A year ago, my life split into a “before” and an “after.” One year ago today, we received my diagnosis. By this point, we were pretty certain it was cancer.  But we didn’t hear the diagnosis or yet know the severity. That clarity came on April 15th, when words like “advanced,” “fast growing,” “hormone based,” and “long road ahead” were spoken about my body.

I still remember the phone call so clearly—straining to comprehend the words the doctor was saying, even as they seemed impossible to process. When the call ended, I sat down, sobbed, and prayed. I asked God to intervene, to take this new reality away. I told Him I wasn’t capable, that my family—especially my boys—couldn’t handle it. I begged Him to take the cancer out of my body.

But God knew. He knew that call would come. He knew the road I was about to walk, and even through my deepest fears, He has sustained me.

Alex came home from work, 

my parents, sister and brother in law came over. We cried, tried to process and we prayed. The days that followed were a blur, so many tears, crying out to God, sleepless nights, trying to keep things “normal” for the boys and going on “tour” telling everyone the news. 

Since then, my days have been filled with more than most people see— multiple surgeries, procedures, six months of intense chemo, 25 rounds of daily radiation, scans and tests, bloodwork, PT, OT, acupuncture, chiropractic care, iv hydration, naturopath, counselor, applying for countless grants, lymphedema concerns, nerve pain, skin reactions, endless weakness, hot flashes, headaches, neuropathy, debilitating fatigue, endless nausea, brain fog, long hours in waiting rooms, worrying about germs and infection, and a calendar so full of appointments it often feels like it has taken over my life. The physical exhaustion has been real, but so has the emotional weight—the researching and wondering what’s the best path forward, quiet moments of processing, the frustration of appointment fatigue, and the struggle to recognize myself in the middle of it all. There has been a constant wavering between heartbreak in my broken body and placing my hope fully in Christ. On the hardest days, I have had to choose—again and again—to trust what I cannot yet see.

But even here, I have held onto the truth of Isaiah 41:10: “Do not fear, for I am with you… I will strengthen you and help you.” I was never meant to carry this alone. He has held me. 

And yet, through all of it, I have kept showing up. I am still a mom, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend—even on the days when that feels hard to hold onto or see that I add value. There have been many times when cancer felt like the loudest label in the room, drowning out everything else. Many times all I see in the mirror or feel like is a relentless bummer and emotional, financial, time-sucking burden.  But God has gently reminded me that my identity is not found in this diagnosis. This year has held unexpected laughter, small but meaningful joys, and the steady presence of love surrounding me. In those moments, I see glimpses of His goodness, just as Psalm 34:18 promises: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Even in the darkest moments, I have not been abandoned.

There is one verse that has become deeply personal to me in this journey—my “cancer verse.” Psalm 91:4 says, “He will cover you under His pinions, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and buckler.” I have returned to this image again and again—of being covered, protected, and held close. On the days when fear creeps in or the weight feels too heavy, I picture myself under His wings, safe in a place where cancer cannot define me and uncertainty cannot overtake me. His faithfulness has been my shield, even when I didn’t feel strong. This verse has anchored me, reminding me that I am not exposed or alone—I am covered and protected.

I am also deeply aware that I have not walked this road alone. My husband has been my steady place—my partner in every sense—carrying burdens with me, loving me through the hardest days, and reminding me of truth when I struggled to see it myself. My family has surrounded me with strength, encouragement, and unwavering support, stepping in again and again in ways big and small. And our village—friends, loved ones, and even people we didn’t know who have shown up with prayers, meals, messages, and presence—has held us up when we didn’t have the strength to stand on our own. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for each of you. Your love has been a tangible reflection of God’s care, a living reminder of Galatians 6:2: “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Last week marked a milestone I will never forget—I finished radiation and rang the bell. I celebrated reaching the end of “active” treatment. It was emotional, surreal, and sacred all at once. But even in that celebration, I hold the truth that this journey is not over. I now enter ten years of medication, frequent testing, and ongoing follow-up care. The battle has changed, but it has not ended. I am still in the fight. But I am a warrior, and I will continue to fight—not in my own strength, but with the strength God provides.

This past year has stretched me in ways I never would have chosen. It has tested my strength, my perspective, and my spirit. There have been days when I’ve been so tired—tired of talking about cancer, tired of carrying it, tired of how much space it takes up in my life. But even then, I’ve kept going. Not by my own strength, but by His. I’ve leaned into 2 Corinthians 12:9: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” In my weakness, I have seen His strength show up again and again in ways I cannot deny.

One year in, my journey isn’t over—but neither am I. I am still here. Still fighting. Still trusting. Still finding moments of joy in the middle of it all. I don’t know what the next chapter holds, but I do know who holds me. And I cling to the promise of Romans 8:28—that in all things, even this, God is working for good. That truth gives me hope, and it is something I will continue to hold onto, one day at a time.

Prayer requests-

- For my boys. They continue to feel anxious and struggle to be out of our care. Their hearts and minds are still trying to understand and we can tell it’s going to take awhile for their worry to subside. 

- I’m experiencing skin splitting and breakdown from radiation. This will continue for another 3-4 weeks before healing begins. Please be praying that infection can be avoided and that my skin holds. 
- I begin the second of four medications next week and the others will start soon after. Be praying for my body to adapt, that side effects would be minimal and that I feel confident about this next phase of treatment. 

- Alex and I will be attending a marriage retreat at the end of the month. Be praying that we are encouraged, can enjoy time together and take a deep breath and relax. 

Thank you for your continued support, love and most of all, your prayers. 

For His glory,

Elly