Today, I turn thirty-nine.

It’s a strange number—not because thirty-nine is inherently significant, but because it quietly marks the beginning of my final year in my thirties. It naturally forces a pause. It makes me stop long enough to look back over the road I’ve traveled and ask a question I’ve wrestled with constantly this past year: What is God doing in the dark?

If someone had handed me a roadmap of this past year on my thirty-eighth birthday, I would have refused to believe it. There were moments I never would have chosen: heavy conversations that made my hands shake, prayers born out of sheer fear, and long nights filled with questions I didn’t know how to answer.

Because the truth is, this past year was completely upended by six words no one is ever prepared to hear: “You have a diagnosis of cancer.”

When a cancer diagnosis enters your life, it doesn’t just pull the rug out from under you—it changes the entire floor. It rewrites your calendar, reorders your priorities, and forces you to confront your own mortality in a way that is both sobering and terrifying.

Yet looking back today, I see something I couldn’t see in the initial shock: God’s faithfulness wasn’t absent in the diagnosis. It was made visible through it.

Faithfulness in Weakness

Cancer has a way of stripping away every single illusion of control.

This was the year I learned medical terminology I never wanted to know, spent countless hours in waiting rooms, and adapted to daily routines built around medications, lab work, and side effects. It’s the year I began thinking about treatments I pray I won’t need for a very long time, while also learning what it means to trust God if that day ever comes.

I’m not going to pretend I walked through every day with unwavering courage. There were days of overwhelming fatigue when my body simply refused to cooperate. Days when fear quietly whispered, What if? Days when I was reminded just how fragile and limited I really am.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

I’ve read that verse many times throughout my life. This year, I lived it.

Cancer showed me how little strength I actually possess on my own—and how limitless Christ’s strength is when mine completely runs out. There has been uncertainty, and there has been fear. But there has never been a day where His grace wasn’t enough to carry me into the next one.

From Diagnosis to Purpose

Here is one of the profound mysteries of how God works: He took the darkest, scariest news of my life and used it to awaken a sense of purpose I had delayed for more than fifteen years.

For over a decade, I carried stories in my imagination. I dreamed, outlined plots, rewrote chapters, questioned my abilities, and wondered if I would ever actually finish what I had started. But receiving a cancer diagnosis changes your perspective. It destroys the illusion that we’ll always have more time and reminds us that tomorrow is never guaranteed. If God had given me stories to tell, I could no longer keep waiting for the perfect version of “someday.”

The story that became Walking with Shadows had lived with me for years, but my diagnosis finally made me stop treating publication like something I could always do later. Out of that urgency, I finally held Walking with Shadows in my hands. Publishing that book wasn’t just completing a manuscript—it was an act of obedience and a declaration that fear would not determine whether I pursued the calling God placed on my heart.

At the same time, Walking with Jordan quietly became something I never anticipated. What started as a simple place to update family and friends about doctor’s appointments and test results slowly transformed into something much deeper. This year also became the year that Walking with Jordan grew from a simple blog into a place intentionally built to encourage others—a reminder that God can take the hardest chapters of our lives and use them to help someone else keep walking.

Through waiting rooms, emergency management, chicken coops, willow trees, unfinished pools, fences, and everyday moments on our 25 acres, I discovered that God often teaches His deepest lessons in places we would otherwise overlook. Looking back, I realize He wasn’t just asking me to write books. He was teaching me to tell His story through my own.

Faithfulness in the Ordinary

Cancer has a way of making the ordinary feel sacred.

This year, watching Chris begin a new chapter in his career after years of faithfully serving where God had placed him felt sweeter than it might have otherwise. Watching God open that door reminded me that waiting is never wasted when it’s surrendered to Him.

Life on our 25 acres also began to look different. The unfinished projects, the animals grazing in the pasture, the chickens demanding attention every morning, and the quiet evenings sitting on the porch stopped feeling like routine chores—they became reminders that God doesn’t only reveal Himself in life-changing moments. He meets us just as faithfully in the ordinary rhythms of everyday life.

Cancer tries to steal your present by convincing you to obsess over the future. But God kept reminding me that today is still a gift.

Stones of Remembrance

When I look back over age thirty-eight, my mind keeps returning to the Israelites after they crossed the Jordan River. God instructed them to gather twelve stones from the dry riverbed and build a memorial. Not because God needed a reminder, but because they did. Those stones stood as a testimony that said: God brought us through this place.

I think we all need moments like that—moments when we intentionally stop long enough to remember God’s faithfulness before the next storm arrives. Because another difficult season will come. Another uncertainty. Another prayer that lingers longer than we’d like. And when it does, we need something to remind us that the God who carried us before will faithfully carry us again.

Looking back at thirty-eight, I see:

• Not just a diagnosis, but answered prayers.
• Not just hospital walls, but sustaining grace.
• Not just frightening lab results, but purpose being awakened.
• Not just cancer, but a published author, a growing ministry, and a deeper faith.

God was quietly working even when I couldn’t understand what He was doing. Maybe that’s what growing older is really about: not counting how many birthdays we’ve celebrated, but counting how many times God has proven Himself faithful.

Stepping Into 39

Today I’ll celebrate another year of life. I’ll spend time with family, enjoy a piece of birthday cake, laugh, and thank God for another year that I never want to take for granted again.

Thirty-nine doesn’t feel like the end of my thirties; it feels like standing at the threshold of another chapter. I don’t know what doctor’s appointments, treatments, opportunities, or surprises the next year will hold. But if thirty-eight taught me anything, it’s this: I don’t need to see the entire roadmap. I simply have to keep walking with the One who already knows the way—and trust the One who still holds the pen.

“Thus far the Lord has helped us.” — 1 Samuel 7:12

Today, as I celebrate another birthday, I can’t think of a better prayer.

Thus far… the Lord has helped me. Cancer included. Fear included. Weakness included. Joy included. Purpose included.

And I know His faithfulness isn’t finished yet.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. Whether you’ve been here since the early cancer updates or you’ve only recently found Walking with Jordan, I’m grateful you’ve taken the time to read these stories of God’s faithfulness. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that our stories were never meant to point people to us—they were always meant to point people to the One who has faithfully walked beside us through every chapter.

So today, as I celebrate thirty-nine, my prayer is simple: Lord, thank You for every step You’ve carried me through. Help me continue to walk wherever You lead, trusting that the same God who has been faithful this far will remain faithful all the way home.

A Question for You Today: When you look back over your own past year, what is one “stone of remembrance”—a hard moment, an unexpected blessing, or a lesson—that reminded you of God’s faithfulness? I’d be honored to hear your story in the comments below!