October is my anniversary month.
Not my wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of my diagnosis.
It was the month my world was turned upside down by three words that would forever divide my life into two chapters: before diagnosis and after diagnosis.
Someone once said there are two significant times in life: BD and AD—Before Diagnosis and After Diagnosis.
And if you have ever heard those words spoken over your own life, you understand how profoundly they can change everything. And I mean everything.Suddenly, the things you once worried about seem so insignificant. The plans you carefully made become uncertain. The future you assumed you had suddenly feels so fragile and unattainable.
You begin to question everything: your existence, your choices, your relationships, your family, your friendships, and even your walk with God.You find yourself asking questions you never thought you would have to ask.
Why me? Why now?
What does this mean for my future?
Will I ever feel like myself again?I remember the moment I heard those words.
My strength seemed to evaporate.
My hopes felt shattered, and even the faith I had leaned on for so long seemed to falter beneath the weight of that dreadful news.
I walked out that door like a zombie, physically present but emotionally somewhere far away, trying to comprehend a reality I had never imagined for myself.
I was afraid. I was angry. I was heartbroken.
But somewhere in the middle of my tears, I reached for a tiny corner of courage. I gathered what determination I could find and decided that, even if I could not control what was happening to me, I would not surrender every part of myself to it.
I looked toward the horizon and cried tears of rage and sadness. I gave myself permission to feel the weight of what I was facing. I didn’t pretend everything was fine, and I didn’t always know how to pray. But I also gave my heart permission to hope.
Hope in God.
Hope in the knowledge that I was not walking through this valley alone.
Hope in my medical team, in the treatments available to me, and in the possibility of a future I could not yet see.
Hope that there would still be laughter, adventures, dreams, and beautiful moments waiting for me on the other side of the darkness.
And so, I kept moving forward.
I learned to appreciate the essence of each moment, because I could no longer take tomorrow for granted.
Every scan, every appointment, every waiting room, every disappointing report, and every encouraging word became part of a journey that was teaching me something about life, about myself, and about the things that truly matter.I discovered that sometimes the greatest lessons come in the places we would never willingly choose to visit.
I learned that courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is getting out of bed when your heart is heavy.
Sometimes it is walking into another appointment when you are exhausted from being brave.Sometimes it is smiling at someone else while privately trying to gather the pieces of your own heart.
And sometimes courage is simply putting one foot in front of the other and trusting God to meet you on the next step.There were days when my faith faltered.
Days when I wondered where God was in the middle of it all.
Days when I felt lost, wandering aimlessly through the streets of this world, smiling on the outside while crying on the inside.I kept ministering to others even when I desperately needed someone to minister to me.
I poured encouragement into other people’s lives while quietly searching for encouragement of my own. I offered hope while having to remind myself that hope was still available to me, too.
I was learning that faith does not mean you never struggle. It means you keep turning toward God, even when you don’t understand His ways or have the strength to make sense of your circumstances.
I realized I did not want to spend whatever time I had left consumed by bitterness, offense, or the need to prove myself right.
I wanted to live. I wanted to love. I wanted to experience the goodness of God in the middle of an imperfect world.
I began to understand that some things I had once considered enormous were actually very small in the grand scheme of eternity.
I learned that peace was worth protecting, that forgiveness could release the heart from unnecessary burdens, and that every moment was too precious to waste carrying offenses that were slowly stealing my joy.
Offense no longer needed to be my defense.
I could acknowledge the wounds of my life without allowing them to define me. I could grieve what had been lost without refusing to embrace what remained. I could recognize the darkness without forgetting that light still existed.
And I could be honest about my pain without allowing pain to have the final word.
Cancer changed me.
The scans, the appointments, the waiting, the uncertainty, and the disappointments all became threads woven into the fabric of the woman I am today.
And they did not erase me.
If anything, they revealed parts of me I might never have discovered otherwise.There is a stubbornness in my soul that refuses to lie down and surrender.
There is a determination deep within this woman’s heart that continues to rise, even after being knocked to her knees.
And beneath it all is the sustaining grace of a faithful God who has carried me through moments when I could barely carry myself.Perhaps that is what people see when they call me strong.
They see the woman who kept going.
But I know the truth behind that strength. I know the tears nobody saw. I know the prayers that came through trembling lips. I know the questions I wrestled with in the quiet. I know what it feels like to be frightened and hopeful at the same time.
And I know that when my own strength failed, God’s grace was still sufficient.
As Paul declared in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
That Scripture means something different to me now. I no longer think strength is measured by how well we hide our weakness. Sometimes the most profound strength is found in admitting that we are weak and allowing God to sustain us anyway.Life is a struggle. None of us escapes sorrow, disappointment, uncertainty, or the reality that our days on this earth are numbered. We can spend our lives waiting for everything to be perfect before we begin to live, or we can learn to recognize the extraordinary gifts hidden within ordinary days.
I choose to live.
I want to breathe in every blessing and exhale every curse. I want to laugh deeply, love generously, forgive freely, and keep dreaming boldly. I want to see places I have never seen, experience things I have never experienced, and savor the beautiful details of this remarkable journey called life.
I want to stop postponing joy until circumstances improve. I want to appreciate the people who love me, cherish the moments that make my heart sing, and recognize the hand of God in the little things I might once have overlooked.I know that one day I will pass from this life into the great unknown, stepping beyond the boundaries of time into eternity. That truth no longer makes me want to cling fearfully to life. It makes me want to live it more intentionally.
Because I am still here.
I still have breath in my lungs, dreams in my heart, love to give, stories to tell, and a purpose to fulfill. I still have reasons to wake up with expectation and to believe that there are beautiful chapters yet to be written.October will always remind me of the day my world changed. It will remind me of the woman who walked through that door broken, frightened, and uncertain of what tomorrow would bring.
But it will also remind me of the woman who kept walking.
The woman who cried but kept hoping. Who struggled but kept believing. Who stumbled but kept rising. Who discovered that even in the valley of the shadow of death, God had not abandoned her.
I cannot change the day those three words entered my life. I cannot rewrite the fear, erase the tears, or pretend the journey was easy.But I can choose what I do with the life I have been given.
I refuse to let the darkest chapter become the title of my story.My diagnosis is part of my testimony, but it is not the whole of my identity. My scars are part of my history, but they do not diminish the beauty of my future. And the storms I have survived are reminders that I can walk through difficult places and still discover reasons to rejoice.
So, yes, October is my anniversary month.
It is the anniversary of a moment that changed everything.But it is also a reminder of how much life can remain after the moment you thought would take everything away.
And until the day God calls me home, I intend to embrace this gift of life with everything I have.
I am going to live abundantly.
Not someday. Not when every question has been answered. Not when every fear has disappeared or every circumstance has fallen into place.Now.
With gratitude for yesterday, faith for today, and hope for tomorrow.
Because the same God who met me in my darkest hour is the God I will trust with every sunrise still to come.
And my story is not over yet
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