One of the hardest parts of this journey hasn’t been the diagnosis itself. It hasn’t been the endless appointments, the tests, or even the treatments. It’s been learning how to live with uncertainty.

Before cancer entered my life, I made plans without a second thought. If there was a work trip six months away, I planned on going. If we talked about a family vacation, I assumed we’d be there. If there was an event on the calendar next year, I expected to attend. The future felt predictable. Not guaranteed, mind you, but predictable.
Now, every single plan comes with an invisible question mark attached to it.

• Will I be feeling well enough?
• Will the treatment still be working?
• Will I be sitting on a beach enjoying a vacation, or sitting in a clinic waiting for another scan?

If I’m being completely honest, that’s what I struggle with most. I find myself looking at events months away—my nephew’s senior year, family gatherings, holidays—and instead of feeling pure excitement, I feel a wave of anxiety. Cancer has a way of taking the fragility of life—something most people spend their lives trying not to think about—and forcing you to stare at it every single day.

We all intellectually know that tomorrow isn’t promised and control is largely an illusion. But knowing that in your head and living it in your bones are two very different things.

The Two Realities

Yet, in the middle of this weight, I am learning that another truth exists right alongside the fear: God is still good.

It has become a quiet rhythm in my life lately, a dual reality I have to reconcile every morning:

I have cancer. And God is still good.
I don’t know what next year looks like. And God is still good.
I don’t know if my plans will unfold the way I hope. And God is still good.

Both truths exist at the exact same time. One doesn’t cancel out the other. I’ve realized that faith isn’t pretending the hard truth doesn’t exist; faith is choosing to trust God while staring directly at it.

For a long time, I thought peace was the byproduct of certainty. I thought if I could just know the outcome, see the master plan, and understand what the next few years looked like, then I could finally rest. But that’s not how God works. He rarely gives us a roadmap. Instead, He gives us Himself.

Holding Plans with Open Hands

When I read Scripture now, I notice that God never handed people detailed itineraries. He just asked them to trust Him one step at a time. Abraham didn’t know where he was going. Moses didn’t know how the sea would part. The disciples had no idea where following a carpenter from Nazareth would lead. What they had wasn’t certainty. What they had was God—and somehow, that was enough.

I’m learning that faith is not believing that everything will go according to my plans. Faith is believing God will remain faithful even when they don’t.

So, I still make the plans. I still look forward to vacations, mark dates on the calendar, and hope for future celebrations. But I’m learning to hold those plans with open hands. Not because I’ve given up hope, but because my hope was never supposed to be in the calendar anyway. My hope is in the God who walks with me, whether those plans happen exactly as I imagined or not.

The truth is, I don’t know where I’ll be a year from now. But I know who will be there. And for today, that is enough.
Maybe that’s what living between two truths really looks like: acknowledging the uncertainty without surrendering to fear, recognizing the reality without losing hope, and accepting that I don’t know the future while trusting the One who does.
Some days are easier than others. But every day, His grace is enough for that exact day. And perhaps, that’s all He has ever asked of us.