Above Cancer
“You have cancer.
My proclamation of love isn’t
quite the answer you seek.
You cry — “retribution!
From a so-called God of
kindness and compassion.”
And yet you wonder,
even ponder, how
such a love is ever able
to heal.
What if I say this disaster;
this abnormality of biology,
Is a clear indication —
a disintegration far from
the creation I intended
life cells to present?
What if I say that I’m with you,
deeply feeling everything
that you’re going through.
You dream to be free of this illness,
to what extent do you intend
for me to be limitless with you?
What if I still say I love you,
even in the midst of these
hurdles, these troubles?
No, death could not stop me,
and if you are mine
It is most certain you will win.
It is most certain ‘cause I’ve won.”
Reflection
A cancer diagnosis rarely welcomes the words “I love you.” In the face of pain, uncertainty, and questions of fairness, love may feel irrelevant—or even insulting.
Yet, love is the most powerful force in the world.
Don’t misunderstand me; I’ve also pondered where God is when confronted with illness and pain. However, suffering doesn’t imply that He doesn’t care; it exposes the fragility of a world that deviates far from His intended design.
Bodies weren’t designed to betray us, and fear had no place in a universe created to express perfect love. But we are where we are now, and regardless of all the mess—especially in it—God is still near. Not with easy answers or quick fixes, but with tenderness and with a kind of love that stays even when everything else falls apart.
I won’t pretend that makes it easier. It doesn’t erase the grief, or the anger, or the “why me?” But it gives us something to hold onto: the hope that pain doesn’t get the final word, and that somehow, even here, love still matters. Maybe even more than ever. And that’s where Scripture speaks straight into the ache:
“. . . I'm absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God's love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.”
—Romans 8:37–39 (The Message)
So even when we don’t understand the “why” of our suffering or why healing doesn’t come the way we expect it to—we can still trust that His love hasn’t moved an inch. He remains—near, attentive. Caring limitlessly, deeply.
Death didn’t defeat Him. And if we belong to Him, then even in our darkest moments, we’re standing inside a victory that’s already been won.