“I’m sorry the news isn’t good,” said the doctor on the other end of the phone. She had called to tell me the results of an ultra sound biopsy I had undergone two days before on my left breast. When you hear news like this, your senses sharpen, but you also go into shock. I remember where I was sitting, that the day was sunny, but I cannot recollect calling my husband. I do remember trying to get the word across my tongue the first time I had to tell my son. It stuck and I had a hard time saying, cancer. I needed to tell the people I loved, but saying this scary word was the most difficult task I’d ever undertaken.

The next few days were a whirlwind of doctor’s appointments and more tests. I needed to listen and ask questions; yet, all I wanted to do was curl up in my chair and do nothing. I couldn’t hide from the diagnosis. I had a job to do and it wasn’t just getting through the surgery and radiation treatments.

As a writer, I knew God might use my experience to help someone else someday. Encouraging words people said, how others prayed for me, the notes, the phone calls were all possible ideas for articles and devotions. Other women shared their stories. My cancer journey was a walk down Main Street compared to others who had to go through the wilderness. Maybe I could use these in a novel. Through it all, I listened carefully to what God wanted to teach me. I’m reminded again that when we take up the calling of author, nothing we go through is ever wasted in God’s economy.