09/15/2026
3 ½ years ago I was driving through Hawaii, thinking about my dad. He died when I was 5.
The thing is, I have 3 memories of him (perhaps more if I really think hard).
And while driving, I was grieving. Not my dad, because I don't truly know him. I have lived long enough that I miss the idea of having a dad more than him as a person.
But I was grieving because I had JUST found out that I had cancer.
I knew it was survivable, or most likely it was, but before I left for the trip, there wasn't enough time to ask for details, so I didn't know how advanced it was, the type of thyroid cancer it was, or any of that. I just knew the journey I thought was over, in battling health and thyroid and hormones, was actually just beginning.
And while driving, thinking of my dad, I was actually thinking about my kids, who were 6 and 4 at the time.
If I died, would they remember me, love me, miss me after the first couple of years? Would they know the deep, intense love my whole body carried for them?
Would they feel it? Know it?
Would they grow up with intense depression and trials from the heartache of it all?
All of this was running through my weary heart and mind. (Surgery was 10 days prior.)
The portrait on the left is what my photographer took of me. I have it hanging in my office now.
Because while I was judging myself for all the things I thought I was failing at, she (and God) took that trip and reminded me that despite the illness, I was still slowly walking forward.
Despite the fear, God was giving me courage to stand tall. Despite the bone-aching weariness from all things sickness, God was giving me the strength to stay alive, giving Kirk the strength to be our glue, and giving my friends and community strength and patience in a season where I just couldn't do anything.
Where I saw failure, they brought grace. They brought love. They brought truth.
Today, I am cancer-free (have been for a while), we have figured out the hormones, I have a bit more energy, and more importantly, God gave me a purpose in a field I love.
In my family. In my community.
Your rock bottom isn't the end. There is more to your story.
There may be dreary days, but there are also SO MANY incredible ones. It's worth holding on.
Because you don't feel strong when all you see is your weakness, and you don't feel brave when you are paralyzed by fear.
But again, that isn't the end of your story. It's not a stopping point.
Pause. Take a deep breath. Look around you and cling to truth, and one baby step after another leads you into a future you couldn't have imagined.
Keep your head high, girl, in the fire and in the ashes.
As you begin to witness the budding flowers around you, nutrient-rich from history, hold your head even higher.
Your purpose is here, and your purpose is now.