my hair and GI fun, I’ve officially revisited the acne of my youth. UGH! Maybe it’s because I spent some of my formative years at the start of college dealing with acne, but my skin's changing has bothered me more than any other of my annoying side effects. Which, honestly, is extremely vain, I know. The Lord has kindly reminded me just how easy it is for me to fixate on the things that make me unhappy or don’t fit into what I desire, rather than rejoicing in His abundant blessings and provision for my life. I mean, he has been faithful in caring for me during this time and responding to some significant concerns about the spread of my cancer, and yet, here I am saying, “But God, couldn’t you do something about my breakout?!” It’s incredible how truly myopic we sinners can be. Yet, God still loves us and desires a relationship with us—which is truly astonishing.

This is where I’ll get into the dichotomy of my treatment. There is a sense of satisfaction and relief in seeing changes in my body, as it’s evidence that the medicine is working. I want the drugs to eradicate the unwelcome disease, but they also destroy and change normal parts of me along the way, which is hard. However, if the result is that I become cancer-free, then I’ll willingly walk that road. I believe that the way God works in our lives is often remarkably similar. We don’t want to experience the pain and suffering that usually accompany growth and change in our hearts. In fact, we believe that our lives should be easy and free from hardship, and often feel abandoned by God when we encounter difficult times. Yet, the work that God does during those difficult times usually yields extraordinary, beautiful things that far surpass what we could have even imagined. The hard part is believing and allowing him to change us when we can’t see the result.

I know God is working in my heart in both big and small ways because I can already see the product of his work. Yet, I’m reminded of how fickle my heart is when I don’t feel in control or understand the purpose of a particular season in my life. It can be challenging to have faith in the ‘unseen,’ yet God continually reveals Himself in powerful ways if we stop thinking about ourselves long enough to see Him. And that’s my prayer for me and you. May we live life with hearts and minds that are open to Him so that we can be changed for His glory!

Psalm 86:8-13

⁸ There is none like you among the gods, O Lord,
nor are there any works like yours.
⁹ All the nations you have made shall come
and worship before you, O Lord,
and shall glorify your name.
¹⁰ For you are great and do wondrous things;
you alone are God.
¹¹ Teach me your way, O Lord,
that I may walk in your truth;
unite my heart to fear your name.
¹² I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart,
and I will glorify your name forever.
¹³ For great is your steadfast love toward me;
you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.

As always, my friends, thank you for reading, and I look forward to checking in with you later this week.

May my God supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. To our God and Father be glory forever and ever. Amen. (Philippians 4:19-20)

Love,

Mindy

While I know I still have a road ahead of me, I am so grateful that God spared me any significant side effects from treatment and that I was able to be present and available for my boys over the last week, particularly over Mother’s Day. I mean, who wants to be vomiting and feeling nasty on their designated day?

However, I did get pumped full of chemicals (cancer-killing good stuff!), so I haven’t been entirely free of side effects. Still, the good news is that the most significant side effects I’ve dealt with have been body aches (a combined effect of my white blood cell booster shot and chemotherapy), general fatigue, some gastrointestinal discomfort, and skin irritation (mouth, nose & face). In writing it all out, it does sound like a lot, but the severity of each thing hasn’t been overwhelming. In general, the worst of my symptoms occurred over the weekend, primarily on Saturday.

It's a peculiar experience to feel like your skin hurts, but that’s precisely how I felt at the peak of my discomfort going to bed on Saturday, like every part of my body was sore. While I would say I’ve maintained a relatively positive attitude over the last few days, Saturday evening ended with me shedding a few tears. Between the exhaustion and my body hurting, the reality of my situation and the road ahead of me in that moment felt heavy. I liken it to a challenging marathon that you've just started running and you’re only three miles in, but your body feels like crap and you still have 23 more miles to go. Yeah, you would cry too.

However, as I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I’ve learned to have my moments of tears (emotional spillage) and then move on because I can’t live in that sadness—and I don’t want to. For anyone who knows me well, you can attest to the fact that I have a good sense of humor (sometimes a little dark), and I generally enjoy laughing. There is still so much in life to be grateful for and to find joy in! For example, I felt well enough to spend time with my family on Mother’s Day, go outside on multiple days to take Maverick (our 106-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback) on a walk, attend our end-of-the-year life group party on Tuesday night, and this afternoon I got to sit and watch my boys swim with my husband. Life is still so sweet.

God’s hand is still so present in my life, and even when I have moments of sadness or grief, it doesn’t mean he is any less good or faithful. In fact, my ability to be raw and open with him about my feelings shows that his love is more profound than you can even imagine.

So, even if I lose my hair, even if I can’t taste food in the same way, even if this journey lasts longer than I anticipate, God is still good.

And yes, can it be hard to believe this truth amid suffering? Absolutely! I’m not an influencer who only tries to show you the positive side of life. Are there times when I look at someone else’s life right now and feel immense jealousy because they seem not to have a care in the world? Yes. However, this doesn’t alter my current situation, and dwelling on that covetousness will only produce bitterness and more pain. The good thing is, God is not surprised by my humanness and still meets me in those places of weakness. I hope that by expressing myself, I never make you feel like I’ve got it all figured out, because I don’t. My only aim is to be honest and authentic throughout this trial, so that if and when you experience any hardship or difficulty in life, you know you’re not alone. Because you’re not. On this side of heaven, life will never be without pain and sorrow. Yet, thankfully, we are also not without joy.

My sister-in-law, Brianna, gifted me the most thoughtful, beautiful gift for Mother’s Day. She wrote out notecards with verses for every day I will be going through treatment. I mean, wow. There are like 100 individual notecards. Who handwrites that much anymore?! (Clearly, not me, as I’m typing this on my computer.) Aside from the thought behind the gift, what I loved about it is that she called God’s word my “electrolytes” for this race. Honestly, I couldn’t find a better way to identify how God’s word has been for me during this time, and will continue to be. It’s a constant reminder that the challenges we’re facing are never new, just different for our time and place in life. And yet, God and his word remain the same.

So, today, I’m not telling you this journey is easy—because it isn’t. It SUCKS sometimes. But, I have a supernatural comfort in knowing that none of this is a surprise to God, and that he has me in his hands, always.

If you think of it, pray with me tomorrow as I finally get my PET scan at 11. I am going into it trusting and believing in faith that God will hold me fast, and whatever the outcome, He is still in control.

Psalm 34:1-5

I will bless the Lord at all times;
his praise shall continually be in my mouth.

My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
let the humble hear and be glad.

Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!

I sought the Lord, and he answered me
and delivered me from all my fears.

Those who look to him are radiant,
and their faces shall never be ashamed.

Love,

Mindy

My MIL, Sonia Burnett, was kind enough to pick me up and accompany me for check-in at 8:00, sit with me at the start of my day to help ease my nerves, (which were more pronounced than I had anticipated between the oral steroids I had been taking and my day-one anxiety), and then come back later in the day for chemo.

Fortunately, my belief that God had brought me to the right place was quickly solidified between having someone familiar with me and the exceptional oncology nursing staff. Speaking of the incredible nurses, their positive attitudes and supportive environment made this day so much easier. They consistently provided excellent care to ensure my safety, educate me about the process, and offer their quirky sense of humor. The best part of the staffing was that the nurse (Lauren) who had done my chemo education the week prior managed my regimen. When I say that Lauren is excellent, I’m not just being nice. She was professional and kind and advocated for essential aspects of my treatment by ensuring that my WBC booster shot appointments were scheduled for today and after my next cycle. Having someone physically present and willing to get things done was an overwhelming relief, mainly because it was a long treatment day.

Do you remember me mentioning that we arrived at 8:00 AM two paragraphs above? Well, for reference on how long I was in the building, I didn’t leave to head home until 4:00 PM. I basically moved into the TMC Cancer Center and hung around long enough to see many different patients show up, get their personalized cancer-killing cocktails (without the fun), and then leave to go home. It certainly made for an enjoyable people-watching day and opened doors to encourage, uplift, and meet other people battling similar unexpected battles. More on that in a minute.

But first, here’s a picture of my port in all its glory! Let me tell you, I was SO grateful to have my Iron Man accessory because it made my day so much easier. Praise Jesus for modern medical devices that help administer meds without the pain and suffering of a hand IV. And if you’ve ever had a baby, you know what I’m talking about—not fun.

To get me started, they tapped into my port and started by administering supportive drugs such as steroids (so many steroids!) and an anti-nausea medication. It’s fascinating to see the process of how they move through the flow of each bag of drugs. Before starting each of the good cancer-killing stuff, the primary nurse always has another member double-check the pump flow. This was reassuring for many reasons, especially seeing the number of different people flowing through the unit throughout the day. Just one more reason why I felt like I was in good hands.

Surprisingly, God chose yesterday as a day when I felt chatty and extroverted enough to talk with several people around me who are navigating similar challenges. Genie, a beautiful older woman with fabulous boots that said F*K Cancer on the bottom, opened up about her ongoing battle with lung cancer. Neither she nor her husband smoked—and yet cancer found a way. That’s the crazy thing about this disease. We all have cancer cells, but only God knows why some people avoid this particularly unfortunate diagnosis, while others traverse a more challenging path. Trying to rationalize the rhymes or reasons will only make you crazy, which is why I find comfort in knowing that none of this surprises God.

Genie had a small book of Psalms with her, which opened a door for me to talk with her about my faith and share how I have been reading Psalms and finding comfort in the continual vacillation between crying out to God for mercy and glorifying/praising him. I genuinely have never appreciated the raw emotion of the Psalms until now. While Genie and her husband were there only for a few hours, upon leaving, we shared that we each would be praying for one another and hoped to see each other again soon. From the picture below, you can understand why I stayed after Genie left.

The regimen for the day ended up being different than what I anticipated. After my supportive meds, the immunotherapy drugs (Herceptin and Perjeta) were the first two administered. Both of these doses were loading doses for the first day of treatment, which is why it was such a long day for me. Herceptin took 1.5 hours, but it will only take 30 minutes for the remaining five treatments. The same goes for yesterday’s 1-hour-long Perjeta. Thankfully, neither was expected to have any significant side effects during treatment, so I cruised through the first 2.5 hours.

Next up were the hard-hitting chemo drugs Docetaxel (2 hours) and Carboplatin (1 hour). Due to the staff's need for more watchful eyes, these were the last two I received for the day. Thankfully, Sonia returned to the office around 12:30 to help me with my cold therapy gloves and mittens, which Christy Poe and Rebecca Zangrilli had gifted to me. I also received an adorable pink pair from my friend Hannah Sinclair, which I’m saving for next time. I’ve got to save some fun for later!

You’re probably wondering how you can look as cool as I do in the photo above. The easy answer is that you don’t want neuropathy. As someone who enjoys working out, the last thing I want is nerve pain in my extremities, and apparently, cold therapy has been shown to reduce this particular potential side effect. So, I chose to wear these very high-fashion gloves and booties during my 2 hours of Docetaxel. Thankfully, everyone in the room is already undergoing the most extreme things you could imagine to get well, so what’s a few weird-looking gloves and booties to them?

Surprisingly, the setup was not terribly uncomfortable. However, I never would have been able to manage replacing the cooling inserts so well without my wonderful MIL. Shout out to Sonia Burnett for being my ice queen (I say that in a loving way, of course.) 🧊👑

By the time I was halfway through the last two drugs, I got a chance to strike up a conversation with a woman my age, two chairs to the left of me. Cayley, come to find out, is also 38 with the same diagnosis, but is two treatment cycles ahead of me. It ended up being a very cathartic experience for both of us, knowing that we are not the only young(ish) people fighting cancer. (If you saw the average age and general hearing loss in this clinic, it would also make you feel somewhat lonely and like an anomaly.) In His way, God beautifully orchestrated an opportunity for Cayley and me to connect, share where we were in the process, and then leave with each other’s phone numbers, hopeful to see one another in the future. I let her know that I would be praying for her and would try to schedule my future infusions on days when she would be there so I could celebrate her triumphant destruction of cancer.

By the grace of God (and a lot of prayer), I did not experience any discomfort or unexpected side effects from the chemo drugs. Like I said, there is a lot to be thankful for! Even today, besides general fatigue and a slightly fuzzy brain, I've felt relatively okay, allowing me to attend “Muffins with Mom” this morning at Colton’s preschool. Being present for this moment was a gift, and I will always be grateful.

Thank you so much to all of you for the support and love you’ve shown me by reading my ramblings and praying along with me during this journey. So many of you have reached out to check in with me, which always brings me so much joy.

In my New Morning Mercies devotional, I was reminded again that God is the ultimate orchestrator of our paths—even though we’d love to take credit for everything that happens to us (except maybe the bad.) Reading the corresponding passage in 2 Kings, where God commands freaking ravens to feed and provide for Elijah in the wilderness, just blew my mind. It greatly humbled me because I often put God in a small, comfortable box, in an attempt to understand Him better, yet my finite mind will never fully comprehend his greatness. And oh, how He is great and mighty. While I may not know where he is taking me on this journey, I fervently believe there is no better place to be than in his will and not mine.

1. How Can You Be Praying? Knowing I have people praying and going before the Lord on my behalf is so comforting.

   1. Pray for the next few days as I come down from my steroid high. I’ve been warned that the next few days will likely be the hardest, so if you can pray for rest and healing for my body, I would greatly appreciate it.

   2. Pray for my PET scan. I haven’t been able to schedule this yet because of paperwork issues between TMC and Arizona Oncology, but continue to pray with me that there is no evidence of distant disease.

   3. Prayer for my family. I’m not traversing this journey alone. Please pray for my husband, Erik, my two boys (Jameson and Colton), and my parents and mother-in-law as they all process and deal with their feelings about this current reality.

2. Encouragement. Thank you to all those who have already sent me cards and notes, called, or met up with me. Your presence, physical or not, makes a difference.

Job 5:8-9

⁸ As for me, I would seek God,
and to God would I commit my cause,
⁹ who does great things and unsearchable,
marvelous things without number

Thank you for reading along today. My head is slightly unclear today, so forgive any weird typos or strange anecdotes. I’ll blame it on the drugs.

Love,

Mindy

Have you ever had a persistent thought that lingers in the back of your mind? Sometimes, I feel like the Holy Spirit is speaking or preparing me for something. In this case, I had a recurrent ‘feeling’ that my treatment would be delayed, so when I received the call that they had to move me to this week, I wasn’t overly worried or emotional. If anything, I felt like the Lord was saying, “One week delay is nothing compared to my greatness in this story.” Compared to the grand scheme of my journey ahead, this moment of peace may not seem significant (we also believe in asking him to show up in BIG GOD ways). Still, it reminds me that his persistent loving faithfulness is not contingent upon me and my actions. He is faithful because it is in his nature. As a pathological people pleaser who fixates on caring for others and feels the need to perform for accolades, this serves as a sobering yet gentle reminder of my little control and how great God is.

In many ways, I have been reminded how the Lord has prepared me for this rocky journey. I could recount for you the ins and outs of my walk with Jesus that have brought me to this point, but a story that best reflects my ever-growing relationship with Jesus is “Hinds Feet on High Places.” It’s an allegorical tale of a young woman named Much Afraid and her journey away from her Fearing family and into the High Places of the Shepherd, guided by her two companions, Sorrow and Suffering, who ultimately transform into Joy and Peace along her pursuit of obedience to the Shepherd. It’s a beautiful picture of walking in faith through the ups and downs of life, and a reminder of God’s nearness on our walk towards eternity with him.

Looking Ahead to Treatment Day

Tomorrow is a big day for so many reasons. It’s the start of a long, weary fight to kick cancer’s ass, and continue to look to Jesus for hope and healing. It is also the start of a shift in life for our family, for a time. While we continue to pray and ask for minimal side effects, there are still some inevitabilities that will be hard for me, my husband, and my kids. We plan to talk with our boys about the realities of our road ahead, but it will probably be scary and hard to understand at their respective ages. However, we believe God will grant us the wisdom, patience, and persistence to guide them through this time, and we hope this experience will transform us together. I desire this to be when Jesus becomes real to them (and us), and the Holy Spirit establishes a robust foundation of faith that takes root deeply and continues to grow.

My dad phrased tomorrow’s treatment as the first step in getting better, which I like. It sounds a lot less heavy. For those who may want to nerd out on the science behind my ‘wellness treatment’, here’s what I've got going on:

• Primary Medications/Infusions

  • Docetaxel (2 hours)

  • Carboplatin (1 hour)

  • Trastuzumab (Herceptin-HER2 treatment) (90 minutes)

  • Pertuzumab (Perjeta-HER2 treatment) (1 hour)

  • Plus supportive medication (steroids, etc.)

Yes, looking at this on its face can seem overwhelming. However, the wonderful nurse who walked us through the process last week was so invaluable and reassuring that I left that meeting much less anxious. Nurses are world-changers, and I’m so grateful I’ll have incredible care while in treatment. I’ll repeat this entire regimen (with some time alterations to the last two meds) six times every 21 days. I'll continue the two HER2-specific meds for a few more cycles after completing the full chemo regimen, which should be a lot less complicated for my body.

Going into my treatment, I have been incredibly blessed to have such wonderful family and friends who continue to reach out and support me in various ways, from offering to sit with me during treatment, providing meals and money to cover ordering out if necessary, and giving me incredible comfort items that will help make treatment more tolerable. (Shout out to my HC ladies who made me cry with the most amazing gift basket.)

However, many of you may wonder or ask, ‘How can you help?’ A few practical things come to mind for those wondering how they can support me as we start on this unforeseen journey.

1. Prayer. Knowing I have people praying and going before the Lord on my behalf is so comforting.

   1. Praying for the specific response to medications. A lot is going on with this treatment. If you can pray alongside us that the infusions do their job—and that my side effects are minimal, it would mean the world. (Shout out to my family and friends who gave me cold therapy mittens and socks to minimize neuropathy.)

   2. Praying for my PET scan. I haven’t been able to schedule this yet because of paperwork issues between TMC and Arizona Oncology, but continue to pray with me that there is no evidence of distant disease.

2. Encouragement. Having friends contact me via text, phone calls, or reading this blog is uplifting. While God has been faithful in giving me moments of joy, there are days when the heaviness of what I have before me can feel too much to bear. Thank you to all those who have already sent me cards and notes, called, or met up with me. Your presence, physical or not, makes a difference.

3. Meals. My wonderful friends at Holy Cross have started a Meal Train to cover the days of treatment and the week following, since those will likely be the hardest days for me. If you are interested in helping, here is the link: https://www.mealtrain.com/trains/owdwy8/.

   1. I want to thank all those who have already sent us Door Dash gift cards, donated money, or signed up to bring meals. It continues to overwhelm me just how kind and loving people are in times of need.

Thank you for walking alongside me on this journey. I feel honored to have a space where I can be vulnerable and share my thoughts and feelings with you. I hope you can be encouraged knowing that we are never alone in our pain, joy, or suffering. Sending love to each of you today, my friends, and I’ll be sure to update you after tomorrow!

Psalm 40:1-4

I waited patiently for the Lord, He inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction out of the miry bog and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord. Blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust.

Love,

Mindy

Drainage is a weird way of phrasing ‘processing feelings,’ but that’s how it sometimes feels. If I don’t effectively root out the cause of the anxiety or sadness, those emotions start to bubble up and spill over into other areas, and then it gets crazy. While emotional spillage is a normal human experience, it’s difficult to feel ‘emotionally out of control’ when you’re not accustomed to being so vulnerable. And that’s truly how it feels… being completely raw and exposed. (This is where you’re probably thinking, ‘Then why are you sharing all this with a bunch of people?!) Well, you’re not wrong. Writing so candidly represents a major shift for a girl who dislikes small talk and can be quite reserved unless in a smaller group setting. However, I am choosing to lean into this uncomfortable time in my life and harness my rawness for a purpose, to hopefully encourage others and show God’s mighty hand at work. Plus, I see vulnerability as a muscle that needs to be exercised—and this is the best forum.

I can confidently say that I don’t have it all figured out. I’m really good at appearing composed and courageous, but I often feel like I’m teetering on a balance beam of joy and contentment, only to slip when I’m caught off guard by a sudden wave of grief or anger that I didn’t see coming. After my oncology appointment last Thursday, I spent the better part of that day crying or on the verge of tears. I yelled at God, told Him how mad I was, but then surrendered myself because there is still no place better than His loving hands. Plus, I serve a mighty God who can sympathize with my weakness because He also suffered. (Hebrews 4:15)

The fact of chemotherapy starting next week destroyed the weird alternate reality facade I was somewhat existing in, and I had to allow myself to be okay with moments of grief that crept in. I’m grieving the ‘easier’ life I was living. I’m grieving my body that feels like a traitor. Most of all, I’m grieving the fact that my boys and my husband will have to carry extra worry or concern. Grief has become a regular companion for me over the last few days. But thankfully, it is not in the ‘this person won’t leave me alone or get the hint’ type of way. A lot of my grief could overwhelm, but choosing to allow little moments of escape has helped to keep the dam from completely breaking open. Allowing myself to be okay with grief and choosing to excavate the core of my emotions has brought a better balance between joy and sadness.

Thankfully, this last weekend we had an excellent opportunity to lean into joy and fun. Erik and I were blessed with a one-night stay at the beautiful Global Ambassador in Phoenix, courtesy of some of my mom’s colleagues from Preferred Hotels and Resorts. (Thank you to those who helped make this happen.) To our surprise, we were even upgraded to the presidential suite! (I may have made a weird choking sound when they told us at the front desk.) Let me tell you, the love and kindness of others truly made this last ‘normal’ weekend a blessing for us. God’s loving kindness was washed over us through the actions of others, and it was so good to feel like ourselves, before cancer. And I know it won’t be the last time. We just have a bit of a hill to climb before we get to the us—after cancer.

Whether we like it or not, God is working in this time of our lives. Erik and I can attest to the changes he is already making in our hearts. While we did tell him that we would have preferred another way to mold and shape us to his will, we will continually submit ourselves and trust him because he is our ultimate hope. He made us the emotional, messy people we are, and I know he has purposed this time in our lives for a reason. I want to embrace our messy vulnerability as we navigate this unexpected journey and continue to seek joy amidst the grief.

If you think about it, I’d really appreciate it if you could continue to pray for my upcoming PET scan and my first round of chemo on Thursday, May 8. I’m scheduled to arrive at 8:00 and will be there for six hours, which gives me plenty of time to pray and reflect. So, if you have anything you’d like me to pray for, please share! As always, thank you for walking alongside me.

Love, always,

Mindy

While having doctors that are persistent and cautious is a huge plus, it sucks to be left wondering if more bad news may be around the corner. The scans have been the scariest part of my journey thus far. Even though I have faith that the Lord will carry me through, no matter what, the reality is that I'm just SO TIRED of waiting for news. It feels especially tough when I’ve reached a point of acceptance with my circumstances, only to have that equilibrium disrupted again. Yet, I have to trust that God is good and rest in that for now, because worry and anxiety don’t yield anything good. Will you pray with me that my PET scan will come back clean and show nothing more to worry about? Above all, pray that His will be done and that He will be glorified in this story.

On the more positive side, I have an official start date for treatment. (Cancer, you are going down!) Next Wednesday, April 30, I will start my six-cycle chemo treatment. Every three weeks, there will be a similar routine: I will go in for blood work two days before treatment, meet with the doctor to evaluate my overall well-being, and then go in two days later for my infusion. The treatment is two-fold: good old chemotherapy drugs with additional targeted treatment medication to fight the HER2-specific cancer. Praise the Lord, medicine and scientific knowledge have advanced so much in this field that we have not one, but two specific medications known to attack the proteins and kill HER2-positive cancer cells. Even if treatment sucks, I can praise Jesus for the spirit of innovation and discovery that has led to medical advancements. My first cycle is scheduled to be around six hours long, and my prayer is that I’ll experience minimal side effects and that the chemotherapy and targeted treatments will do their job well. Will you pray with me that my body will tolerate treatment, that the cancer will respond accordingly, and that I can maintain a relatively ‘normal’ life over the next several months?

My husband Erik (who has been my utmost champion during this time) and I talked the other night about how I was doing and what I needed most during this journey. After reflecting on my position on the emotional scale and how I respond to different types of feedback, we concluded that, as an athlete, I require a balance between encouragement and challenge. While I can throw myself a pity party where I need someone to listen, feel sad, and comfort me, I don’t stay there. I pick myself up and move on, or I need someone to say, ‘get up and get going’. I need to keep moving—otherwise I’ll get stuck in a place of atrophy. While today may feel overwhelming and exhausting, it will only be a day, and then I’ll need to dust myself off and keep pressing on. It’s a long marathon that may end up being longer than anticipated, but thankfully, I have a strong team to help patch me up and get me through.

I want to say a special thank you to all who have followed along thus far and are praying for and supporting us near and far. It’s incredibly humbling to have such an expansive community that cares. Additionally, to those of you who have reached out to me directly, thank you. While I may not always have the capacity for a long, in-depth conversation, your kindness has overwhelmed and sustained me (in a good way).

While my heart may feel heavy today, I can praise Jesus for all his blessings and provisions and know I am safe with Him. He knows where I am in this process and continues to walk alongside me no matter what. Like the desert in bloom, there can be flowers amid spiny, prickly cactus.

Until next time, my friends!

Mindy

Good news, friends! I survived port surgery and am now one step closer to starting treatment. Hallelujah!

While beginning treatment may not be the most exciting thing to celebrate, the fact that we are only two weeks away is another blessing God has provided us on this journey. When we first began navigating the unknown adventure of a breast cancer diagnosis, our initial appointment with the surgical oncologist was not until April 14. That was Monday of last week! However, by God’s grace, Dr. Hou is an exceptional provider who doesn’t want her patients to wait and worked to fit us into her schedule more than two weeks before our initial appointment. Now, we’re one step closer to getting the party started.

The port surgery overall was pretty uneventful. From pre-op to surgery to post-op, the medical team was extremely kind and professional and took great care of me. They were even jamming to some great music in the OR, which I could only enjoy for a moment before they knocked me out, darn! Also, I’m one of those who become extremely chatty with my nurses after coming out of anesthesia, which is funny for anyone who knows me because I am not the small talk type of girl. However, there is something about being uninhibited that opens me right up!

For those unfamiliar with what a port is, it is essentially a device implanted in my chest that connects to a prominent vein and provides easier access for intravenous treatment. This is good for me and for the medical teams caring for me so my veins in my arms don’t get destroyed by consistent poking. It feels odd and appears unusual, especially for the boys, but my brother had a brilliant suggestion: he told me to say that I’m just like Iron Man.

Now that I have my Iron Man accessory installed, my next step is chemotherapy! My next appointment with my medical oncologist is next Thursday, April 24, and I hope to find out what my regimen will be moving forward. Our understanding is that I will go every three weeks for a total of six infusions. When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem so overwhelming. However, I’m continuing to pray for minimal side effects and that I can continue with life as normally as possible.

I’m extraordinarily grateful that, in His mercy, God has cared for us in both tangible and intangible ways. From His persistent love and peace to providing us with the right team of doctors and treatment, He has continually revealed Himself. As I reflect on the message of Easter this weekend, I can’t help but compare my current journey to the range of emotions we experience from Friday to Sunday. Good Friday is a day when we mourn the pain and suffering that Jesus bore for us because of our sin. His suffering paved the way for our justification through Him. Yet, His death was not the end. While Saturday presents a day of waiting, Sunday morning brings renewed hope in Jesus’ resurrection. Just as the message of Easter declares God’s victory over sin and death, I know that my season of suffering will not be the end for me. There is hope in Jesus, no matter the circumstances, because He has already paved the way for us.

No one can prepare you for the waves of emotion you’ll experience after receiving a cancer diagnosis.

When the lab called me with my biopsy results, I had a strange out-of-body sensation—like it couldn’t possibly be real. The words “I’m sorry…the results showed cancer” felt like they were floating in a caption bubble mid-air. After thanking the doctor and hanging up, shock replaced my out-of-body sensation rather quickly.

Shock is a strange emotion—or maybe it’s not an emotion but rather an absence of emotion. In my shock, I began updating family and friends in a more checklist-like way and then started attending to our plans for later that day, which included a tour of the Midway with my husband, two boys, our nephew, and my dad. While we debated whether to continue with our plans to finish our spring break in San Diego based on the news, Erik and I decided to forge ahead and do our best to get through the week.

Getting an undesirable diagnosis is hard enough, but it’s a particularly unique situation when you find out while on vacation and have to pretend like everything is happy and normal. While my boys were having the time of their lives on the coolest aircraft carrier they had ever seen, I felt like part of me was floating off into the ether of my unknown future reality. I was desperately trying to cling to the joy of watching my boys delight in this unique, fun experience while slowly starting to drown in the waves of grief.

There is no better way for me to express how grief has felt than by comparing it to the ocean’s natural ebbs and flows. In the first few days, life's busyness and regular momentum kept the tidal flow of grief at bay, but by the evening, the raging tide would come crashing down in an overwhelming, powerful way. This was especially true of my D-Day (diagnosis day). When we got done at the Midway, said goodbye to my dad and nephew, found our way to the hotel, and settled in, my cocoon of shock crumbled, and I found myself weeping in the bathroom. The grief, pain, and fear of my new existence overpowered me, and there was no more hiding from my feelings.

While this story sounds terribly sad, it doesn’t stay unhappy. The bottomless pit of emotion I felt at that point didn’t turn out to be bottomless. Learning to express my feelings instead of suppressing them has taught me to be fully vulnerable in ways I’ve never experienced before and has expanded my capacity to receive love from God and, in turn, from others. While I have always enjoyed being a caregiver and loving others, I also have been cautious about asking for help or “overburdening” people with my needs. It’s as if I believed I didn’t deserve the extra attention or worthy of the additional care and concern. Let me tell you, there is nothing like getting diagnosed with cancer that will force a person outside of their comfort zone and learn to accept love in a new and transformative way.

This is particularly true of my relationship with Jesus. While I grew up in the church, I have always struggled to receive God’s love fully. It’s not that I doubted Him, but at my core, I struggled with tying His love to my actions or responses. Yet, He has used this time in my life to destroy that prideful perspective and has showered me with His love and kindness in a life-altering way. At my lowest point, God did not abandon me or feel disgusted by my grief and anger. He didn’t balk at my outcry for help. He embraced me and continually reminded me that He is always with me.

In the same way, I have experienced an outpouring of love and kindness from my community that has blown my mind and shown me the beauty of vulnerability in relationships. The commitment to pray for and alongside us on this journey, the offers to help with the boys, the check-ins and the thoughtful gifts have made incredible impacts and consistently reminded us that we are not alone. In his infinite wisdom, God has provided everything we need to endure.

Tomorrow, I get my port placed in preparation for my treatment, and I suspect there will be new and different waves I’ll experience with every step forward. While this journey is just beginning, I’m learning to ride the waves of grief and fear as they come rather than fight against the swift tide. My beautiful cousin reminded me that while the waves may be constant, Jesus is riding every single one with me, and I have only to keep my eyes on Him.

With that said, let’s get you up to speed:

• No, my family doesn’t have a history of breast cancer.

• I found a lump and went to my primary care physician, who referred me for imaging. It all snowballed from there.

• My type of cancer is HER2 triple positive—which means they have several targeted ways to treat this type of cancer.

• Thankfully, the disease doesn’t appear too advanced, so we’re trusting in the Lord and believing that my body will respond well to treatment.

• I get my port (used for administering chemotherapy and other medications) surgically placed on Thursday, April 17 and have a follow-up meeting with my oncologist on April 24. We’re hoping that I can start treatment relatively soon after my oncology appointment.

Whew. That generalized update sums up the emotional and physical journey our family has been on over the last month. I’m actually really proud of how far I’ve come, considering that I didn’t tear up one bit while typing it all out. (This would not have been the case two weeks ago.)

Honestly, the entire reason I am doing so well is because of Jesus. He has been walking with me hand in hand throughout this tumultuous process. Those who may not know Jesus might wonder, “How can a good God allow bad things to happen to good people?” Well, first of all, I am a sinner first and foremost. The very nature of who I am (who we all are) does not deserve God’s grace and mercy, yet He offers it to us freely. The other reality is that we live in a fallen world. This world is not what God ultimately designed, but it is also not all He has for those who choose Him. While I could get stuck in a place where I wonder, “Why me,” the question should be, “Why not me?”

I was confronted with this poignant thought by another woman on social media battling the same disease. It perfectly puts into perspective the underlying nature we all have to assume we deserve an easy life. But God never promises ease. He, however, promises He will give us the strength and wisdom to endure—and I know that to be true for me. Jesus has provided incredible family, friends, and an extended community who have been lifting us in prayer each step of the way. He has put us in front of doctors and provided appointments promptly. And He has given us peace in a time of turmoil and grief. Jesus is working in ways that we can see and ways that we cannot. And my prayer is that this time in our life is not wasted.

This past weekend, I ran a 7.4-mile run in Sabino Canyon at sunset with some friends (shout out to the HC run club!). Let me tell you, it was hard. The first half of the race was all uphill, and I did not train for hills. My body felt wrecked and tired, and my mind wondered when it was going to end. Then, I finally made it to the top. While still challenging, the second half allowed me a little more ease downhill until I finally reached the finish line.

My life right now feels like a race. I haven’t trained to tackle this specific type of situation, so I don’t know what to expect. However, I know it will be an uphill battle. Yet, I have confidence in knowing I have a God who will give me spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical endurance to get through.

I hope you'll join me on this journey. We all face pain and difficulties in different aspects of our lives that we can relate to, and it's much more enjoyable to traverse together. Most importantly, I hope you feel encouraged that there is joy to be found, even in the darkest moments.

To God be the glory.

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