Inside the Mind of a Jesus Follower

The Race That Didn’t Happen

2026-10-11T07:47:57.435-05:00

The first Saturday of October, the cancer center where I'm treated holds a fundraiser run every year. My dad flew down, my whole family came together, and we planned to run the race I couldn't run last year. Then a big rainstorm was forecast, and the race was canceled.

When the organizers sent a message about the cancellation, and the storm turned out milder than predicted, some runners sent very unhappy emails. I was disappointed too, but last year at this time I was fighting for my life while undergoing chemo treatments, was exhausted and nauseated all the time, had lost 15 lbs, and was bald. I was so sick I couldn't even imagine walking to the start line, let alone the finish line. My goal was to walk it this year. We had beautiful and special shirts made by Mel Jolley at Guided Horizons Graphics for our whole family, some from out of state, to "Rally for Allie."

But because of the people who dedicate their lives to saving lives like mine, I'll get the chance to walk (and maybe one day run again) with my family another day. We will run the race anyway, and that is more than enough for me.

Because of this cancer center team, every morning I wake up I praise God for one more day to love my high school sweetheart and husband of 25 years, my five kids, and my three tiny grandbabies, two of whom were born during my treatments and surgeries.

The men and women who deliver news that changes your whole world, and who serve us in some of our worst moments, are amazing humans. They love and care in ways only patients see and feel. I hope they know how loved they are, despite the disappointment that came their way for canceling to protect patients, families, and our community. I know that's where the decision came from. It was unpopular, but their perspective always bends toward health and safety.

So a message to my fellow racers:

To everyone who donated and signed up to run: thank you. I'm sorry the race was canceled and we couldn't gather to celebrate life. To anyone who is capable, go run the race anyway, and praise God that you can.

Let every stride on solid legs be praise that your stamina hasn't been knocked out by drugs that make it hard to walk to the bathroom. Every time the wind blows through your hair, praise God you don't have to watch it fall out in clumps in your hands, or feel your follicles ache as the drugs release strands of your once-long hair. Thank God for the heart beating in your chest and the air in your lungs.

Run the race anyway, while some are fighting to run the race of their lives.

Run the race anyway, for those whose race ended too early because of the C word.

Run the race anyway, while others run from patient to patient giving toxic drugs, handing out anti-nausea tools, and gently offering support and tissues alongside news that destroys dreams, not just races.

Run the race anyway.

Those of us who know what it feels like to hear the C word, and how it touches everything in your life, will keep fighting and run our race well. We'll finish our race too. And we'll do it knowing that a little rain and a canceled race don't hit the same way for those of us who have sat for hours in a chair that becomes the delivery spot for drugs you wish you could run away from.

Thank you to each of you who paid for the race. Thank you for supporting this community. Thank you for being upset it was canceled, because we know you wanted to show up and be part of the healing. Thank you for the funding that gives those of us still battling a chance to join you next year. And thank you for running the race anyway.

To the cancer team at Singing River: thank you for loving us so well and running alongside us every day. We see you. We are grateful for you. We love you.

To all of my prayer warriors, thank you for fighting for me and running this race with us this past year. We know it is because of the healing hand of God I am still here to race another day.

Running the race everyday,

Allie Gardner

Updates on Life

2026-10-06T22:38:14.727-05:00

I've taken a long break from writing. I've been busy living this one wild and precious life, and healing from the most painful surgery of my breast cancer journey so far.

For my faithful prayer warriors, here's a quick recap.

June

I had part one of my reconstructive surgery, an 11-hour operation using tissue from my back, because I didn't have enough fat to go the usual route. That same day I became a Lollie for the third time. My heart still aches that I couldn't be with my middle baby while she delivered her first baby like we'd planned. She went into labor as they were wheeling me back for surgery. I left the hospital three days later with four drains, barely able to walk or move. But getting to meet my new grandbaby was worth every bump of that painful ride home.

July

I fell twice and got an infection, and both set me back. My drains couldn't come out because the fluid levels were too high after the falls.

Three weeks after surgery, I started a new job teaching high school. I work at a year-round school, so we began in July. I had two drains coming out of my sides and compression garments covering my back, stomach, and legs down to my knees. I couldn't sit up in the car, so Gavin drove me to work and picked me up every day.

The pain was horrendous. I got stronger, but I still collapsed after work in tears most days and slept until I had to get up and do it all again.

August

Drain-free! It may be the most liberating feeling in the world. I kept teaching, loving my students and colleagues, my stamina grew, and I spent my weekends resting and preparing my body for another week.

September

I finally got strong enough to drive myself to and from work. I also got the shot I now need every six months. My doctors found that the second chemo drug caused osteoporosis in my spine and hips, and the pills I take to block estrogen (which feeds my type of cancer) also hurt bone health. So we're keeping a close eye on my bones. If they get worse, we'll have to find a new medication to keep cancer cells from growing.

September is Childhood Cancer. Awareness month so every Friday I wore yellow for those who lost littles to this disease.

October

I took my first trip in over a year that wasn't to a doctor's office!

Gavin and I went to Maxwell AFB, walked around Montgomery, and saw where Rosa Parks was arrested. We visited friends from Alaska on the way to Chattanooga, where we went to Ruby Falls, an underground waterfall. It felt fitting to see a place tied to the story of high school sweethearts with my own high school sweetheart.

Britt was the youth pastor when I was the children’s pastor at our church in Alaska. I love how much she loved Jesus. Got to enjoy time with her and her hubby and baby girl.

Then we went home for a few days to snuggle grandbabies and go boating before heading to Ponce de León's Fountain of Youth. The natural spring is 68 degrees. After a very short dip, my surgical areas felt great, but it was c-c-cold!

We got to enjoy time with family, eat some authentic, home-cooked southern/Cajun foods, take my dad to New Orleans Gavin and I were engaged 25 years ago and just be together (Which is always my favorite place to be.)

As you can see we have been blessed and living life, and what a beautiful life it is. Each day is a gift and I pray all of you take a moment to reflect on the good in each day, especially on the days that you struggle.

There are hard days and challenges I am still fighting through, and another surgery on the horizon, but every day is a blessing. The power surges (hot flashes) caused by sudden forced menopause are no fun, but at least I am warm for the first time in my life. The pain in my bones, chest, underarms, and back are really rough some days, but I am learning how to give my body grace as I rebuild. I still get nerve shocks that bring me to tears at times from the damage the allergic reaction from chemo caused in my trigeminal nerve, but I am grateful that even in the painful moments I can feel the loving and comforting hand of God. I know there is purpose in my pain and I trust that Jesus will use it for His glory.

I hope all our prayer warriors know how grateful we are for your prayers and check ins. The calls, daily texts, cards and support have been blessings I praise God for you daily as you have helped rebuild our strength and kept us focused on what matters. Thank you and may God bless you as richly as He has blessed us.

HEALING PROCLAIMED & SURGERY PLANNED

2026-06-15T20:54:43.472-05:00

Praise God! My first post-treatment scans were clean.

The CT scan was performed to look for evidence of cancer, and there was nothing large enough to detect. This is especially encouraging because I was unable to complete my entire chemotherapy regimen and have several risk factors that place me at a higher risk for both recurrence and metastatic disease.

God heals. Just as Jesus healed the sick, the lame, and the blind throughout Scripture, I believe He has touched my body and continues to sustain me through this journey.

There are so many signs of healing and restoration that I am grateful for. My hair is growing back soft, thick, and curly, and I have been enjoying the new pixie style. I get lots of compliments on it! I have gained weight back, my appetite has returned, and my white blood cell count is continuing to improve. It is not quite back to normal yet, but it is moving in the right direction. I am walking regularly, doing some light weightlifting, enjoying time on the boat with my family, reading, and preparing for my 20th year of teaching. I have also been blessed by visits from family and friends and have even enjoyed having my grandbaby spend the night a time or two.

That said, I experienced something very real in the cancer world this past week: scanxiety. Scanxiety is the fear and anxiety of waiting to see what a cancer scan will reveal. As I underwent my first bone scan and CT scan to check for any residual, recurrent, or metastatic cancer, I certainly felt it.

My oncologist shared that I have a greater than 50% risk of recurrence, so she wants to monitor me closely with scans every six months and monthly appointments for the next five years.

She also started me on a medication that can lower my recurrence risk by about 30%. It is a once-daily pill that blocks testosterone from being converted into estrogen, since estrogen fuels my type of cancer. Some of the side effects include fatigue, joint pain, muscle aches, osteoporosis, and an intensification of the 37 symptoms of menopause that were medically induced following my surgery in April.

So far, the medication has not been too difficult, but I have noticed that my body requires more recovery time after workouts or lifting weights. My hands are swollen, and my feet and back often hurt.

After much prayer and careful consideration, I have decided not to take one of the additional medications offered to reduce recurrence. It is a very aggressive treatment, similar to taking a daily chemotherapy pill for the next five years. Common side effects include hair loss, nausea, diarrhea, and a general feeling of being unwell. From the beginning, I have said that I would choose quality of life over quantity of life. After praying about it and weighing the potential benefits against the cost to my daily life, I have decided this treatment is not the right choice for me. There are no guarantees that it will prevent recurrence, and I do not believe it is worth being sick for the next five years.

My bone scan also revealed osteoporosis, which can be a side effect of the chemotherapy treatments I underwent throughout the fall and winter. I will be working closely with my oncologist to determine the best plan moving forward. My spine showed the most significant bone loss, which may explain the back pain I have been experiencing.

As I celebrate this good report, I am also preparing for a major reconstruction surgery on June 25. The procedure will require doctors to use tissue from multiple areas of my body to reconstruct my chest because I do not have enough tissue in any one area to harvest. It will involve an eight-hour surgery, five surgical sites, three days in the hospital, four drains, and a compression garment that I will need to wear for six weeks.

I am scheduled to begin teaching again in mid-July, and I am understandably nervous about returning to the classroom while recovering. I wonder how comfortable I will be and whether I will feel like myself again so soon after surgery.

I would greatly appreciate your prayers for a smooth procedure, rapid healing, and strength during recovery. Specifically, I am praying that the drains can be removed quickly, that my healing progresses well, and that I am able to return to the classroom ready to teach and serve my students.

Thank you for your continued prayers, encouragement, and support. I am deeply grateful to each of you who has walked alongside me throughout this journey.

March Madness in Cancer

2026-03-30T12:24:00.003-05:00

The sun is shining on the Gulf Coast and I am getting some energy back and taking longer walks through the week. I don’t need a few hour long naps to get through the day anymore, just short catnaps or moments of rest. We are enjoying boating time with our family and just feeling the sunshine every day.

My hair is coming in thick and soft. Gavin keeps me laughing through all of this. He said he married a blonde, but chemo is turning me into a darker brunette… with a little silver fox mixed in. 😂 Chemo can actually change the color of your hair, so we’ll see what it ends up being on the other side of this!

Overall, we are doing pretty well, but the past three weeks have had a few setbacks. My chest cavity started filling with fluid, and the left capsule they built to hold the tissue expander collapsed. That has meant going in four times now to have the fluid drained with a very large and scary looking needle and syringe, but is is placed in an area that has no feeling so it is just weird not painful.

I’m currently on two strong antibiotics to fight off infection since my white blood cell count still isn’t where it needs to be. I’ll see the surgeon again in April to make sure everything is cleared up, and then we’ll move forward with scheduling another surgery to rebuild and replace what was lost.

It does mean starting the expansion process all over again—and yes, that also means the “boobie grenades” (aka drains) are making a comeback. They were awful the first time, but at least now I know how to deal with them… and I won’t accidentally drop them like last time. Ouch!!

It’s not exactly what I hoped for, but I’m holding onto perspective. I’ve already walked this road once with my double mastectomy, so at least now I know what to expect.

Through it all, God has been so good. Even in the setbacks, I can see His hand guiding me forward. We have been blessed with so many prayer warriors and are grateful for every single one of them.

Why I Didn't Ring the Bell

2026-03-04T19:14:00.007-06:00

Why I Didn't Ring the Bell

Walking into the radiation oncologist's office today marked the end of my daily radiation treatments. I was met with big smiles and congratulations from every staff member I passed in the building. As I lay down on the table for the 30th time, I felt the emotions bubble up, as a few tears escaped down my cheek. These past six weeks, I have dealt with fear, deflation of tissue expanders, nerve pain, burns, and blisters on the inside and outside of my skin, and the loss of a good friend, which halted treatment for a few days so I could attend his funeral. My care team has been supportive every step of the way. I could not have asked for more compassion and attentiveness. I cannot thank them enough for the way they love people so well in such a challenging area of medicine.

Last day of radiation...glowing and hair is growing

The team asked if I was going to ring the bell to signify this monumental and emotional victory in cancer treatment. The ringing of the bell is actually a Navy tradition, which is rung after completing a challenge or task well. The tradition has found its way into the world of cancer treatment, as individuals who complete chemotherapy and radiation treatment ring a bell to signify the end of a well-fought battle.

As I looked around the waiting room, I recognized there were still so many beautiful humans sitting in those chairs at different levels of their journey with cancer. I can see how that bell could evoke emotions in that room, and I empathize with that on a deeper level.

Many see the bell as a sign of hope, as it signifies someone has made it through the cancer treatments that wreak havoc on the body, mind, and soul. However, I also know how it feels to sit in those chairs and see others who were further along in their fight against this enemy. Although I was happy for them that they were nearing or were at the end of this hellacious experience, it just highlighted to me how far I had to go in my own treatment.

Treatments that make you feel worse than you have ever felt, and sometimes even cause you to beg God to be merciful and let you come home to Him on your really bad days. Treatments that steal your strength, dignity, and your voice. Treatments that kill every good and bad cell in the body, as well as your hair and skin. Treatments that destroy your way of life, your career aspirations, and your self-image.

The treatments I am grateful are behind me and have forever changed me.

Therefore, I did not feel the ringing of the bell in the midst of those still fighting so hard to survive was appropriate for me. Instead, I would rather ring a bell with the two people who have been fighting in the midst of the fire with me: Jesus and Gavin.

So instead, we drove to our favorite coffee shop, Bright Eyed, where the owners, Ryan and Katherine, have become some of our greatest prayer warriors. We wanted a celebratory cup of joe, and I picked out a bright yellow hat to signify sunshine and healing in the journey ahead. (And the only glowing I will do from this point forward). Katherine gifted us the merchandise and delicious coffees, and we drove home so we could ring the bell fully caffeinated.

Celebrating in style with Bright Eyed Coffee

When we got home, I decided I wanted to ring my bell on our back porch, where Jesus and I spent so many hours with me lying at His feet in this battle. The same porch where just this week I was kneeling in desperation at 3 a.m. because the radiation burns were tormenting me, and I was unable to sleep.

I wanted to have Gavin with me to celebrate that moment as he has been the one holding my hand, my hair, and my heart through every appointment, infusion, setback, and through the nights when worship played over us while I wept and he prayed. This battle was not just my own, but his as well. He fought alongside me in such unwavering devotion and with strength I did not have. I rang that bell and praised God for all of the loved ones, friends, family members, strangers, and blog readers who have lifted us up in this journey. Every prayer, gift, kind text, card, warm thought, and song sent to encourage were needed and truly appreciated.

I heard it said once that there is life before cancer and a life after cancer. I never understood that like I do today. Ever since learning that the mammogram showed cancer, our entire world has changed. The past ten months have been the most terrifying and clarifying of our lives.

To say I am cancer-free or that I am done with care is premature, as we still have a lot of healing, surgeries, and medication treatment ahead. People keep asking me how we know if the treatment worked. Well, the truth is we don't and we won't for a long time. Instead, I will continue to trust God and His plan. His will is far greater than our own.

I know that the next five years will be a significant part of this journey. In many cases, patients are not considered fully in remission until they have remained disease-free for five years. For cancers like mine, most recurrences tend to happen within that time frame, which makes these years both hopeful and uncertain. Because of that, this season of my life will continue to require careful monitoring, resilience, and a great deal of faith as we move forward.

However, I am not going to spend the next five years dwelling on the fact that the cancer may still be in my body and looking for a nice, fertile place to plant. I am not going to assume every time I feel weak, tired, or sick that it is cancer. I am not going to let fear rule or ruin my gloriously beautiful life or take me away from enjoying the wonderful family and friends God has given me.

John 10:10 states, The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.

Therefore, I am not going to allow this thief to steal, kill, and destroy the remaining days I have left.

I will not allow negativity or toxicity to fill my home or mind or steal me away from experiencing the goodness in each day. I am going to do purpose-filled work, not just a job that kills my creativity or energy. I am not going to let the fear of cancer returning or cells that may still be in my body destroy my joy.

Instead, I am going to live a full life with Jesus. I am going to take care of my body by eating well, exercising, and focusing on healing inside and out. I am not going to abuse my body or my mind with things that harm and do not give life. I am going to show love and grace to myself and to the people God blessed me with. I am going to be present and real with those around me. I am going to date my sweet, Jesus-loving, handsome, and hilarious husband and strive to serve him better every day we have together. I am going to love being a Lollie and continuing to pray and support my adult kids in their various stages of life. I am going to live.

And every day I have left on this earth, I am going to ring the bell of victory with the one who comes to give life so we can have it to the full.

How Do We Say Goodbye?

2026-02-09T16:10:00.012-06:00

How do you say goodbye to a spirit bigger than most, and loved by all?

By remembering what he did and who he was.

He wrestled.

He was a man who pinned opponents to the mat with power, strength, and fire, yet always ended with a handshake, eyes steady, dignity intact.

He rode.

A man who rode bulls for a living,

chasing dust and danger, his raw talent and fierce determination

recognized long before the buckles came.

He lived.

He was a man who lived with integrity, stood up for others with the heart of a hero and felt the power of the Holy Spirit when he gave his life to Jesus.

He loved.

He was a man who loved his son and his family with a passion second only to the love of our Savior. He was a friend who simply showed up every time he said he would and even when you didn’t ask him to. A man who gave his whole heart, his time, and his hugs to those lucky enough to love him.

So how do we say goodbye?

We wrestle.

We wrestle with the impossible to make our dreams possible just like he did.

We wrestle the good out of every moment.

We wrestle with the passion it takes to earn our place on the mat.

So, how do we say goodbye?

We Ride.

We ride through the fear, dig in the spurs, and tip our hat to say, “Let’s go!”

We ride no matter how hard life bucks or twists and turns, until that buzzer sounds.

We ride by grabbing the bull by the horns, and even if it horns us in the face, we get back on.

So how do we say goodbye?

We live.

We live each day by taking risks, chasing dreams, earning them with hard work on the mat, one hand in the air, and a spirit that will not give up.

We live every moment and have the beer, eat the cake, and make the call.

We live knowing the humble truth

that not all of us are promised old age.

So how do we say goodbye?

We love.

We love with devotion and gratitude for the people around us.

We love no matter the miles, the time, or the distance between us.

We love so well that Jesus can be felt in the hearts around us even when we are gone.

So how do we say goodbye?

We do what David did…

We wrestle.

We ride.

We live.

We love.

So that one day, face to face again,

we’ll receive one of those wonderful Davey hugs and say,

“Good job, Cowboy. You did well.“

If you want to help Davey’s son, Cullen, you can Venmo Amanda, Davey’s sister. She is putting it all in an investment account for Cullen’s future.

Venmo: @Amanda-Dixson-1

Last 4 of her number is 6352 for verification.

Radiation: Glow Party

2026-02-01T15:23:00.004-06:00

I began radiation after four trips to the radiation oncologist's office and two visits with the reconstructive surgeon. I had to completely drain the left (healthy) tissue expander, so it will have to go through the expansion process again.

After the expander was drained, the radiation oncologist tried mapping my chest with the machines. Then he came over and asked, "Do these have metal in them?”

"Yes. That's how they use a magnet to find the port to fill them, or at least that's what I was told,” I replied.

“I cannot do radiation with metal nearby because the beams can hit the metal, scatter, and we cannot control where it goes,” the doctor said softly.

I took a deep breath, trying to process. “So I need to remove both expanders in order for you to do radiation?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. Did they (the original team from out of state) not tell you this could be a concern?”

“No. That team works closely with the reconstructive surgeon, and this is their standard procedure. The radiation oncologist there told me they would just radiate the whole chest. They didn't have this technology you're using, and they didn't say anything about the metal ports being a problem.” I replied as calmly as I could muster.

“I’m sorry to say you will need surgery to remove both expanders. Otherwise, it's too dangerous, and I can’t be precise about where the beam hits,” the doctor stated with eyes filled with compassion.

I nodded my head and said, “I understand. I’ll call the reconstructive surgeon today.”

“If you leave their number, I’ll call and speak with them myself so we can discuss how to move forward.” The doctor offered.

I almost burst into tears right there on the table, but held it together while I got dressed and walked down the hall to give the nurse the number. I lost my composure in her office. She showed such compassion that it broke the wall I was trying to hold up, and the tears came quickly.

It wasn’t vanity that broke me; it was the timeline and the pain I had already endured with these torture devices (tissue expanders). We are already behind in care because of how my body has responded to everything, and I have not had therapeutic levels of treatment. No one from the previous team told me this might be an issue when the expanders were placed, and I felt blindsided.

Removing them meant another surgery and months of healing before radiation could even begin. Then, if I chose reconstruction again, it would mean yet another surgery to replace the expanders, if my tissue and skin could withstand it after radiation. The thought of a second round of tissue expansion honestly felt worse than the first. It is excruciating and emotionally draining.

In that moment, I did not want to do this anymore. I did not want to fight the cancer. I did not want radiation. I did not want expanders. I did not want reconstruction. I did not want to be bald anymore. I did not want the constant pain that never seemed to ease. I did not want the fatigue that made me feel weak. I did not want to drag my family through more treatments and long drives to appointments. I did not want to be in the middle of this nightmare that has been my every waking moment for the last nine months. I did not want the constant fear I kept caged in the back of my mind that no matter how hard I fight, it could still come back and take my life.

Gavin and I drove home, sharing our frustration and hurt. Once we got home, I went out to the bayou and screamed as loud as I could, releasing the rage and anguish inside me. I vented. I told God exactly where I was. I told Him how much I felt like giving up and letting nature run its course.

When I had calmed down, I went to town to run errands because the world keeps turning even when yours feels like it falls off its axis every few weeks. The mind-numbing chores gave me something I could do and gave me some small sense of purpose.

As I was heading home, the radiation oncologist called. After reviewing the scans again and doing more research, he felt confident he could work around the metal rings. We could move forward with radiation after all. I sighed and praised God the rest of the way home.

That night, I collapsed into a heap of exhausted tears. I didn’t fall to my knees like normal; I flopped at the feet of Jesus because I had no strength left to do it neatly or gracefully. I just stayed there for a long time, soaking my face with tears, and letting my spirit groan in the unburdening of my pain and fear.

Needless to say, the past few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster as we try to determine how to move forward. The stress of the appointments and the back-and-forth driving wore me down. Although I worked hard to focus on the joy of time with family and friends, celebrating my bonus-kids' birthdays, and walking on the beach. I ended up catching a rough respiratory virus and spent over a week sneezing, coughing, and blowing my nose. I had just begun to step into community at church and attend a few Bible studies, but my immune system may not be ready for that yet.

Now, every weekday for the next six weeks, I drive an hour round-trip to lie on a table with a structure molded just for me. The room is quiet. My chest is exposed to the cold air while machines and panels move and lift around me like satellite wings. There is no pain in the moment, just lights, pivots, angles, and low mechanical sounds as the beams pass over my chest wall, underarm, collarbone, and even through my back shoulder. I cannot feel the radiation now, but with each treatment, the side effects will come. The fatigue intensifies and lingers for weeks to months after the last treatment. A sunburn on the inside and outside will create pain I haven't experienced yet, but I know God will walk me through it.

The first time I lay there for the actual dose, I closed my eyes to keep from bolting. Everything in me wanted to jump up and run out of the room. Fear rushed in fast, loud, convincing. But I remembered something I’ve learned in this fire; fear is a liar. I have already walked through chemotherapy when I thought I couldn’t. I am still here. I am still held. God is still saying, “I am with you.”

I have Scripture on the soles of my shoes so that I am always reminded of who walks with me, and as I lie on the doctor’s table, others might see it too. On the table, I recite Scripture from memory, line by line, anchoring myself in truth. Moments like these remind me how important it is to keep writing His Word on my heart, not just on my shoes. These are the quiet moments when lies try to slip into the soul, and fear attempts to steal your joy. I choose to let truth fill my soul, even as radiation fills my body. I will use the Word as my sword and shield as I walk this new path toward healing (and tan) from the inside out.

So if you are wondering what I will be up to for the next six weeks, I have RSVP’d to a glow party for ten to fifteen minutes a day. I will be the one lying very still, reciting words of truth, as I work on my glowing personality.

Wearing my new wrap my friend Kayla bought me in Israel

My little guys are such a delight in my life

A treat from our favorite coffee shop on the way to radiation

Walks on the beach are truly healing

Lollie and Al

I WANT MY LIFE BACK!

2026-01-10T19:53:00.007-06:00

"I WANT MY LIFE BACK!" I have cried out these words many times from the depths of my being throughout this disease. Each setback pushes the finish line farther away—the day when doctors' visits, poking needles, toxic drugs, and painful surgeries are finally behind me. Cancer doesn't just destroy cells and organs; it invades every part of your life and spills into the lives of those who love you most. This week, that truth tore out of me in sheer exhaustion.

We went in for my first radiation appointment. It was supposed to include the creation of a mold to hold my body still, three tattoos (which we'll call "party dots"), and a scan to map out my radiation dosage and treatment plan. But instead of moving forward, we hit another snag—another delay in the care plan.

The tissue expander (aka torture device) on the left side was blocking one of the beam angles needed to target the right-side cancer cells. Because of this, the radiation oncologist explained that we had two options to proceed.

Remove the fluid from the left tissue expander, or
Attempt to manually push the left expander and skin out of the way.

Anyone without experience living with a tissue expander would likely suggest the latter as the best option. However, those who have actually had a breast tissue expander sewn into their chest wall know that is NOT an option. There is no way to move those bags of fluid. While they may sound pliable, they are in fact extremely hard and immovable. These foreign objects are painful even when untouched, so forcibly maneuvering them is simply not possible.

This was not just a medical decision; it was an obedience decision. I knew the only real options I had were to remove the fluid or forego radiation.

If I remove the fluid, I will remain lopsided throughout the eight-week radiation process. This concern is not rooted in vanity. It means I would have to go back through the painfully grueling expansion process again. I cannot remove the fluid from the right tissue expander because maintaining its volume offers the best chance of preserving enough skin through radiation to allow for any future reconstructive option that keeps the femininity of my chest.

I already knew the decision was to keep fighting forward with radiation—not because it was easy, but because obedience often requires choosing what is costly over what is comfortable. I just needed to get quiet and have a come-to-Jesus meeting to manage my emotions, so I took a five-mile walk to talk with my Abba, my Father.

I poured out all the real feelings and pain at His feet. I wasn't asking God to remove the path in front of me; I was asking Him to hear me and help me walk it obediently.

"Abba, I want my life back. It feels like I have no say in what is happening to my body, and the lack of dignity is crushing my spirit. At times, I feel like the person I was before cancer is gone, and my courage and strength to withstand the impact of this egregious disease are dwindling. Beauty is something a woman holds onto, even without a conceited desire to be pretty. Yet in the midst of cancer, I see beauty everywhere except in my own reflection. I have no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, no nipples, skin irritation, blistered rashes, and breasts that are oddly shaped, rock-hard, and painful. I feel vulnerable and overwhelmed right now, but sharing these feelings with you helps me find the strength to keep fighting."

Once I let it all out, I walked my grandbaby to the park. I needed a reminder of why I am putting my body through the slash, poison, and burn used to describe surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. I found it in the sunshine of his smile and the simple joy of seeing him laugh, going down the slide, and being pushed on a swing.

The next morning, I sat with my best friend, Gavin, enjoying our cup of coffee and scripture during our Word before the World time. I opened my Bible and asked the Holy Spirit to help change my heart in any way it needed to be transformed so I could be more obedient and bring glory to God. This year, our family is reading through the chronological Bible together, and I tend to get swept away with the stories, so I'm a few weeks ahead. It just so happened that my reading that day focused on the life of Joseph, one of Jacob's twelve sons, and the most favored. The whole story comes from the book of Genesis 37-50.

Joseph's brothers were jealous of him and plotted to kill him. Instead, they threw him into a cistern, but then changed their minds when they saw traders approaching. His brothers sold him to passing traders as a slave. He was taken to Egypt and became a servant in the house of Potiphar, the captain of Pharaoh's guard. Though Joseph served faithfully and maintained his integrity, he was falsely accused by Potiphar's wife when he refused her advances, and he was thrown into prison.

While imprisoned, Joseph met Pharaoh's cupbearer and chief baker, both of whom had troubling dreams. Joseph made it clear that only God could interpret dreams, and through God, he revealed their meanings. As foretold, the cupbearer was restored to his position, and the baker was executed. Though the cupbearer promised to remember Joseph, he forgot him—until Pharaoh himself had dreams no one could interpret.

When the cupbearer finally remembered Joseph, he was brought before Pharaoh. Joseph again credited God alone for the interpretation. Pharaoh recognized Joseph's wisdom and appointed him second in command over Egypt. The dreams revealed that seven years of feast would be followed by seven years of famine.

During the famine, Joseph's brothers came to Egypt seeking food, unaware that he was the brother they had betrayed. After testing their hearts, Joseph revealed his identity. Though they feared retaliation, Joseph said, "It was not you who sent me here, but God" (Genesis 45:8). Joseph's obedience did not begin when his circumstances improved. Instead, it was forged while he was betrayed, confined, forgotten, and falsely accused. He was obedient and faithful through all he suffered at the hands of his brothers' envy and conspiratorial actions. Joseph knew God had used the pain and betrayal of his brothers to put him exactly where God needed him to be.

Joseph may have wanted his old life back amid the suffering, but he did not view it as meaningless. He allowed every injustice, loss of control, and unwanted burden to draw him closer to God. He had lost autonomy over his body in prison but not his mind or soul. He remained obedient, forgave freely, used his gifts to serve others, and trusted that God had placed him exactly where he was for a greater purpose. Joseph was not the same person he was before he endured the deception of his family. God had used it as an opportunity to transform Joseph into who He was created to be. Joseph's obedience and faith in the Lord saved the lives of the people of Egypt and the surrounding regions from starvation and death. He was also able to model forgiveness and love to his family.

Like Joseph, I did not get to choose the circumstances placed before me. But I do get to select obedience within them. As Joseph modeled, when I cry out that I want my life back, I'm not actually asking for the life I had before cancer. I'm surrendering to the life God is building—one shaped by obedience, trust, and a deeper dependence on Him. Obedience for me looks like continuing treatment even when it costs my body, my comfort, and my sense of dignity. It looks like trusting that God is positioning me for purposes I cannot yet see, but that I know will bring God's transformational plan for my life and those I love. I do not want my old life back, as I see the life He is building is so much greater.

As I sat there reflecting on God's goodness, in that one line of scripture, I received a prayer message from a fellow pink sister, a scripture (Luke 12:22–23) from my youngest sister, a song of hope from another sister in Christ, a phone call from my sister-in-law to make me laugh and and a check-in call from my dad. Aside from my family, none of these women knew what I was facing that day; yet, each message arrived exactly when I needed it.

As we drove to the reconstructive surgeon's office to drain the fluid, Gavin held my hand, reminding me I am held in more ways than one. And more friends reached out, sharing that the Holy Spirit had placed me on their hearts. They had been praying and kept seeing my face come to mind. I needed all of these sweet messages to remind me that God is with me in this journey, even when the plan changes, His sovereignty never does.

God made it clear that I was seen and heard. The anger and frustration I felt over this delay were not to be blamed on anyone or anything, just as my cancer was not because of something I did. However, it was all an invitation to obedience, to praise God not because the plan made sense, but because He is sovereign. Afterall, I know God is using everything in my story and yours for good. Through His comforting Word, the love of my husband, the comfort of my family, and the prayers and praise of my sisters in Christ, He reminded me that even here—especially here—He is faithful. Obedience does not erase suffering, but it does anchor hope. And when obedience feels costly, I cling to the truth that God never wastes it.

Held by Jesus When the Treatment Ends

2025-12-18T15:31:00.007-06:00

Today is one full of emotions as we navigate the next steps in cancer care.

We went in for my weekly chemotherapy appointment today and chatted with my fellow pink sisters in the waiting room. It is amazing how connected you become when you are trudging through the same dark valley and realize those sweet shared stories are the light that keeps you going some days.

When I was called back, one of my phenomenal nurses, Jenny, accessed my port and shared the good news of her recent engagement and Christmas plans. My other nurse, Lucy, came over to say hi and see how I was doing. These two women are truly some of the most amazing humans I have ever met. They serve in a tough area of care and never make you feel like they have been hardened. Their compassion, expertise, and skill in caring for their patients clearly show the love of Jesus in one of the seemingly most bleak areas of healthcare. No one wants to be there, but I appreciated that each week I would get to see these two beautiful women. I never once worried about the care I would receive, and they always made me feel seen, heard, and loved. I knew I was in good hands because their hands were an extension of Jesus’.

Once my labs were drawn, I went upstairs to meet with the fantastic medical team. Dr. Washington, her assistant Cherie, and the nurse Tareeta make you feel like one of the family. They are always so caring and compassionate and genuinely happy to spend time with you. Dr. Washington came into the room to discuss labs, needs, and any concerns before the next dose of toxic chemicals is unleashed in my body. I knew today we would be making some hard decisions, but I trusted the doctor and Jesus, so I knew I was in good hands.

The entire time, Dr. Washington was open about the fact that I may not get through the chemotherapy regimen because of the allergic reaction I had in the very beginning to the first drug tried. I was supposed to have four doses of TC, but after the first dose, I had an allergic reaction that caused trigeminal nerve damage that triggered hundreds of electrical shocks to my head, ears, jaw, and temples. The shocks were intense and brought me to my knees in surprise and agony. Imagine taking a cattle prod to the face or grabbing an electric fence with your teeth every time you talk, smile, or eat. Hence, why we switched care teams and plans of care.

Dr. Washington prescribed four rounds of AC followed by twelve rounds of Pacitaxel. The pacitaxel is the cousin of the T in the TC regimen, so she was not positive I would make it through that regimen. Yet it provided the best five-year survival and significantly reduced my recurrence rates, so we decided to try it.

I explained that I had been recording the intensity, frequency, and location of the electrical shocks so we had a log to plan moving forward. I knew that the research shows the reaction I was having could become permanent if the treatment is not changed or stopped in time. So I came at this with my Dr. Gardner research hat, not just as a patient.

I kept a detailed log of the event time, the location of the painful shock, the level of pain, and the duration. The log from the first week showed nine total shocking events over seven days, with pain levels ranging from one to four. However, this week, my log showed over 200 shocking events in 4 days, and I stopped counting and logging because it was starting to stress me out.

Upon analyzing the data, it was clear that the nerve damage was shifting down from my head to my face, ears, neck, and had reached my chest. I was having instances of pain levels reaching six to seven on the pain scale and ten to fifteen-second sustained painful durations.

Therefore, Dr. Washington advised we stop chemotherapy because my body could not handle any more. She was fearful that if we did any more, the response would become permanent and could spread to other nerve bundles in my body. Gavin and I had already prayed over this and said we would trust the care team and whatever advice they had for the ongoing care plan. We knew that the doctor had my best interests in mind, so we agreed to stop fighting the cancer cells with chemotherapy.

We hugged, tears fell, and we asked to pray together before we left. I chose not to ring the golden bell as it felt wrong since I technically did not complete the regimen. However, I decided I would ring my own bell with Jesus later.

Once I got in the truck, I burst into tears of grief, relief, joy, and fear. I know that God has all of this figured out and that no matter what, I am in the best place I could be—the center of His will. However, the human part of me could only think of the odds of recurrence and survival rates I have researched.

I am not afraid of death and know the best-case scenario is that I get to go home to Jesus. The worst case is not death; for me, it would be living with a debilitating level of shocks to my face and body that would make it hard to enjoy the quiet moments, the joyful days spent with family around, and the opportunities to serve the Lord through acts of love.

But I also want to hold my husband's hand for early-morning beach walks, see my adult kids reach milestones, have Sunday family dinners together, and dance in the rain with my grandbabies. I want to renew our vows in the remaining five states Gavin and I have yet to visit. I want to see our youngest, Lilyan, graduate from nursing school and get married one day. I want to hold the hand of our middle daughter, Evelyn, through her military service and her dream of future motherhood. I want to continue watching our oldest, Nehemiah, love and serve his family and the Lord. I want to support and love my two bonus kids, Maisi and Connor, who married into our family and whom I love deeply.

We drove to get a celebratory cup of coffee, chuckling that we never thought we would cry over not getting chemotherapy. Then we went home. I shared the news with my family, spoke with one of my confidants, and began writing.

As the words began to flow, so did the tears, and I knew exactly what I needed: worship.

I drew myself into the quiet of my back porch, surrounded only by the sounds of the birds singing their rich melody of hope, just as they do every single day. The trees and the river flowed, calming my nerves as I let my tears flow.

I got on my knees and turned on my Spotify playlist, "How I Fight My Battles." I wept. I prayed. I opened my hands to Him. I called on His name, Jesus, over and over again. I felt the pressure and the weight of the past few months falling away as I gave Him the pain, fears, and lies from the enemy. I lay at His feet, let my spirit groan, and the worship poured out of my heart and soul.

As I worshiped, the questions and fears bubbled to the surface. God did not give me answers about the treatment, recurrence rates, or overall survival rates. Instead, He reminded me of the verse that has been stuck in my head all week—Ephesians 1:18:

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you may know the hope to which He has called you, just how rich His glorious inheritance among the saints, God’s people.

I was not sure why God kept placing it on my heart, but all week I had been reading the book of Ephesians in its entirety, feeling called to keep returning to it. He spoke the truth, telling me things I never recognized before that will help me walk through this phase of life enlightened by hope.

I AM BLESSED, CHOSEN, AND LOVED

Ephesians 1:3
Ephesians 1:4
Ephesians 1:5

I AM GOD'S WORKMANSHIP, A PEACE-FILLED INDWELLING

Ephesians 2:10
Ephesians 2:14
Ephesians 2:22

I AM STRENGTHENED, ROOTED, FILLED

Ephesians 3:16–19

I AM A HUMBLE IMITATOR OF CHRIST AND LIGHT TO THE WORLD

Ephesians 4:2
Ephesians 5:1–2
Ephesians 5:8–9

I AM AN ARMORED PRAYER WARRIOR, IN LOVE WITH JESUS CHRIST

Ephesians 6:11
Ephesians 6:18
Ephesians 6:24

The verses that had jumped out stopped being words on a page and became truths I needed in this moment, anchoring my soul to the grace of Jesus. These verses became declarations to my survival and gave me strength to stand steady and firm, even though my circumstances feel unsteady.

For now, I will allow my body the month to heal before daily radiation and remember who I am called to be in Jesus as I enjoy every moment on this earth with the people He blessed me to love.

A Heart of Gratitude in Cancer

2025-11-20T06:35:00.014-06:00

Having an attitude of gratitude has always been in my nature, but a cancer diagnosis has a way of intensifying a thankful heart. As many are preparing for Thanksgiving, shopping for the traditional dish ingredients, and making travel plans, my family and I are focused on living for today. I will soon begin the new chemotherapy regimen, Pacitaxel. The drug is the cousin to the first round of chemotherapy I started in August, which caused a rare and very painful allergic reaction.

My oncologist (GOD BLESS THIS WOMAN!) is not confident I will make it through this one without a Trigeminal Nerve response; however, she wants to try it because it gives me the best odds of survival. She wants to complete 12 weekly rounds. Yet, she cannot promise I will not have a neuropathy reaction that could cause permanent painful damage, so she is monitoring me closely and dosing me with a lot of premedications to ensure we take every precaution we can. I was set to begin Nov 20, but at my appointment that morning she decided she wants me to heal for two more weeks and gain a little weight back before we start the first week of December. I am grateful for some extra time to heal and to enjoy Thanksgiving with my family without mouth sores!

As I prepare for what is coming, I am thankful for so many things. First, I am grateful for the Great Physician and Comforter, Jesus Christ. He has been so incredibly present in this season, and I know and love him deeper than before. I am also grateful for this cancer, because it has undoubtedly helped prioritize my life and purpose. Some may say that it is weird to be thankful for a deadly disease, but it is a gift that I have been given to see life through a fresh perspective.

I am also thankful my oncologist gave me an extra week off from chemo to spend with my grandchildren, heal from my painful mouth sores, and the itchy and burning skin blisters that had covered my hands, arms, chest, back, and shoulders. I was able to have three overnights with our 2-year-old grandson, Alastair, while his parents were in the hospital with our newest grandbaby, Harrison.

When the cancer journey began, I begged everyone in my family not to change their lives for me. However, when we learned the cancer was not contained and had spread, everyone ignored me. I am so thankful I am loved enough that all of my kids are relocating near me, even the ones in Alaska and Hawaii. Nehemiah and Maisi moved from Alaska in late summer, and on my best days, I can walk to their house to see the grandbabies. In a few weeks, Evelyn and Connor will be leaving Hawaii on a humanitarian package to be closer for support and care as I go through treatments. Lilyan is still living with us as she is going to nursing school, and I am so thankful for the nights she can be home, when she rubs my aching back, wipes tears from my eyes, and prays over me. I have always known all five of our kids are amazing, but this year they have really shown love and character that have humbled me. I am so blessed and honored to be their mother, and I am beyond excited to have all my kids living in the same time zone for the first time since 2020.

My sister and mom came down a few weeks ago, and have taken me for walks on the beach, celebrated my birthday, and helped me clean my house. We enjoyed time sitting side by side and just being present. I know Gavin appreciated it too because I wasn't annoying him about being lonely, as he works full-time and is very busy during the day.

So many people have sent me gifts, cards, and prayers, and I am beyond thankful for all of the amazing humans I am humbled to know and love. I cannot even express the healing power of your kindness.

I have had many reach out to ask what they can do, and I am working on articulating more clearly what we need.

My loved ones: I know that watching someone you love suffer is really hard. I try to keep the pain and suffering as quiet as I can, but there are days I am physically overcome, and they see my tears as I am curled into a ball, letting worship music wash over me. Please pray for their hearts and that they each have connections that bring them joy and community, so their lives do not revolve around my cancer.
Pain, chills, and Fatigue: This week, I have been struggling with bone and muscle pain, chills, and fatigue. When I walk, the pain and chills get worse as energy is expended, but I need to be moving because it helps fight the cancer, too. I know that the fatigue and pain will continue to be compounded as we move forward with each dose, so if you could pray for these things, I would genuinely appreciate it.
Mouth sores and skin blisters: I also ask that you ask God to keep the mouth sores and nausea away, as I have lost about 12 pounds since starting the last four rounds of chemo, and have twelve more rounds to go. I was absolutely miserable with the skin blisters, so I am really hoping these continue to heal and do not happen again.
PT: Plus, I have started PT, as I am healed enough that the painful process of stretching and moving my arms above my head and out to my sides has begun. Once I start radiation, I will be required to hold my arms in positions I cannot physically do since surgery. Therefore, prayers for this to go smoothly so I can be prepared for the next step of the cancer-fighting process would be appreciated.

I do not deserve the love I am blessed with, but I am beyond grateful. Each day is a gift, and I hope each of you takes the time every day to be still, be present, and be thankful.

Faces Around The Table

2025-10-27T13:09:00.269-05:00

As our children were growing up, we had dinner around the table every single night. Whether it was the actual table at home, a picnic blanket at a ballfield, or the tailgate as we traveled across the country, our kids knew there was no skipping a meal with all the faces around the table. It was imperative to raise kids who knew how to put away the rest of the world, eat with manners, and talk about their lives. We shared many laughs, debates, fears, hopes, dreams, and tears in that space.

We took turns every night praying because we wanted our kids to know how to have a conversation with Jesus and to give thanks. We believed that families who eat together stay together because they can be real, learn to be vulnerable, share, and be part of a unit that cares for one another. We welcomed others to the table often and hope we modeled the importance of that time together. Table time has been one of the greatest blessings in our lives, and I still love having people gathered around a table. So, pull up a seat at my table today, and let's get real. I am not going to sugarcoat my experience or check my face. Cancer treatments are incredibly inhumane, agonizingly painful, and overly terrifying. There are so many elements that have brought me to my knees in desperation. Chemotherapy alone causes bone pain and muscle aches that make it impossible to get comfortable in any position. The continuous nausea, even with four anti-nausea meds, makes it hard to maintain weight. The burning, blistering, and itching skin keeps me constantly in a state of unrest. Then the mouth sores that spread with each dose to the throat and cheeks make even the most bland foods feel like I am eating jalapenos straight out of the garden and swallowing razor blades. The extreme exhaustion grows with each round, and it takes work to even open my eyes at times. Then there is a thirst that is never quite quenched because everything tastes weird, and small sips are all my stomach will allow.

The Faces After Chemo

On my worst days, Gavin holds my hand and prays with me. We listen to praise music when I have no energy to utter my own prayer, and we allow the Holy Spirit to moan and groan for me. Jesus meets us every single time, sees us in our despair, but He does not keep us there. He helps me focus on what really matters and what keeps me going—the faces around our table.

The Faces Around Our Table

The faces of excitement over a new toy

Or smeared with frosting and pure joy

Enjoying a 2-year-old birthday cake

That his mama spent all day to make

The sister who drives 14 hours for a hug on a hard day

Centering of hearts, no need for words to get in the way

Taking me out for a much-needed sister-book date

A favorite pastime for hope, love, and joy to radiate

Time to just sit with my friends, family, my mom, and my dad

Working through the good, the hard, and the laughter in the sad

Sharing the love of Jesus, in which I am so deep

A place for each of those I love in prayer, I keep

Talking with friends on the phone or by my side

Supporting each other through the pain of life, we confide

Praising God that I am surrounded by so many I call friend

Knowing that illness cannot break the bonds in the end

Trying on wigs with my sister and brother, too

Laughter and hilarity began to ensue

The joy of a weekend together after so long

Made me feel like together we always belong

Watching my daughter perform on the stage

So beautiful, talented, and gifted in this age

The joy of recognizing this is why I will continue to fight

To see her sing and do what she loves, beautiful and bright

Two so far away, yet always so close in heart

Sharing breast cancer awareness to do their part

Pink tutus to challenge the Navy and the Marines, too

No question, we are blessed with the love of these two

A son who hugs and tells me I am beautiful each day

Makes my heart full as a goofy gnome war we play

A hard worker and family man makes me proud when I see his face

Plus, a bonus daughter, a gift filled with tender loving grace

A man so gentle, kind, and full of love

Stands by my side, a gift from above

Our vows, he stands by with dignity and grace

Helping me to take one step at a time in this race

These are the faces around our table whom I choose to see

Not the disease, the broken body, or the pain that is still in front of me

I am praising Jesus for the faces around our table, both far and near

For the ones who support us in prayer, their love and support we hold dear

I am humbled and grateful for the faces around our table who see me as the woman of God I was created to be, not as the disease I am fighting within me. Jesus modeled what it means to gather, to serve, and to be vulnerable around the table. He met people in their brokenness, their hunger, their need—and He made room for them. I want our table to reflect that same kind of love. God created us for community, and our lives and problems are meant to be relational, not comparative. Healing begins when we walk through the good and the hard together. Sharing a meal and taking time to be real does not tire or weaken me. It reminds me that God's strength is made perfect in our weakness.

I also hope all who show up at our table know they will be welcomed, loved, and able to be vulnerable. So, please come as you are—enjoy a meal, laughter, and even some tears. Just know, our table always has room for more.

What a BALDLY Beautiful Day!

2025-10-07T15:19:00.002-05:00

Today is a day of goodness and joy, not of despondency and fear. A day when I was blessed to wake up next to my best friend of thirty years, in a home that God has helped us build, filled with love and hope. A day to be thankful for all the ways our compassionate Father shows His faithfulness, and another opportunity for His love to transform and deepen my relationship with Jesus.

Going bald is a side effect of chemotherapy, and it is one I kept pushing down the road on this breast cancer journey as much as I could. The hair has been falling out for weeks, and the loss intensified after the third chemotherapy round. The handfuls of hair coming out in the shower were scary at first, and then as the nausea grew worse with the medicine, the more overwhelming it felt. Gavin had to comb and remove as much as he could on days I was really nauseated while I kept my eyes shut. However, something I never knew was the actual pain involved when the hair follicles are dying, and the weight and tension of the strands of hair are pulling on them. It itched, stung, and felt like I had a sunburn repeatedly being scratched. Last night, I could barely sleep because every time I moved my head, the follicles seemed to come alive with a stinging sensation.

So, in the middle of the night, as I tossed and turned (gingerly), I began to pray. I told Jesus my fears, I cried tears of release, and I asked Him to help me take this next step I knew was needed. I made an appointment with Brewed Barber Shop, a local barber shop in Ocean Springs, as my husband and son really liked their establishment. Then I asked Jesus to help remind me of what I know to be true about who I am. (See below for what He revealed through the Holy Spirit)

Even though getting my "chemo haircut" was an emotional moment, God’s grace was there for me. He placed me in the chair of an amazing woman, Samantha Scott, who went above and beyond to make me feel loved and cared for. She welcomed me with beautifully designed donuts, spoke to me woman-to-woman, and somehow knew how to help me feel both in control and at peace enough to let go. In that chair, through her compassion, I could feel God’s presence reminding me that even in the hard moments, He provides comfort through His people.

Together, with Gavin by my side, we clipped away the hair and any false definition of who I allowed the world to tell me I am. The tears flowed, the hair fell, and the laughter bubbled up to the surface. Samantha allowed me to pray over her and her four children, her health needs, and her beautiful spirit. The joy of the moment was not stolen away by the enemy's lies, and I realized how beautiful it is that I get to walk this journey.

The kindness did not stop there, as the Brewed Barber Shop covered the cost and did not let us pay. This shop will forever be our home for all hair-related business, thanks to their humanity, customer care, not just service, and their willingness to step into challenging moments with grace and love. Who I am is not defined by my hair or my appearance, and I can still BALDLY rock the red glasses and red lip because I am blessed every day by the blood of Christ poured out for me.

So on this day, "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well." Psalm 139:14

WHO I AM

I am a child of God, saved by grace, and alive in Christ.

John 1:12 (NIV) — “Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.”
Ephesians 2:8 9 (NIV) — “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.”
Galatians 2:20 (NIV) — “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

I am loved beyond measure. I know this truth to be evident in Jesus' amazing presence throughout this journey, in my wonderful family, and in the endless messages of hope and prayers from friends, strangers, and neighbors.

Ephesians 3:17–19 (NIV) — “And I pray that you... may have power... to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”
Romans 8:38–39 (NIV) — “For I am convinced that neither death nor life... nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
1 John 4:9 10 (NIV) — “This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.”

I am God's handiwork, created with a purpose to bring others to know the love and peace of Jesus.

Ephesians 2:10 (NIV) — “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”
Matthew 5:16 (NIV) — “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in Heaven.
Matthew 28:19 20 (NIV) — “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations... teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

I am fully healed by His stripes, no matter if the healing manifests on this side of Heaven or not.

Isaiah 53:5 (NIV) — “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.”
Psalm 103:2–3 (NIV) — “Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases.”
2 Corinthians 4:16–18 (NIV) — “Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day... So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.”

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Psalm 139:13–14 (NIV) — “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”
Genesis 1:27 (NIV) — “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”
Isaiah 64:8 (NIV) — “Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.”

The Toddler Diet and Praise: Finding Joy in Chemo

2025-09-28T19:35:00.002-05:00

As I sit here writing an update, tears of full praise and joy spill down my cheeks. Blessed is the only word I can use to describe the beautiful life I am humbled to live on this Earth. So many moments of grace and love reminded me how many people are walking alongside us in prayer and hope.

At the beginning of the week, I was still weak but able to get up and move without dry heaving. The first thing I did was buy orange juice and drive to the beach. I sat for hours, letting the waves lap against the sand, the sun warm my skin, and the breeze calm my heart. While I was there, one of the sisters in Christ I am blessed to love called. I vented, cried, and laughed as I sat in the sand drinking my juice. We both had a good laugh when I realized my coveted orange juice had expired by 20 days. Usually, I would have just drunk it, but with chemo, you can't fight bacteria, so begrudgingly, I tossed my golden nectar into the trash.

Phew, this one is NOT expired.

Later, Gavin found me on the beach, and we had a good talk about how I was feeling and what I needed in the coming chemotherapy journey. We decided that when my voice or body isn't strong enough to praise, we'll play worship music, allowing the music, the groaning of my spirit, and the prayers of so many people to rise to the Great Physician. (I read every single prayer you all wrote on Gavin's Facebook and my blog.) That conversation carried me through the week.

The time spent in prayer with Jesus and digging into the Word was life-giving, gave me a few more book chapter ideas, and God spoke to my very soul. Psalm 18 was the first reading I started with this week, and it was exactly what I needed. It told me I am seen, I am heard, and I am loved. I know I am not alone in this crazy, wonderful life. Even when my heart hurts, my body aches, I'm sick and writhing on the floor, and I feel like I can't go on, I will still praise Him. Absolute joy comes from knowing Jesus and from the excellent relationships with people He has placed in my path. I know I am wrapped in your prayers, and even more tightly, in the arms of the Lord.

These were words I needed to hear this week.
(Tears and different colors show it has resonated many times over the years)

Throughout the week, I discovered that certain smells were unbearable, and I developed a craving for specific foods only. What I've been calling the "Toddler Diet" carried me, which consists of plain noodles, apple slices, and orange juice (non-expired this time). Gavin was so sweet, cooking or chopping whatever I asked for, and never complaining when I asked him to move the meals I'd prepped weeks ago for him and Lily into the crockpot outside because I couldn't tolerate the smell.

My weekly doctor check-in went well. She hugged me with pure joy, relieved I had tolerated the new drugs. She admitted she had been nervous because of my prior reactions and sensitivity to medications. She gave me a sample of a new medicine for nausea, and I met with the dietitian and nurse. Even though I'd only lost a pound, they reminded me how important it is to maintain my weight during treatment. Chemotherapy dosage is calculated based on body surface area, and changes in weight can alter how the body metabolizes the drugs. That can increase side effects, weaken the energy needed to repair healthy cells, and make fighting cancer harder. Muscle loss, especially when it worsens fatigue and lowers stamina, can hinder the ability to continue treatment. So, I need to add more protein to my "Toddler Diet." By the end of the week, chicken nuggets (which I hilariously called "fartburgers"—a name that may stick forever, thanks to chemo brain), grilled chicken legs, and an egg made the toddler-approved list.

Over the weekend, I enjoyed spending time with my family, walking 2-4 miles a day with my grandson again, and welcoming two dear friends who had been our neighbors in Alaska from 2006 to 2008. Military life gives us these beautiful bonds: friends who become a fast family because you only have each other. No matter where we move, we can always count on each other. This couple is no different; they are forever family. My sweet visiting sister and friend, who is also a professional hairdresser among many other talents, gave me a haircut to help ease my hair loss with a little more grace (and style). We laughed and caught up on each other's lives. It was a great weekend of sunshine, eating again, and feeling loved.

Thank you, my sister!

Each day this week, two or three people reached out, praying with me, sending prayers of healing, or sharing about the books they mailed me to read. Some of the prayers came in the middle of me praying, and it was the answer I was seeking or highlighted what I needed in that moment. I was overwhelmed with joy and love. As I enter this next week and begin the 2nd dose of 16 of the new chemo regimen, I feel more centered and loved than at any point in this journey.

I have a better plan for the next round on Thursday, and am covered in praise and prayers. Jesus is so real and so present that it is emotionally overwhelming. Thank you to all my followers, faithful friends, and loving family for lifting me up, interceding on my behalf, and being part of my story. I am humbled, grateful, and blessed.

A little style and grace to begin the week

P.S. Check the date on your orange juice!

His Grace Is Sufficient Today

2025-09-21T09:33:00.003-05:00

Thank you does not even begin to cover the gratitude I feel in my heart and spirit for all the prayers that have been offered for my family and me. The journey we are on is one I would not wish on anyone. It is humbling, painful, and so overwhelming sometimes that I can do nothing but cry. However, I learned this week that tears released in sorrow are actually filled with cortisol, the stress hormone. Tears allow us to release our pain and stress in a way that God intended to help us. So, I am going to let them fall when they need to.

Chemo therapy has begun with new drugs, one of which is nicknamed "The Red Devil." It is called this because it is not only red, but it has intense and serious side effects. However, I refuse to call it this and have renamed it "The Blood of Jesus," because I know Jesus is healing me from the inside.

The new team is wonderful, and I am so grateful to them already. The doctor provided me with three different anti-nausea meds that were meant to last days in IV format and a relaxant before administering the chemotherapy combination. The nurse, Jenny, was fabulous and kind. She was so compassionate and really made me feel cared for during the whole process. I asked how we could pray for her, and in that one little moment of connection, we became quick prayer warriors for one another.

My doctor called me over the weekend to check in on me. I told her the nausea was really wreaking havoc on my body. Ice chips, prescription anti-nausea meds, and old school popsicles were all I was able to handle the past few days. She said she will call me again on Monday to see if I want to come in for some IV fluids and IV anti-nausea meds. Knowing the symptoms get progressively worse with each treatment, I am hoping we can find a solution to help me over the intense nausea period. Smells, tastes, thoughts of food, or any movement sent me into a spiral of dry heaving or curled up in a ball on the floor as tears and prayers flowed. I could not write, read, or watch TV to distract myself, and for the first time, I missed an event for one of our kids. Lilyan had a choir event for college, and I was in no shape to travel, which made me feel worse.

Feeling sick and weak has been so challenging physically, but also mentally and emotionally, but a good friend reminded me of the truth behind weakness found in 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

This week, I am going to remind myself of the truth in this verse. First, My grace is sufficient, is written in the present tense. It shows me that Jesus is working in all of our lives today, not just in the time when Paul wrote this letter to the Corinthians. His power comes through when we are at our weakest, and the power of prayer and love was evident this week as people all over the country were calling out to the Great Physician for me. I can boast in the power of the Holy Spirit for giving me the strength to keep moving forward, providing me with the discernment around the quality of life, and the contentment I need to follow Jesus even in this season of beautiful hardship.

Thank you all for the prayers. Please keep them coming, for they are heard and received.

The Hair, The Heart, and The Hardest Questions

2025-09-11T23:41:00.003-05:00

The past few weeks have tested me physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The troll in my head—the one zapping me hundreds of times a day—finally quieted with medication, which I weaned off this week. At the same time, we met with my care team, and because of my reaction, they discussed skipping chemo altogether.

You'd think I'd be thrilled. Instead, I felt confused. My confidence was shaken.

A Shock to the Heart

When this journey began, I was adamant: remove Buella surgically and pursue a metabolic-only approach. But if you know me, you know I research e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. I quickly discovered that while mice respond well to metabolic-only strategies, the human data isn't strong. Most studies combine metabolic therapies with standard treatments—chemotherapy, radiation, and, for tumors like mine, hormone therapy.

That meant my care team wasn't being overly cautious—they were following the science. Still, the sudden change in plan made me pause. Gavin laughed because just a month earlier, my doctor was trying to convince me I needed chemo. Now here I was, arguing for it. Why? Because in my research, I learned that premenopausal women with my markers—including the most aggressive tumor grade—greatly benefit from chemotherapy.

The doctor admitted the literature supports chemo for someone in my situation, but said we could pray about it and choose hormone therapy alone if we preferred. I left feeling like I had more control over my care than I should have. I know the patient is a significant part of the plan, but I felt a little shell-shocked because I am a Doctor of Education, not of Oncology. Nor would I ever want that job, but I am so grateful God created people with this gifting. It has to be so hard counseling people through this disease and playing a game of ratios and statistics. I realized there are worse things than having cancer: having cancer and losing confidence in yourself, your plan of care, and the care team because you don't understand their why.

Prayer, Counsel, and A Port

So, we sought wise counsel. We prayed. We asked family closest to us, people who have walked this path, and other providers. All but one gave favorable responses to chemotherapy; therefore, we kept chemotherapy on the table. I informed the care team of my decision, and they placed a port in my chest to better withstand the medications coming. The procedure was fast, but the port has caused some restless nights of sleep due to the pain and discomfort. It is just another thing sewn into my chest wall between the tissue expanders and my collarbone. It's irritating but manageable and will hopefully be less sensitive once it heals.

Even after we decided to go with the chemotherapy, I still felt unsettled. I could not understand why there was such a drastic change of plan, and I was worried that I was pushing a treatment that doctors did not think I needed any longer. I felt the Holy Spirit nudging me to lean into this tension. That's when I pulled out the six questions from Andy Stanley's book Better Decisions, Fewer Regrets.

Questions I'm Asking to Make Decisions

The Integrity Question: Am I being honest with myself... really?

If I am honest, traveling across state lines for care—dealing with insurance and medication logistics—made me feel like I didn't matter outside the walls of the treatment facility. And while the team was kind in person, my confidence wavered when their communication failed after my first chemo, leaving me in pain and without support for days. They apologized for the lack of support provided and assured me it would not happen again. However, I know this colored the lens of future care in my eyes and in my heart.

The Legacy Question: What story do I want to tell?

I want to tell my kids and grandkids that I gave my best effort to eradicate this cancer—or at least die trying. I want to say to them that I believe Jesus was with me, and that He gave me a spirit of boldness to advocate with grace, humility, and wisdom.

The Conscience Question: Is there a tension that deserves my attention?

Yes. I've felt the tension of logistics and distance in my care, especially when it takes hours out of Gavin's weekly work schedule to drive me 3 hours round-trip for appointments. Thus, he works long hours without complaint, and does five days of work in four some weeks just so he can hold my hand at every appointment. Although he is adamant that I cannot choose care based on the hours in the car, I recognized this is one thing I can do for him if there is equally strong treatment available just a mile from home.

The Maturity Question: What is the wise thing to do?

Seeking a second opinion isn't disrespectful—it's wise. Not every patient fits every physician, and I believe the Great Physician was asking me to seek out another doctor to determine the best plan for our family.

The Relationship Question: What does love require of me?

Love requires that I fight for the best care, with grace and persistence, just as I would for Gavin or my children. My family will survive without me because they know Jesus, and they are strong and connected. However, I love them too much to give up by failing to advocate, research, or seek the treatment that best fits my situation.

The Kingdom Question: Where will my gifts have the most significant impact on the Kingdom?

Right here, in this season. God gave me the urge to write and share my story. If even one person comes to know His love and grace through it, then it is worth it.

A Second Opinion

We took a brave step and sought a second opinion this week. This new doctor specializes in breast cancer. She calls it her breast cancer lens. She was full of life, explained everything in detail, shared stories, even sketched a plan on the paper covering the exam bed, then copied my notes into my journal so I could take them home.

Her explanation was sobering but clear. Because of the aggressiveness of my cancer and my age, chemotherapy offers me an immediate and long-term benefit. Even a small gain, she explained, is like compound interest—it multiplies over time. Suppose I want to reduce recurrence by 25–30% over the next five years and increase overall survival by 15–20% over the next ten years. In that case, I need chemo added to the radiation + hormone therapy + ovarian removal. If I skip chemo, my high-risk features remain untreated systemically, and the risk of distant recurrence stays high.

Our new plan: four rounds of two drugs every two weeks, followed by twelve rounds of another drug weekly. That means instead of four rounds, I now face sixteen—and I have to start over. However, she promised to call a colleague at MD Anderson in Texas to confirm the plan and see if my first round could count toward the total.

She was honest, thorough, and real. She did say cold capping isn't very effective with this regimen—only about 16% of women retain 30–40% of their hair. However, hair loss is not permanent on this regimen, and she encouraged me by sharing stories of other women who had even thicker hair after chemotherapy.

The Hair Hits The Floor

The hair loss started happening this week, too. Even after nine hours of cold capping, my hair is falling out pretty heavily. My scalp aches, my follicles are inflamed, and after washing gently in cold water once this week, I cried as clumps fell away. Gavin came in as I was trying to regain composure from the pile that had accumulated in the sink, and he just held me and let me cry. Then he combed my hair so carefully with the cold-capping comb, as though each strand mattered. And it does. Not because I'm vain, but because this makes it real. The emotional struggle of hair loss is part of this journey, and with the help of Jesus and my family, I will learn to navigate it.

Shaving my head would probably be easier. But I'm not ready yet. However, when I start to feel fear rise—whether it's losing my hair, facing 16 rounds of chemo, or wondering if I made the right decision—I return to this promise:

"For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." —2 Timothy 1:7

This verse reminds me: fear doesn't get the final word. God has given me the strength to walk this road with courage, the love to fight for my family, and the self-control to advocate for what is wise.

Chemotherapy Round 1: The Shocking Truth

2025-08-30T07:47:00.003-05:00

The first day of chemo was manageable, scary, emotionally taxing, and exhausting. I spent nine hours sitting on dry ice at -30 degrees to protect myself from neuropathy and permanent hair loss, from one of the two drugs given (Docetaxel), and by the end, I was exhausted. The best part of the day was finally curling up in the warmth and sleeping through most of the night.

The next day brought a slight nausea, but nothing I couldn't handle. Oddly enough, the only thing that helped was pickle juice. Gavin and I joked that it was like I was in the first trimester of pregnancy. For two days straight, I craved pickles and sipped the juice, and it worked better than any nausea medication.

By Saturday, the side effects began to shift. The nurses had warned me that the injection to boost my white blood cells might cause bone pain, so when I felt achy, like I was coming down with the flu, I wasn't too worried. But then I noticed my jawbone aching in a way that felt different.

By Sunday, the ache had turned into something much worse. It was like a troll had taken up residence in my jaw and was jabbing me with a cattle prod, sending sharp, electric shocks through my face, from my jaw to my ear, into my temple, behind my eye, and down my jawline. The pain was startling and brought me to my knees a few times. As the hours passed, the intensity only grew. At 3:51 a.m., unable to bear it, I messaged the patient portal, hoping someone would see it first thing in the morning. I sat in the dark, icing my face, tears rolling down my cheeks, trying not to move my jaw or wake Gavin, as there was nothing he could do anyway.

Monday was challenging. The pain spiked whenever I ate, smiled, or talked. I made three calls, left multiple messages, and still received no response. Finally, at 5:00 p.m., I received a note: “Stop taking Zofran. It can cause migraines.”

The problem? I hadn't taken Zofran since day two, and this was the worst migraine I had ever experienced. I messaged back, but no one responded.

Wrapped in ice between work meetings.

That night, I tossed and turned, wrapped my face in ice, and crawled to get Tylenol and Motrin. At one point, I even tried Tylenol Cold & Flu, thinking maybe it was sinus-related, since the shocks were tearing through my ears and eyes.

Finally, I gave up the hope of sleep and went to meet Jesus on the back porch. I spent a few hours just praising Him through tears and interceding for the people on my prayer list. As I sat crying and talking with Him about suffering, the pain became manageable, and I recognized the goodness of the pain in life.

Enduring suffering is part of the human experience, and it is one our Savior knows well. This night, I felt His arms around me, His comfort and hope, even if He doesn't take the suffering away, He will sit with me in it. I spoke into the starry night, all the ways I was grateful for all the beautiful blessings in my life. (Just to name a few)

My family and friends, whom I love so deeply, have showered me with their support and prayers in this journey.
The purpose He instilled in me to love others through education and prayer
Our home and the peace it brings to us and to others who visit
The ability to go on early morning walks with littles in my life
A God who desires a personal relationship, not a religious interaction.
12 miles of walking with this little guy this week.

Oh, Jesus is so incredibly loving, and having hope in His healing power breaks the chains and strongholds the devil desires to have over my life. I recognized that finding joy in all circumstances allows you to fall deeper in love with Jesus. The sweet time with Jesus was the most liberating, as it gave me relief from holding everything in, and I was able to see the goodness of His love in the midst of the pain. It also gave me the courage to take on one more day, regardless of the challenges I faced. The hope in Jesus gave me the strength and wisdom to navigate the next steps in my heart and in my care.

Tuesday morning, I called and messaged my care team again. A nurse promised they'd send in a pain prescription, but they faxed it to the base pharmacy, which doesn't accept faxes. By the time they resent it electronically, the pharmacy had already closed.

Rocking the ice wrap to ward against the electroshock therapy!

My husband and I knew we couldn't wait any longer for medical treatment and some answers. Even though my white blood cell count was dangerously low, we decided to risk the ER.

Thank God for the ER doctor. He was kind, compassionate, and thorough. After his exam, he gave me an answer: neuropathy of the trigeminal nerve, which I would learn through research, is a very rare side effect of the chemo drug docetaxel. He prescribed a medication specifically for nerve pain, and for the first time in days, I felt some relief for about 4 hours.

When I finally spoke with my oncologist the next day, he admitted that he had never seen this happen before, due to its rare nature.

Only about 5% of patients on docetaxel develop neuropathy of the cranial nerves.
Developing it in the cranial nerves after only one dose is rarer still.
30–50% of those affected are permanently damaged.
If you stay on the drug after neuropathy begins, the odds of permanent damage climb to 100%.

The oncologist is revising my treatment plan, which we will discuss next week. He believes it is so rare it was an allergic-type reaction, so docetaxel may no longer be an option for me.

But what I heard most clearly through all of that was... Maybe I won't have to sit wrapped in dry ice for 9 hours again. That miserable freezing was only because of this one drug, and now, I may never have to do it again. Fingers-crossed!!

I know that we are all facing things that hurt and cause us to question if we are seen. If you find yourself in pain, grieving, or suffering in any way, I encourage you to read Psalm 42. It has been so encouraging to me this week. It helps you to focus on God's goodness, not on your weakness.

“As the deer pants for water so I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God.”(Psalm 42:1-2)

My hope is that we are all thirsty for Jesus this week. That we need Him more today than yesterday, and we recognize our need for Him in our suffering and in our joy.

“Why am I discouraged? Why so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise Him again - my Savior and my God! Now I am deeply discouraged but I will remember your kindness.” (Psalm 42:1-2;5-6)

If you find yourself feeling you lack the strength to overcome your pain or you are lonely, exhausted from trying to do too much, or feel like you don’t belong, may you put your hope in Jesus and make a list of all the goodness you have in your life. A gratitude journal or simply stating out loud what you are thankful for can remind you of how much you have. If you need something to be thankful for, be grateful for a God who sees you, sits beside you, and wraps you in His love.

Confessions of Chemo: Beneath The Cold Cap

2025-08-21T14:59:00.008-05:00

Chemotherapy: My First Come-to-Jesus Meeting

I didn’t realize how much I was dreading chemotherapy until the days leading up to it, when I had my first real meltdown of this journey. Normally, I tend to run when I am feeling those emotions, but sometimes they simmer until they finally boil over. In our household, we call these rage-burning, shouting, crying, spewing matches with Jesus my “Come-to-Jesus Meetings." They’re raw, confessional moments when the pent-up energy, anger, and grief that have been lurking beneath the surface finally come spilling out to Him.

This chemo round had already been delayed once due to insurance, which felt like a roller coaster—gearing myself up to be filled with toxic chemicals, only to have it pushed back another week. By the time Monday came around for my labs, I was already stretched thin. What should have been a simple 20-second blood draw turned into 7 hours, 15 phone calls, 4 trips to the lab, 6 emails, and 2 trips to the library to print orders before I finally got two vials of blood taken. The frustration on top of the fear was too much.

That afternoon, I was feeling all the things, and had a “Come to Jesus Meeting.” I screamed, swore and sometimes not even with a bleeped swear word. I threw my chemo supplies (socks, mole skin, and cottonballs) into the bathtub and dumped them over my shoe rack. I even punched the bed. Afterwards, I cleaned up my shoe rack, reorganized my supplies, and went for a drive. I laid it all out before God. On that drive, I told Him plainly: I can’t carry the weight of both the emotions and the endless logistics. I confessed my anger, my fear, and my exhaustion. I confessed the anger, the unforgiveness lurking in my heart, and the blame I was trying to place somewhere.

Confession is an act of trust. It’s when we strip off our fig leaves and stand bare before Him with our scars and our pain. Jesus doesn’t ask for perfect people—He asks for surrendered ones. As Brennan Manning once wrote: “Anyone God uses significantly is always deeply wounded… On the last day, Jesus will look us over not for medals, diplomas, or honors, but for scars.” It is not our qualifications, but our wounds—and by His wounds, we are healed.

So I walked back into my house a little lighter that night, freed from what I had confessed.

The Night Before

Sleep was impossible. Anxiety, steroids for chemo, and adrenaline had me wired. Thanks to the time zones, I spent late hours talking and praying with a dear friend in Alaska and our daughter in Hawaii until about 2 a.m. The rest of the night was filled with frogs croaking outside, laundry, a self-done mani-pedi, and highlighting healing scriptures in my Bible. By morning, I realized I had been awake for 24 hours, jittery and nauseated with fear.

Headed for Chemo

Gavin and I headed to the appointment with what looked like enough luggage for a three-week trip. Part of my treatment includes extreme cold therapy—wrapping my head, hands, and feet in dry ice packs for 9 hours to reduce neuropathy and the risk of permanent hair loss. Every 20–25 minutes, Gavin swapped the packs out like my own personal pit crew—even pulling over on the highway to change them when needed. He is my steady partner in all of this.

Chemo Day

The nurses were incredible. One in particular, who gave me exquisite care, had Isaiah 41:10 tattooed on her arm in memory of her godfather. That verse—Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be afraid, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, and I will help you, and I will uphold you with my right hand that makes things right”was such a gift in that room.

Pre-chilling

I cried quietly under my blanket, aching to hug and pray with every weary, sickly person hooked up to machines around me. Some sat alone without a pit crew like Gavin by their side. It was humbling and heartbreaking. My head, hands and feet were wrapped in dry ice, and my toes were the most painful part. They felt like they were going to fall off after a bit. The cold pain was all I could use to distract me, as I could not turn pages in a book due to the cold gloves on my hands, the headphones would get too cold under the cap, and I was tethered to a pole.

My warm prayer shaw knitted by my Mama Gardner and my new hat of cryogenic therapy.

The team used my veins instead of doing surgery for a port, which made the process longer but spared me another surgical procedure. It had to be longer because they had to slow the drip down because it was burning my arm. The nurses were phenomenal and gave me some medication for nausea and I was able to catch a little sleep between the 20 minute change over in ice baths.

The Day After

I woke up feeling alive this morning. I put on a pretty dress, my signature red lipstick, and fun earrings—small things that made me feel like myself again. Gavin and I went back to the clinic for an injection to boost my bone marrow and help fight infection. Then it was back home for teaching meetings with Anchorage.

Home and working

I’m grateful to have one round down—one quarter of this journey behind me. This first round reminded me that God doesn’t demand composure—He asks for fig-leaf barren honesty. Healing often begins after the meltdown, in the middle of confession. He meets us there, in our tears and our scars.

I’m learning I must also be intentional: eat, drink fluids, and fuel my body with nutrient valued protein to stay strong. The doctor and nutritionist said protein is what I need to try to get a lot of. And yes, Alaska friends—if anyone has extra salmon, please send it my way. The Mississippi salmon is pale and just not the same!

Cancer Treatments, What-ifs, and the Faithfulness of God

2025-08-17T17:54:00.004-05:00

This last week, I have tried to wrap my mind, body, and soul around the idea that I have a disease that has progressed enough that I need chemotherapy treatment. I have struggled with the fears and the frustration that toxic chemicals will be pumped into my body. The hope is that this aggressive approach will destroy any of the cancer cells that are lurking and searching for a place to plant the seed of death. I'm grappling with the decision to do it or not.

Do I proceed with the treatment, as it offers only a 2–3% chance of preventing metastasis or recurrence, while carrying risks like a chance of causing another type of cancer, permanent hair loss, numbness and tingling in the hands and feet, and potentially being fatal? Yet, the oncologist stated it is the best chance to eradicate the cancer before it spreads to other parts of my body, where it would become treatable but incurable. Of course, it is not a guarantee that it will make a difference, as it could come back anyway.

During the day, I research everything I can to understand the choice ahead of me better, and I work hard to have some control over the what-ifs that are trying to overtake my mind. Reading scripture, writing, taking walks, talking to God, and spending time with my family help me cope. Yet, each night as I crawl into bed, it is not as easy to take the thoughts captive.

While lying in the dark, my mind begins to be invaded by the what-ifs, fears, and doubts that come with this diagnosis. Last night was no different. As I was listening to my husband's rhythmic breathing, tears slowly escaped down my cheeks as I thought about the what-ifs. It hurts to think about how brave and faithful Gavin has been through all of the long drives to appointments, unsettling news with our medical team, arguing on my behalf with insurance companies and doctors slowing the process of care, and having to deal with the feelings that come from considering the possibility of losing your person. I will not allow myself to be overcome by the pain of thinking about the what-ifs, and instead, I began considering the truths I know of God from scripture.

I felt the Holy Spirit nudging me as I began to go through each book of the Bible in my mind, and asking what God has revealed about His character and faithfulness. I was thinking it would help me to fall asleep, but instead, by the time I had gone through the one-word truths from the Torah (the first five books of the Old Testament), I knew God's Word was inviting me in for a divine connection.

So, I climbed out of bed, grabbed my Bible, sticky notes, and a pen, and tiptoed into the living room where light would not wake my husband. I flipped open to Genesis 1, and the words Creation and Balance leapt from the page at me. In the beginning, God created everything in six days and rested on the seventh. He created day and night, water and sky, land and plants, sun and the moon and stars, sea creatures and birds, animals and mankind—male and female—and finally He rested. God created each of these things with balance and order in mind.

God created you, and He made me. He knew us before we were born, and He created us for good. It hit me that God also knew we would need balance in our lives when He made each one of us. He modeled it from the very beginning by the way He worked. There is goodness in that balance, and we would not appreciate one without the other. God also gave us the gift of rest, which balances out creation's need to work and to rest. In this cancer diagnosis, there have been so many blessings, and although I do not believe God gave me cancer, I know he will help me find goodness and balance through it.

Over the next two hours, I worked my way through the Word, flipping pages to each book and rereading the highlighted and underlined sections, scanning the words I had written in the margins, and lovingly touching the sticky notes with dates from answered prayers. Within each of the 66 books, I selected a word or short phrase that summarized what God has revealed to me when I read these words in the past. I recorded those words on hot pink sticky notes and tabbed them in my Bible.

I compiled a list of the faithfulness of God found in the beautiful words that spoke to me, drew me in closer to Him, and helped me build a relationship with Jesus over the years. In twenty years of reading scripture, I have never seen these truths laid out the way He did for me tonight. Through my role as a faithful follower of Christ and reader of scripture, I came to recognize that God was revealing His faithfulness in my life. In being faithful to open His Word, God had been showing me His faithfulness. Time and again, He has walked with me. Time and again, He has provided. Time and again, He has proven that His faithfulness does not depend on mine.

The words filled me with a feeling so overwhelming that I knew it could only be from the Holy Spirit. Jesus spoke to me through His helper, allowing me to recognize that God's faithfulness was something I had experienced time and time again. Therefore, I can trust in His continued faithfulness in this season. God showed me that He wants good things for me, and that means He will not deliver me from suffering, but He will walk faithfully with me through it.

So, this week, the Word will join me with hot pink tabs of evidence that reveal His faithfulness through time. As I walk with Jesus and my amazing partner in life, Gavin, into chemotherapy treatment, I know I am not alone. I am covered by His blood and all the truths He has showered upon my life as His goodness and faithfulness continue to work for me, in me, and through me.

P.S. God Wink: This was today's worship song at church

If you are curious about all of my words:

Old Testament (39 Books)

Genesis — Created and Balance
Exodus — Rescues, Provides, Delivers
Leviticus — Guides, Holiness, Rest
Numbers — Prepares us in the Wandering, Sanctifies us in the waiting
Deuteronomy — Encourages and humbles
Joshua — Promised land, Strengthens and Encourages
Judges — Restoration in relationship, cycles of repentance
Ruth — Family and moral character
1 Samuel — Listen and follow God, courage to face giants
2 Samuel — 1 person and one choice can make a difference
1 Kings —God wants to live in our hearts, not a sanctuary. True wisdom comes from knowing God
2 Kings — Exiled when we fail to make God our true leader, which leads to division and idolatry
1 Chronicles — Unification of God's people,
2 Chronicles — Restoration through Worship
Ezra — Renewal, Rededication, Restoration
Nehemiah — Strength and Rebuild when we take a stand for the Lord
Esther — Purpose and Providence "Such a time as this"
Job — Suffering and true faith
Psalms — Worship/Praise and poetic expression of emotions
Proverbs — Wisdom and Moral Instruction
Ecclesiastes — Meaning of life, and a time for all things
Song of Solomon — Love, Sanctity, and Beauty of Marriage
Isaiah — Salvation- We were dead in sin, but there is hope in the coming Messiah
Jeremiah — Judgment- Turn from sin and turn to God
Lamentations — Mourning- God suffers when we do
Ezekiel — Glorify God and repent in the hope of a Messiah
Daniel — Sovereignty and stand for God, for He is in the Lion's Den and the fire with us
Hosea — Faithful - We are all sinners
Joel — Day (of the Lord)- God loves us
Amos — Justice- We must repent
Obadiah — Pride causes the fall
Jonah — Mercy- Chase after the Messiah
Micah — Walk (humbly) and Obey
Nahum — Repent and obey
Habakkuk — Faith- God is in control
Zephaniah — Purified through the Messiah
Haggai — Built up again
Zechariah — Messiah is coming
Malachi — Covenant

New Testament (27 Books)

Matthew — King, Miracles and Healing
Mark — Servant, Serve others
Luke — Savior, Sacrifice
John — Son, love, and give
Acts — Church is the people- Holy Spirit helper
Romans — Gospel- How to live and love like Jesus
1 Corinthians — Unity and love
2 Corinthians — Strength and life
Galatians — Freedom from the old laws- It is finished
Ephesians —Relationships and put on the Armor of God
Philippians — Joy
Colossians — What Christians should do
1 Thessalonians — Please God, not people
2 Thessalonians — Wait- He is coming
1 Timothy — Order Instruction to be a soldier for Christ
2 Timothy — Endurance and encouragement
Titus —Character and Good Works as a citizen of Christ
Philemon — Forgiveness and share your testimony and the gospel
Hebrews — Suffering and superiority of Christ
James — Faith/Works - Behaviors of a Christian
1 Peter — Encouragement in Suffering
2 Peter — Truth
1 John — Love and Assurance of who Christ is
2 John — Truth & Love
3 John — Unreasonable Hospitality and Reputation Matters
Jude — Strong in faith
Revelation — Victory- Hope in the return of Christ

Well, Poo: Update on Cancer Treatment

2025-08-10T14:58:00.008-05:00

The radiation oncologist entered our room in a medical halo, looking very uncomfortable and much like an image of Frankenstein. He was healing after suffering an injury to his neck in a swimming pool two weeks ago. "How are you doing?" he asked with genuine care and concern. "Well, obviously, better than you at this point," I replied as I internally scolded myself for complaining about the rough nights sleeping in a recliner the past 6 weeks.

He smiled and said, "Yeah, maybe so." Then we got down to business. He reminded me that before surgery, we had discussed the possibility of doing radiation. He had laid out some clear signs that it would be necessary.

Buella (the cancer) had spread to the nodes (CHECK)
Tumor is greater than 2 cm (CHECK)
There are cancer cells in the Lymphovascular system (CHECK)
There are unclean or close margins from tumor edges to chest wall (<1 mm CHECK)
You are premenopausal (CHECK)

Each component increases the odds of local recurrence. So, radiation is warranted five days a week over six weeks. However, we had to see the medical oncologist to discuss the Oncotype and other pathological findings first. If chemotherapy was needed, it had to be completed first before radiation. Thankfully, we found an amazing comprehensive center, so we just had to go down one floor to see our oncologist. They work on appointments to be on the exact date and timeframe, so we can see everyone we need in the same building without having to schedule across multiple days in different areas.

The medical oncologist entered the room and asked if I understood the pathology in my report. I explained I had read and thought I understood it. I shared what I had learned while reading through the report, but my doctorate is in education, not medicine, so I would like him to break it down to ensure Gavin and I both fully understood what was happening in my body. He explained that I had indeed grasped it, and then he broke down the Oncotype score. The cancer oncotype was a lower number, but we learned it was not the only determining factor. The aggressiveness of the cancer that has spread into the lymph nodes, the fact that it ate its way through the node barriers, and the highest grade of the tumor were all markers that spoke more about the type of treatment I needed. Chemotherapy is necessary if I desire to have the best chance of eradicating Buella from distant spread.

The oncologist stated, "We have the greatest possibility of eradicating the disease right now. If it comes back, it will be in the bones, liver, and/or lungs, and that would only be treatable, not curable." He explained that my overall survival percentages were in the 80th percentile without chemo and in the 90th percentile range with the toxic treatment. The treatment he wants to try is a three-month regimen, with four sessions. The small number of sessions means they will try to go through veins instead of a port, so that is one less surgery and recovery I will have to endure. He explained the risks and side effects of the combination of drugs they want to use.

The one thing that stuck out the most was the risk and potential of not only losing my hair, but losing it permanently. One of the drugs is known for this, so he suggested we look into trying coldcap therapy, which helps with the hair loss. It is miserable while doing it, but it can help keep the hair loss to a minimum and may save me from permanent alopecia. Plus, it could help with the tingling in the hands and feet that the drugs sometimes cause. He allowed me to ask questions, and then he and the intern stepped out so we could gather ourselves and schedule for our chemotherapy training class, as he wants to begin treatment this next week.

"Well, poo." I sighed as I turned to give Gavin a teary smile as he gently rubbed my hand.

"That should be the title of your next blog." He smiled as tears filled his eyes. I nodded and chuckled as the all-too-familiar tears of emotion dripped down my cheeks.

The rest of the day, I was struggling with what I had read in the research on the two drugs, and I was not sure what I wanted to do. In truth, I do not want to do any of it, but who does? It was raining when we got home, which felt fitting for my current mood. Although the chest wall pain kept me from the weeping and wailing I wanted to do, I allowed myself to sit in the quiet with God, let quiet tears come and go, and laugh with my family.

I felt like God was showing me all I needed to know about the decision to follow through with the complete treatment plan. The lessons or God winks He showed me this weekend were all about His promises, particularly when we find joy in the rain, laugh in the face of fear, and put on the whole armor of God.

A rainbow in our yard this weekend, reminding us of God's promise

Find Joy in the Rain

Our grandson, Alastair, chose to run into the rain as the adults all sat sheltered from the droplets falling from the sky. I realized how ridiculous it was that we were not embracing all the joy in his erupting giggles. Adults often miss what little ones see: there is so much joy in the little things. Therefore, I went into the rain, and we blew bubbles, danced, played in the puddles forming, and enjoyed the cool shower during the heat of the day.

Laugh in the Face of Fear

I shared the information I had learned about chemotherapy with my adult children. I shared my fears and concerns about losing my hair. I shared how worried I am about permanent hair loss, and they each told me, "We do not love you for your hair. We would rather have you than your hair."

Then we turned the discussion into what I could do in the absence of hair. My adult kids were each giving me ideas about wigs, hats, or scarves. I told them I could pick out a spider tattoo instead. The conversation led to a serious fit of giggles and laughter as we each shared the most horrendous and hilarious ideas that I could tattoo on my bald head instead.

Some of my favorites:

Paint by number tapestry
The words, "Hair goes here," or just the word, "Hair"
Hair drawn in like little kids draw hair on their drawings in preschool or kindergarten (This happens to be my favorite idea)

(AWBC Law, 2024)

This discussion lightened my load, allowing me to express my fear while also relieving me of the burden of thinking it would be something awful. We would do what we do best, make the best of every situation, and continue to love God and one another through it. So, if you have some great suggestions or ideas for a bald head tattoo, add them to the comments section of the blog!

Put on the Whole Armor of God

As I move into this week, the message at Mosaic Church could not have been better to support us. It is a new series all around the Armor of God. This week, I will be using my belt of truth and spending time focused on my identity in Christ. I am not a cancer patient; I am the daughter of the Great Physician, High King, and Lord of Lords. I can focus on this truth, and this will be who I am as I walk into this week. I need not be afraid of what is coming, because I know I will be in the presence of the Holy One and the Great Comforter. Knowing I will be in an environment with people I am blessed to show love and care to. I get to bring a little more Jesus and light into the dark world of cancer.

Invisible Enemy Mosaic Church GC

I will be doing some more updates as we journey through this process, and I hope you will repost and share, as I know some of my best strength-finding resources right now have been other women of God sharing their stories. Someone in your circle of influence may need to hear it today as well.

I love you all, and I pray that you get to experience the presence of Jesus in your everyday moments this week. May you find joy in the rain, laugh in the face of fear, and put on the whole Armor of God.

Resources

AWBC Law. (2024). Intestacy: The question of inheritance [Image of family drawing]. Retrieved from https://www.awbclaw.co.uk/intestacy-the-question-of-inheritance/

Conner, B. (2025). The invisible enemy: Why do I need the truth? [Video]. YouTube. https://youtu.be/adQnfrYbSQ0

Cancer & the Stories We Share

2025-07-31T10:31:00.005-05:00

VLOG Update:

"Show the readers everything, tell them nothing."

Ernest Hemingway

My mom taught me to read when I was three, and I have loved to read ever since. (Thanks, Momma!) I am now a certified reading specialist and a bibliophile, which means a person who collects books and has a great love of reading and stories. Now my husband would call a bibliophile a nerdy hoarder. He bought me a book bag once that said, "When I have money, I buy books; if I have any left, I buy coffee and food." It really does describe me. So, here is my confession: "Hi, I am Allie, and I am addicted to stories."

My absolute favorite gift is a Barnes & Noble gift card or one to a local bookstore. I love the adventure that awaits when I get to go to the bookstore without having to use my family budget to figure out if I want to eat this week or not (Totally kidding...ish). Abraham Lincoln said, "A new book is a best friend you have not met yet." I love receiving gift cards for stories because they bring me joy whenever I get to go on an unrushed trip to find a new friend. I still love the people and characters I have fallen for, cried alongside, or shared life with in stories throughout my lifetime.

Actual evidence caught reading in Barnes & Noble in the children's section

When I go into a bookstore, I feel the world fall away, and I am at the center of all the stories and words that have been unleashed and breathed into existence from a writer's imagination and creative genius. I don't just go to purchase a book. I wander joyfully through the store, an experience filled with optimism, hope, and excitement. I seek out books that sound interesting and explore genres I wouldn't usually read, because I have discovered some of my greatest new friends in unexpected places. My favorite section of any bookstore is the children's books. You can always find me in some corner reading a huge pile of children's books, laughing and crying, and connecting with the characters. In fact, I was once laughing out loud so hard over a kids' book called, It's a Book by Lane Smith that the owner of the little shop gave me a 50% discount on the book because I brought her joy watching me read it (Yes, I was an adult in my thirties).

Stories also connect us, intrigue us, teach us, and guide us. Anecdotes give us opportunities to learn lessons and seek wisdom about the world. Stories also help us tear down barriers that keep us from knowing one another and learning about who we are in Christ. Jesus knew how powerful stories can be to teach, share life, and provide context and meaning; thus, he used parables all throughout his earthly ministry. Stories are part of who we are, and each chapter of our lives reveals something else about who we are in Christ.

Stories can be a powerful means of escape and a way to connect to those around you as well. Some of my fondest memories from childhood are when my mom and dad would tuck my sister and me in to read us a bedtime story. They would wrap us up, and my dad would tell us tales with voices, as he was great at inflection and creating characters that came alive. He was a wonderful storyteller, and I loved to listen to his voice in the stories. My mom would lower her voice almost to a whisper and take us to far-off lands filled with promise and magic. I remember the feeling of safety in their two very different styles. One is so energetic and filled with crazy characters, and one is soft, gentle, and calming. Both styles were blessings, bringing the stories to life in different ways.

Written for Evie by me and illustrated by my brother, Eric

Bedtime stories were something I carried into my own children's lives. Even in utero, they were read to daily. Fun fact: Babies who are read to in utero are born with 32,000 more neurons already connected in their brains. From the day my kids were born, I loved cuddling them and curling up with each of them every night to share a story. Sometimes we created a wild story together, or I told stories from memory, or invented one right there. Other times, we had an actual book and went on a printed adventure. I have written children's books for each of my kids and grandbaby and even published one, Peachy Penelope, to help our middle daughter, Evelyn, learn to count. Whether published or oral adventures, those stories stopped time, the world disappeared, and we were on a journey together, and that was what mattered.

Our youngest is taking her first turn, reading The Night Before Christmas as a family.

Some of my absolute favorite moments were spent as a family reading together.

We were built for community, and part of that relationship-building journey is being vulnerable, sharing life, and stories with one another. If you read the Four Gospels in the Bible, you learn that Jesus hand-picked twelve men to be his disciples. He developed trusting, vulnerable relationships with each of them separately and together. He created a community to model life after. He prayed with each of them, shared meals together, traveled, and told stories together. To become more like Jesus, we are to live as a model of who He was and is. We are to create a community and share life together. Part of that life together should be shared with stories about our adventures and pain. We were meant to draw closer to Jesus by loving his people well. We were not meant to be alone, as loneliness is a tool of the enemy to kill hope, steal joy, and destroy your life. Jesus used stories to kill fear and shame, steal hearts and minds for community, and eliminate loneliness. Jesus did not do life alone, and neither should we. 1 John 1:7 says, 'But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin.' As we become more like Christ through sanctification, our need for community increases."

My Bible, the greatest book of all time, was captured after another year of reading and living.

During this cancer journey, I have learned the worst feeling in the world is not living through a cancer diagnosis, it is feeling like you are alone in it. The thoughts and feelings you have in your mind are so hard to bear, but they are cumbersome and defeating when you feel like no one around you can truly understand and empathize. This is why we have to share our stories, just as Jesus shared with His followers and crowds who wanted to be near Him. People can relate to one another when they know your story and see the God Winks in it, too.

I have learned that shared oral stories from other women have been life-giving, sustaining, and eye-opening. I have been gifted books by survivors of other survivors telling their story, and I have prayed with women who, like me, were found in the world of breast cancer years before menopause, further complicating the recovery, increasing the aggressive nature of the disease, requiring more surgery and treatments, and lowering survival rates. I have connected with women whom I have yet to meet in person, who have gifted me with the beautiful, complicated, and heart-wrenching tales of their own struggle. In each of these new stories, aka friends, I have found hope and freedom from fear. More than that, I have found community and connection in a shared sisterhood of joy mixed with grief.

The shared stories have gifted me with the knowledge that the feelings of anger, frustration in the waiting, fear in the length of time it takes to get results to tests for treatment, and angst over causing pain to my family are normal. I have learned that the tears are not something to hide but to be shared with the people around you. You do not have to carry this burden alone to shield your loved ones because they were placed in your life to sustain you, encourage you, grieve with you, and to be part of the story you will each get to tell. I have come to realize that sharing your story can actually lift a weight from your shoulders that you didn't even know you were carrying. I recognize the stories of survivors or those who lost their battle but leave loved ones to carry on their legacy are powerful, liberating, encouraging, and guiding.

I made a new friend this week, through my husband's work, who has had this journey as well. She shared her story, and as she talked, I felt my heart grieve for her and her littles. I felt my soul connect and my thoughts journey with her through the fear, the pain, the surgeries, the uncertainty, and the early days of the diagnosis. I cringed when she spoke of the gut-wrenching pain of waiting for removal surgery. She had to wait 5 weeks, whereas mine was 10 weeks from detection to removal. So, I found myself holding her hand and heart during those 5 weeks of fear. Her story was similar in that our care teams believed it was caught before it spread, only to learn from pathology that by the time surgery was scheduled, it had spread, and the treatment we both dread was required. I sensed a freeing of emotion from her heart to my own, and in the sharing of our journey, we were able to connect and see God's work in others. Her story is her own, but our journey in this world unites us in a way we could never wish for, and I will forever be grateful for it. She was given hope by another woman who shared her journey during the early stages of her diagnosis, and I realized she was doing the same thing for me. Now, I get to pay it forward one day too.

I suppose I am doing a little of that in the journaling and blogging I have done since the start of the process in April. However, I have also found in this journey that I need to write a book. Even if no one ever reads it or I never publish it, I want to share my story in written form. So, in the past few weeks, I have started to let the stories of this life erupt from my soul as the divine urge to write comes, and I let the creative juices flow across the page. Of course, the writing comes in the lucid moments in the mornings between medications, the fear before and after appointments. I am up to 35,000 words, with a few chapters written and 18 chapters outlined. I will be sharing snippets of my story on this blog as I find them fitting, and I hope to do a better job of sharing my journey, so that maybe I can provide someone else with the hope they need to see Jesus amid their situation. Whether it's a cancer diagnosis or treatment, a break-up, a loss of a loved one, a complex living situation, a lost job, a struggle with finances, or whatever life challenge is thrown at us.

I have loved ones who do not want to share their pain of whatever they are going through because it seems like mine is worse. We worry that our troubles are not as bad as someone else's, so we should not share them out of fear of burdening someone who is struggling too. Believe me, I have felt that same feeling. When someone shares their story and they talk about going through these treatments with little children at home, I feel guilty. I thought I shouldn't complain or share my worries because my kids are grown. However, my adult kids need me and want me in their lives just in a different way, and as much as I need my parents in mine. I may not have triple negative results, which is the worst kind of breast cancer, but that does not make my disease any less scary to me and my loved ones. Therefore, I caution you to stop with that line of thinking. Jesus meant for our challenges to be shared, not compared. He taught us that we are all living with struggle and have our own crosses to bear. Still, together we can encourage, help shoulder the burden, and allow His lighter Yoke to be placed around hearts and necks instead of the belief that we are alone in our strife.

I also have learned that it is okay to talk about death and dying and not be afraid to say what everyone is already thinking and fearing. Am I scared of death? Absolutely not. I am filled with an overwhelming sense of love and excitement as I think about what it will be like to meet Jesus. However, I am brought to my knees in despair when I think of leaving my family to grieve me. Yet, I know the stories that we tell will outlive us and are essential, carrying weight that matters.

So, share your story. Tell others how you found Jesus, gift the people around you with details about your day, call me and unleash your frustration over your failed relationship, your struggle with addiction, the pain of your stubbed toe, your hurting heart for a wayward child, or your own cancer diagnosis. I welcome them all and will walk with you in them, just as many wonderful humans are walking with me as part of my story.

Jesus built us for connection and community. Do not stifle that community; go out and share your story.

I'm absolutely in love with a painting at a store in Alaska, and I may have to commission someone to create one for my own (hopefully) library someday.

Heavenly Sisterhood

2025-07-17T21:41:00.005-05:00

The past few days have been challenging and emotionally overwhelming, to be honest. I’ve found myself brought to my knees more than once. Learning that the cancer has spread has been a tough pill to swallow. And as if that wasn’t enough, today, a friend in Alaska lost her battle with breast cancer. That news hit me hard, in more ways than one.

Her death not only confronted me with my own mortality, but also brought deep sorrow as I thought of her children. I can still picture their sweet little faces, full of energy and spunk, and now filled with tears at the loss of their mama. It breaks my heart. I feel guilty that I wasn't there to hold her hand or hug those little ones. Yet, at the same time, I’m overwhelmed with joy knowing that my sister is home with Jesus. She is no longer in pain, cancer-free, and is saving a table for all of us with heavenly margaritas.

The sisterhood was with her the whole way in this journey, though. A group of women I was blessed to be a part of when we were in Alaska, completely enveloped this family, and took four-hour shifts to sit with her so she was never alone at the end. I am amazed by these women time and again as they care for one another, accept each other without judgment, and pour out love to everyone around them. They all struggle with life, but they are not alone in the strife. These women have been prayer warriors for me, even though we are now 4500 miles away. God has brought this group of truly remarkable women together to be the church, and they walk as beautiful examples of Christ in the way they love and serve. To these women, you know who you are; thank you for teaching me how to love others better.

In the absence of this group of women, I felt the need for some sisterhood connections here, and I reached out to a therapist this week because I didn’t want to add more emotional weight to my family. I needed someone to talk to—someone I didn’t have to protect from my feelings. I even tried walking 2-3 miles each day to release some of the emotion, but I knew I needed more than movement. I needed conversation and understanding.

The appointment was interesting and a little unexpected. It was scheduled for 20, so I spent the first five trying to sum up everything I’m facing—my own fear, my diagnosis, my grief for my friend. The counselor listened with such compassion, and then she said, “You are not alone. I, too, am a breast cancer survivor.”

And in that moment, I exhaled. I didn’t have to search for the perfect words. She already knew.

She began to share her journey from her diagnosis in January 2023, going through a mastectomy, reconstruction, chemo, and hormone therapy. She gave me the truth in the highs and lows and celebrated being cancer-free in October 2024. “However,” she said, “on Monday, I found out the cancer is back. It’s in my spine, and I am now stage IV. There’s nothing they can do. I had to take yesterday off to process it all.”

My mind went completely blank. All I could say was, “I’m so sorry. How are you doing?”

She talked honestly about the rollercoaster of her emotions about how sometimes, you just keep moving even when you’ve received stage IV news, which is treatable, but no longer curable. And then, our time was up. She asked if I wanted to meet again next week. I was so caught off guard, I said, “If you want to meet, we can.”

After I hung up, I literally laughed through my tears. What just happened? It took me the entire day to process it.

Initially, I had planned to cancel the next appointment. But then today, as I prayed for my friends in Alaska who were grieving our dear sister as she made her way home to Jesus, I felt something shift in my heart. I realized that maybe this therapist could also benefit from having someone to talk to. We can hold space for each other. So, I’m going to keep the appointment. Even if all I do is listen.

Because sisterhood is vital.

I may not have many women physically near me right now, but I am deeply blessed. I have made new friends and am excited for those connections to grow. Plus, every single day, women in my life text me songs, prayers, scriptures, and send their love. They call to check on me and send me great places to hike when I'm healthier. Some call, and we curse cancer out together. Others make me laugh over the most ridiculous things. We cry. We pray. We show up for each other.

And I am deeply grateful for this sisterhood and for a God who has brought us together. To all of my sisters who have reached out to me during this cancer journey, thank you. Each text, prayer, and sweet gift uplifts my spirit. You bring me joy, and I am so honored to call you sister. Those of you not pictured, we'll take some photos when we're together again soon. To all my sisters, I love you.

Buella (cancer) Has Spread

2025-07-11T10:10:00.001-05:00

Buella was entirely removed along with five lymph nodes and all the breast tissue they could remove on both sides. The tissues and tumor were sent for pathological testing. The report came back and was not what we hoped for.

Buella has spread to the lymphovascular system, lymph nodes, and tissue around the nodes. Buella was also less than 1 mm away from the chest wall, so cancer cells are likely in the chest wall too. The tumor grade was thought to be a Grade 1 before surgery (not aggressive), and has now been determined to be a Grade 3 (most aggressive and has the highest recurrence rate).

The news was hard to receive as I was praying for it to be all contained in the single tumor, and that would mean just surgeries and careful watching for a bit. However, this is not the story of my journey. I will need radiation, and we are waiting for the Oncotype test to come back to determine the need and type of chemotherapy. This will take 4 weeks, and we cannot start any treatment until I am healed from the double mastectomy.

As shocking and unsettling as this information was for our family, I am so grateful that we serve a God who isn’t surprised or rattled by the pathology report. He knows the whole story and the exact time and date when healing will manifest itself. He is in control, so I don’t have to be. I praise Him through this journey as I heal and love those around me well.

Although Buella’s aggressive behavior will further delay my trip to Italy, I can read, write, heal, and praise Jesus while snuggling under the blanket our daughter, Evelyn, and bonus son (SIL), Connor, gifted me. It is a blanket with the Italian coast printed on it. Each day, I will continue to focus on loving the people God has blessed me with, capturing the miracle of now moments, grieving with Jesus holding my hand, and praising God through every page of this adventure.

Prayers are always appreciated, and I would love for you to pray for my loved ones. They are in various stages of grief, too, and I just want them to each fall deeper in love with Jesus through this diagnosis.

Power of Prayer

2025-07-05T17:06:00.000-05:00

As I lie here in my recliner, which Lilyan and Gavin coordinated to have at home before I was released from the hospital, I am moved by emotion. I am wrapped in my blankets and ice machine healing cocoon, while I wait for the pain meds to kick in so I can sleep a few more hours. I have a lot of pain and nausea and I feel absolutely helpless. I don't feel well most of the time and have developed a rash around my chest and stomach. My arms can't extend very far without pain so I am like T-Rex unable to scratch an itch, reach for a cup of water or brush my hair.

My boobie grenades (aka drains that look like transparent grenades) are not only gross and annoying but also painful. I am appreciative of an amazing husband who is capable of managing the drains and tells me silly jokes or performs goofy dances to distract me from it all. Sidenote, I am also grateful for sutures that do their job but protip do not drop the boobie grenades, son of a biscuit eater it stings.

Yet, as I find all these things challenging I am reminded that suffering is expected in this life. I can endure this with Jesus’ help and even though I don't want to continue to ache or feel like throwing up all day long I know God is using this time to teach me so much about following Him.

I believe in the power of prayer and I know a praying community has surrounded me all across the world. A military family has the luxury of meeting people from all walks of life and we become each other's family. We move away and may lose contact but those people are still the ones you call in crisis. I know because I am experiencing the love of my community that stretches beyond state lines and country borders.

I am learning about allowing others to help and letting my weakness surface and tears flow. Prayer is the most powerful tool to healing. So, thank you for the prayers you have poured out for my family and I so far. We are grateful and continue to need them as we are at the beginning of this cancer-curing journey. We have more surgery ahead and treatment plans to make. However, I am reminding myself of Matthew 6:34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

I also know my cup of suffering is easier to bear than most. My prayer list is filled with people struggling in so many ways. Then tonight, I learned of the little girls at Camp Mystic in Texas who are unaccounted for due to flash flooding. The suffering their families are contending with is so much more gutwrenchingly painful than my healing journey.

I cannot fathom the grief and burdens these families are carrying today. So, let’s lift up these beautiful daughters of the Most High King and ask Him to protect those sweet little souls. May He bring their families comfort and peace in the waiting and the grief. Join me in praying for these families impacted by flooding and ask God to show His love in mighty ways.

Buella was evicted

2025-07-02T19:52:00.004-05:00

Well, I couldn’t convince Gavin to go to the Amalfi Coast, so Buella has been evicted. I am very sore and struggling to take the pain medication because it causes me to dry heave. You don’t realize how much you use your chest and chest wall until it has had some trauma.

However, we have been in great hands. The medical professionals have been amazing and very accommodating. They are all so compassionate and kind.

Gavin has been caring for me so well. He loves and serves me in the normal day to day, and I fall in love with him deeper everyday. As a trained Air Force medic he knows what to do to help alleviate pain with positioning, helping me walk to and from the restroom, to rubbing my hands and feet. He truly is amazing and I am so in love with him. I know he’s exhausted from sleeping on the chair with interruptions every time he drifts off from the nursing staff coming in for vital checks, or to help me getting readjusted in bed. I couldn’t have a better partner in this life. I’m so grateful for him.

We will know more about Buella in the coming weeks, and from there, we can build a care plan. Tonight, I am praising God for a successful surgery, and for my best friend to be beside me and Jesus’s love covering us from all the amazing prayers and check-in from our friends and family. Praying we can go home tomorrow and I can feel a little more grounded there. We have had so many reach out and feel truly loved. We cannot thank you enough.

I will share more about the recovery later, but this is about all the energy I have to write today. Thank you for your love and prayers.

God Winks: Finding Buella (Cancer)

2025-06-27T09:53:00.006-05:00

2025 has been a transformative year for our family, marked by health challenges, faith, and divine moments I call "God winks"—those undeniable signs of God's love, plan, and provision. These moments, woven together, led to the discovery of "Buella," a breast cancer diagnosis that could have gone unnoticed without God's guidance. Here's our story —a testament to His presence, even in the unseen parts of our lives.

In October, Gavin moved back to Alaska as he was asked to take Command, and Lilyan and I stayed to complete the school year. We are used to separations with the military, but we both dislike this part of the life we have embraced for over 20 years. However, praise God for technology as we were able to Facetime and connect every night. Due to the time difference, he would call as he was heading home for the night and I was getting ready to go to sleep. It was manageable, even if it was challenging to be apart.

In December, I lost a friend and co-worker to a sudden heart attack at age 41, and I was reeling from the brush with mortality and struggling with being separated from the one person who has had my heart for almost 30 years. Three days later, Gavin called me on his nightly check-in after work. Only this time, it was not an everyday conversation; instead, he was headed from base to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. Hours after PT, his heart raced uncontrollably, refused to calm down and would not return to a normal rhythm. All I could do was listen through the phone as paramedics rushed the love of my life to the ER, delivering shots to restore his heart's rhythm and even declaring they may need to defibrillate him. This crisis prompted me to leave my full-time teaching job in Mississippi earlier than planned, abandoning our original timeline of moving at the end of the school year. By Christmas, I was in Alaska, caring for Gavin and prioritizing his health over my career. Little did I know this terrifying experience was one of the God Winks we were blessed with this year.

We wound up in a surgical suite in February to correct AFib and aflutter. As I paced the halls during his 4-hour surgery, I prayed fervently for God to move in the surgeon's hands to heal and restore Gavin's body to full health. This moment of crisis set the stage for an unexpected encounter and another God wink that would change my life. As I was wandering with only one goal in mind—to relieve the adrenaline shakes— I ran into a sweet friend I had not seen in quite a while. We were both surprised to see one another and very quickly reconnected about why we were each standing in the place you only go if you have medical needs. She shared she had just learned she had ovarian cancer and was getting everything for the surgery she had ahead of her. We talked, prayed, and hugged, then returned to our tasks at hand.

My prayers drifted to my friend and seeking God's blessing for her, as she is not much older than I, with three boys and a spouse who needs and loves her dearly. I focused on the prayers for complete healing and restoration over her entire body, and my mind drifted to how fragile life is. It was then that I realized I had not been in for a mammogram, nor had I even thought about it for years. I have never seen a women's health doctor in the past decade, as I have been so busy. Minus a hip surgery in 2023, due to a poorly executed jump snap kick and years of excessive running, I was healthy. I had not had a mammogram since a scare that turned up a benign mass back in August 2020. God winked again.

It was not that I had avoided mammograms, but rather that I had not even considered routine care. I have been working on a doctorate, homeschooling my children, raising three kids through the transition to adulthood, navigating TDYs and deployments, and multiple cross-country moves. I have held at least three jobs for many years, including running a side hustle as a Professional Learning and Leadership Consultant, teaching homeschool and public education courses, and serving in ministry roles. I never even thought about or considered getting a health screening. Additionally, I had not noticed any changes; I felt healthy and strong, never smoked, rarely drank, and tended to eat very well. I decided that day to call and schedule a doctor's appointment so I could get a referral for a mammogram. It was because of this interaction with a beautiful friend and fellow sister in Christ, I even had a mammogram in the first place.

Insert another God wink, as for the first time since my 6th-grade year in elementary school, I did not have a regular job or schedule that was pressing or distracting me from making the appointment. Therefore, I was able to secure an appointment a month later to get a referral for an appointment for the mammogram a month after that, and a women's appointment within two months.

Life moved forward, marked by moments of joy and progress. By March, Gavin was healing, supported by medication. I completed my doctorate, becoming Dr. Alecia M. Gardner, and underwent a five-interview process for a contracted role supporting educators. We celebrated our 23rd wedding anniversary, 29 years since our first kiss, and my academic milestone with a vacation to our Mississippi home. We also took our daughter, Lily, to prom with her childhood best friend and then returned to Alaska just before my mammogram.

April 21 was the day Buella was caught red-handed trying to suck the life from me all in the quiet and darkness. A week later, I had to go in for a more in-depth mammogram and an ultrasound, and it was confirmed I had a Bi-Rads5, which means the mass has a 95% chance of being malignant. This was the start to determine if she was cancerous, and led to the journey we are on today.

God's winks are those moments when His love, plan, and provision are so incredible you cannot help but see them. My advice is not to ignore these winks, or you may miss out on the blessings that come from seeing God move in real, tangible ways. I love God's winks and write them down when I capture them because there are days you feel like you cannot go on or that you are alone. These are the days to lean on those God winks and recognize He is right there in the middle of whatever you are facing. Buella, my breast cancer, has been one of the greatest God Winks of my lifetime so far. I know it may seem weird that I could say such a thing. Yet, I know all those little winks along the way are the only reasons we found Buella before she made me truly sick. Here are the winks I recognized in this journey, each a reason to praise God.

Praise God for His endless mercy and love, guiding every step of this journey.
Praise God for Gavin getting called into Command, which brought us back to Alaska.
Praise God for allowing us to be separated for a short time and for helping us refocus on our priorities.
Praise God for an administrative team who cares about their people and released me from my teaching contract without penalty, freeing me to care for Gavin.
Praise God, I was able to be by my best friend's side during his health journey and focus solely on him.
Praise God for Gavin having A-Fib and aflutter, a health scare that set everything in motion.
Praise God for the A-Fib being bad enough to require surgery, leading me to the hospital that fateful day.
Praise God for a skilled surgeon who can correct this issue and restore Gavin's health.
Praise God for medications that are keeping it under control, giving him time to heal.
Praise God for friends who are vulnerable enough to share their own journey, like my sister in Christ with ovarian cancer.
Praise God for said friend having an appointment on the same day as Gavin's heart surgery, aligning our paths.
Praise God that I had to move when I was nervous and was pacing the hospital right when she walked in the front doors, leading to our divine encounter.
Praise God for the power of prayer and modern medicine, as my friend is now cancer-free with no need for chemo or radiation.
Praise God that I recognized a stirring to seek medical testing prompted by her story.
Praise God I had no job to compete with my need to seek said medical testing, giving me the freedom to act.
Praise God we did not sell or rent our home in Mississippi.
Praise God for a home we could return to when the care in Alaska was backlogged by months
Praise God, we found a comprehensive healthcare team in the place where we still owned a home to care for the cancer quickly (Months before the care I would have received in Alaska).
Praise God for bosses who have adjusted their expectations and allowed us to work remotely as we navigate the next steps.
Praise God for technology and all the people trained to spot death divas like Buella.
Praise God for catching Buella in the earlier stages of the disease before she could make me truly sick.
Praise God for new friends who are survivors or current warriors of breast cancer, who provide insights only they can get me through the fears and waiting.
Praise God for our family and friends all over the world who are praying for us.
Praise God for all the blessings I didn't even notice and for loving us all to give us each of those blessings.

May we all be more attuned and aware of His winks as we traverse this life. He is always present, always loving, always on our side, and He is winking in mighty ways today.