You have cancer.
I have cancer. Inflect each word. *I* have cancer. I *have* cancer. I have *cancer*. The bliss of ignorance, gone. The unknown can’t become unknown ever again. The burden of knowledge—so.very.heavy.

On this three year anniversary of hearing those [every bit literal] LIFE-TRANSFORMING words, the burden remains…and it remains even heavier than on that dreadful day. Here’s what I’ve learned:

Grit. Courage. Vulnerability. To take the hard road and let the hurt prove purpose. I have an army…both heavenly and here in my people. Counter-cultural, relentless authenticity is bold and it takes bravery to value it, and even though not everyone can receive it, it’s still worth it. “Be,” presence, and living short when everything around me is oppositely focused. Listening. Choosing the surrender. Believing. Trusting that the undistracted quiet offers a deeper depth…and deciding not to run from it. Allowing change. Allowing humility. Allowing lessons. Allowing suffering. Because God wastes nothing and I am challenged not to, either. Resilience has room for needing help, for “weak knees,” for tears, for crying out for rescue. Resilience is not faked strength. Surviving can be hard and that it’s okay to be confused, that it’s okay to be frustrated that heaven didn’t come when it was so close…Yet it’s also a gift not everyone gets, so survive richly. Feelings matter so let them matter. It’s okay that my kids see me struggle – With denial. With reality. With pain. With faith. With acceptance. It’s okay to not know what doesn’t need to be known until it’s time to know it. And then when I know it, use it. Wisely. That I’ll never get to do today again. Priorities. It’s acceptable to say, ‘I’ve never done this before so I don’t know what to do or how to feel.’ Anniversaries can be hard. 3 years later. And they don’t have to be qualified with a positive opposite. Both/And is healthy—it’s okay to be both crushed by the devastation of grief and driven to use its depth for good. And to maintain the sentiment: I always have something to learn.

Cancer, you’ve torn me to shreds, you’ve brutally taken things from me. You’ve caused the deepest pain both imaginable and unimaginable. You’ve terrorized my family and my life. You’ve wounded me soul-deep and left nasty, ugly scars that tell a terrible story. But the story isn’t over and I’m willing to live out it’s magnitude…whatever it looks like.