In my daughter’s first-grade year, I felt God calling me to give my life to Him—more than just the parts I could easily relinquish…all of me. The idea seemed impossible for someone who needed to control everything. Still, my love for God and his relentless pursuit of me compelled me to take a leap of faith and fully surrender myself to Him.
A few weeks later, I stood vacuuming up the remnants of our Easter gathering. We had celebrated our Savior with an egg hunt, meaningful conversations, and barbecued chicken. The phone rang, and I glanced at the caller ID. I froze when I recognized the clinic where I’d just had a mammogram. I reached for the receiver in a panic and listened as a woman told me I needed to return immediately for further evaluation. The rest of the day, I met my obligations in a trance-like state, continually reassuring myself it would amount to nothing. But the following day, an ultrasound and X-rays confirmed a suspicious lump in my breast, and the radiologist told me to get a needle biopsy right away.
With family and friends praying, my surgeon biopsied the lump two weeks later and called to confirm it as cancer three days after that. The news devastated me, but my anguish worsened when my young daughter tearfully asked, “Are you going to die, Mommy?”
A flurry of appointments followed as I met with the surgeon, oncologist, and pre-op counselors. I spent hours in the library and on the web, researching options, outcomes, and survival rates. I tried not to consider the worst-case scenario while simultaneously trying to reassure family, friends, and myself that everything would turn out okay. That life as I had always known it would continue. But would it? I became overwhelmed with a fear that grabbed me, paralyzed me… and left me unable to kiss my daughter goodnight without tears.
One morning, I knelt alone for prayer. Trembling with fear, I agonized about how my family would get along without me. I pleaded aloud, “God, please don’t take my life.” But then God spoke to my heart, as if right beside me, and said, “Your life doesn’t belong to you… remember, you gave it to me.”
It stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t breathe. And then I remembered I had surrendered my whole life to Him weeks before. Suddenly, a wash of calm came over me. The unbearable panic that had wracked me left. God fully controlled my life now, and I just needed to trust Him.
Finally, surgery day came. I had elected localized radiation, which necessitated an implanted catheter after cancer removal but also required the cancer to remain localized. If the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes, the surgeon would remove them and insert a drain instead, and chemo would follow. Before being wheeled to the operating room, my husband and our pastor laid hands on me and prayed.
The next thing I remember, a post-op nurse asked me how I felt, and another nurse checking my incision said, “This drain has too much swelling; I need to call the doctor.” Suddenly, it struck me. A drain. That meant the cancer had spread to my lymph. My heart sank, and I grieved for what that might mean. But almost immediately, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of warmth and peace, as if someone had enveloped me in a loving embrace. I felt a smile come to my face and a sense that no matter the prognosis, God held me in His loving care, and nothing else mattered. In a few moments, the second nurse returned, explaining with relief to her colleague that, according to the doctor, I did not have a drain or swelling but an implant for localized radiation. Joyfully, I realized the cancer had not spread to my lymph nodes after all.
After ten days of radiation and follow-up tests, the doctor declared me cancer-free. I rejoiced over God’s goodness with my family, friends, and church. God proved Himself faithful in my healing and in His tangible and ever-comforting presence. Like Job, I had now seen God fully with my spiritual eyes (Job 42:5). I realized that His drawing me to Himself in total surrender months earlier reflected His mercy in preparing me to let Him carry me through the valley of the shadow of death, knowing I couldn’t walk it alone.
Thirteen years have passed since my cancer diagnosis, and I remain in remission. To this day, I can still close my eyes and remember that wonderful feeling in the post-op: marvelous, unforgettable, and so supernatural. I thank God daily for His love, mercy, and grace... and for continuing to transform my life as I strive to live every moment wholly surrendered to Him.