Notes in the Middle
Faith in real life — the funny parts, the hard parts, and the grace that shows up when you’re not expecting it.
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It is easy to believe God is good when life feels settled. The harder work is trusting His goodness when plans change, answers are unclear, or the future feels uncertain. A reflection and prayer for noticing God’s presence in the middle.
Cancer can bring emotions no treatment plan prepares you for. Fear, grief, overwhelm, anger, loneliness, and vulnerability are not signs that you are handling cancer badly. They are part of being human.
Sometimes faith does not look brave. Sometimes it sounds like, “God, I’m scared. Please stay close.” You do not have to perform courage for God.
Nobody warned me that cancer might make me angry. Not just scared or sad, but angry at what changed, what was lost, and how unfair it all felt.
What happens when life hands you one more hard thing and you find yourself wondering, What am I doing wrong? A Monday spent unexpectedly in the ER reminded me that another difficult season doesn't necessarily mean we've failed. Sometimes we're simply being refined—and God is still meeting us right in the middle.
Sometimes faith doesn’t look bold or certain. Sometimes it’s simply asking God for enough grace to make it through the night. A reflection on small faith, long nights, and trusting that morning is still coming.
Cancer
Nobody warned me that cancer might make me angry. Not just scared or sad, but angry at what changed, what was lost, and how unfair it all felt.
Cancer can make vulnerability feel very physical — hospital gowns, scars, needing help, losing privacy, and learning to live in a body that may suddenly feel unfamiliar. You are not weak for struggling with that.
Cancer can be deeply lonely, even when you are loved and supported. Sometimes the hardest part is realizing that no one else can completely know what it feels like to live inside your body, your fear, and your uncertainty.
Cancer can make you angry—at your body, the timing, the losses, the people who do not understand, and sometimes even at God. Anger is not proof that you are handling cancer badly. It is a human response to something hard and unfair.
Survivorship
Nobody warned me that cancer might make me angry. Not just scared or sad, but angry at what changed, what was lost, and how unfair it all felt.
Cancer can make you angry—at your body, the timing, the losses, the people who do not understand, and sometimes even at God. Anger is not proof that you are handling cancer badly. It is a human response to something hard and unfair.
Cancer can bring grief long before anyone talks about loss. You may grieve your body, your plans, your routines, your confidence, or the version of life you thought you were living. That grief is real.
After years of cancer, surgeries and unexpected returns to the couch, I am finally learning that rest is not failure—and my worth was never measured by how much I could do.
Life in the Middle
Sometimes hope looks profound. And sometimes it looks like a five-year-old labeling a feeding tube “French fries and Pepsi.” A story about illness, cancer, laughter, and the small ordinary things that help soften hard days.
A few weekends ago, both of my grandchildren landed in the penalty box. Watching them serve their time and skate right back into the game made me wonder where I've been playing it too safe—and what it costs us when we're so afraid of getting something wrong that we stop sounding like ourselves.
For years, I believed my body needed more discipline, more restriction, and more pushing. Now I am beginning to wonder whether it needed something entirely different: less judgment, more listening, and the chance to finally feel safe. This weekend, that lesson came through a warm bowl of oatmeal.
A weekend of hockey reminded me that winning is not always found on the scoreboard. Sometimes it looks like taking another shot, getting back up after a fall, encouraging a teammate, or discovering strength you did not know you had.
Helping Someone
When someone you love hears the words “you have cancer,” it can be hard to know what to do. These practical, thoughtful ideas can help you show up without adding pressure.
By my fifth hospital admission, the nurses knew how much I missed my flower gardens. Since fresh flowers were not allowed, they made me a bouquet out of hospital gloves. That ridiculous, thoughtful bouquet reminded me that whimsy does not erase what is hard—it simply refuses to let the hard be the only thing in the room.
When someone you love is diagnosed with cancer, you may not know what to say or how to help. A Hope Basket turns that helplessness into a thoughtful, personal act of care—one that says, “I see you. I love you. I am not going anywhere.”
When I was halfway through chemo, my aunt called and said she wanted to bring us lasagna. We had seven pans in the freezer. What happened next taught me the difference between two things that look identical from the outside but aren't the same at all — sympathy and support. One makes the helper feel better. The other makes the hurting person feel better. Here's how to tell which one you're offering.
Behind the Book
Cancer emotions do not arrive in a neat, predictable order. Here’s why Faces of Cancer is organized around the emotions we carry rather than a series of stages we are expected to complete.
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When You’re Missing Out but God Is Still Moving
