Wednesday, April 12, 2017



Someone once asked me how I felt about Heavenly Father not taking away my cancer after my diagnosis.  That I didn't show up to my next appointment and the cancer had miraculously disappeared, like in other people's stories.

That thought had never occurred to me.

I prayed to be healed and My dad blessed me that I'd have a full recovery.  I've been healed and I've had a full recovery.  I prayed to get through the treatments and that the treatments would work.  They worked.

I prayed with a grateful heart that it was me and not someone else.

I never prayed to have my cancer taken away, but here I am 13 years later and it has been taken away.  So I guess I feel grateful that I learned empathy for those who are sick, for patience in rebuilding the muscle tone killed by chemo and patience in losing the weight gained from the chemo, gratitude for the change in my diet to eating healthy, for the miracles of modern medicine, and for the millions of answered prayers in between.

I put my life in God's hands and I am stronger for it.

Tuesday, April 4, 2017



There was this one time, I had cancer.  I even wrote a book about it.  So I'm pretty much famous and I thought I'd share one of many prayer stories from that time...

LUMPECTOMY (noun, lump-eck-ta-mee) 1. The surgical removal of a breast cyst or tumor.  Origin:  1970-75 lump + ectomy

So I had one of those.

I awoke groggy (as most patients do).  My eyelids were heavy, my limbs seemed immovable, and my head weighed more than a bowling ball (the heavy ones professional bowlers use, not the fluorescent balls children use...and I use).  I blinked my lids open and found a cute beanie baby and balloon sitting with me and my mom sitting just across the room.  I think I smiled at her in my sleepy head, not on my actual face.  I worked my way to sitting, letting my head hang on my neck for a minute or two.

Somehow I had a bag of my clothes in my arms and I proceeded to put them on (a shirt that zipped up the front, genius, shorts and my Adidas tennies). No sooner had I emptied the bag of its contents then I filled it back up...with my insides.  Apparently the anesthetic did not agree with me...and it continued to disagree with me all the way home.  There is a point of dilusion, when it doesn't seem real even though it feels VERY real.  My eyes were crying tears even though I wasn't actually crying, just convulsing a little...or a lot.  I did learn a useful tip:  ziplock bags are the greatest tool for vomit control.

I lay in the guest room of my parent's home, too exhausted and delirious to do anything...even pray (which is saying something).  My dad, a sympathetic crier, sat by my side and took my hand and asked, "would you like a blessing?"  I probably responded, but that evening blurred a bit from the hospital on, so I'm not totally sure.  What I do remember is Clark Wallace and my dad laying their hands on my head and pronouncing a blessing of health and peace and then me, calmly falling asleep.

Anesthetic = 0, Power of God = infinity