Thriving in God's Love

INTRODUCTION

Breast cancer is more than a physical disease, dear sisters. It is also an emotional and spiritual disease affecting every part of ourselves: body, soul, and spirit. I sensed this personally seventeen years ago when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Later, after walking with many other sisters who also had breast cancer, I have a better understanding of how we can more fully heal and begin to thrive in ways we’d forgotten were possible.

Thriving is far more than surviving the disease, dear sisters. Statistics tell us there is a 90% survival rate of five years for all women with breast cancer, and as high as 99% for women with cancer found only in the breast (cancer.net). Almost all of us will survive, but I want you to know we can also Thrive.

God always intended for us to Thrive. How do we know this? His Word tells us so:

(Growing in grace) they will still thrive and bear fruit and prosper in old age. They will flourish and be vital and fresh (rich in trust and love and contentment); Psalm 92:14 (AMP)

We can flourish, dear sisters. There is even a word for this, Shalom, and it is a word of blessing. It is the way Jesus greeted or said good-bye to people when He lived on earth. He wanted His Shalom for everyone: a blessing of His grace, His mercy, and His love, freely given to sustain each of us through the trials of life. Peace would be the result; many translators stop with this single word of blessing, but Jesus did not. Jewish dictionaries tell us the Shalom blessing from Jesus also included wholeness and completeness for each of us.

Isn’t that what we all want in our lives, dear sisters, perhaps most noticeably when we have cancer? We want a peace that we can count on; a Shalom blessing, if you will. And we want wholeness and completeness in all parts of ourselves: body, soul, and spirit.

God wants us to know that with His help, we can use this cancer to create a richer, more complete life for ourselves. Together we can heal our wounds—physically, spiritually, and emotionally—by addressing all possible causes of cancer within ourselves.

But we cannot do it alone.

Dear sisters, to fully thrive and prevent a reoccurrence, we cannot stop healing when the cancerous tumors are removed. We must also be willing, with God’s help, to look at our lives more deeply, and discover what other parts of ourselves need to be healed.

This book gives you seven powerful steps to take in addition to your medical treatment. These seven steps will walk you through a process of more fully healing your complete self: body, soul, and spirit. This process is a walk, not a race. This healing is best found, my dear sisters, by taking the time to become wholly, completely well, one step at a time.

May His Shalom be with you always!

A Breast Cancer Diagnosis

It was the Friday before Labor Day. Sam, our oldest son, and Andy, our younger son, were still in school. We were going to one of those hotels with a water park in Phoenix for the holiday weekend. Reservations were made; bags were packed. We were just waiting for the kids to be done for the day, so we could leave early the next morning.

Two weeks before, I’d had a breast ultrasound for a lump I’d felt under my arm near my left breast. I’d watched it through one full menstrual cycle. When it didn’t go away, I asked my nurse practitioner if she would schedule me for an ultrasound. Mammograms didn’t work for me, as I had dense breast tissue.

During the ultrasound visit, the surgeon drained the cyst. Then he said, “The good news is the cyst you were feeling is benign. But there is a dark shadow underneath it that I want to check out. It’s probably nothing. But since your kids are so young, I want to be sure. It’s a rather large area, so let’s get you scheduled for outpatient surgery so I can take a better look.”

Within a week, I had the outpatient surgery. I requested light sedation and when it was over, I woke up quickly. For some reason, I asked one of the nurses if I could see what they removed from my breast.

“That’s the size of a matchbox car!” I exclaimed, as only the mom of two young boys would. I was curious why the doctor removed so much tissue, but figured he was just being cautious.

When the week passed with no word on the results, I was anxious to know everything was fine. I finally called the doctor’s office, hoping to catch them before they left for the holiday weekend. The nurse came to the phone when I told the receptionist why I was calling.

When I heard the words: “How soon can you be here?” I knew the news wasn’t good. Every woman knows when it’s good news, someone at the office says: “Everything is clear. No need to come in. Be sure and have an exam again next year.”

I hung up the phone after saying we’d be right in and sank to the steps with a guttural wail that comes from knowing something is terribly wrong. I wanted the nurse to say what every woman wants to hear after a test: “I’m so sorry. We must have forgotten to call. That dark shadow under the cyst was just normal breast tissue. Have a wonderful Labor Day weekend. Nothing to worry about.”

But that is not what I heard.

I wailed and wailed. How else could I describe the hopeless sound that came from some lost canyon deep inside me?

My husband, Alan, came running in the house, now frantic himself. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to the kids? What?”

“The doctor’s office wants to see me right away. It’s not good news,” I replied.