Who Am I?

Worthy Because I Exist

There was a time in my life when everything I thought was stable began to disintegrate.

A cancer diagnosis.
The unraveling of a marriage.
The quiet fear of mortality that no one prepares you for.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2021, I clung to God in a way I never had before. Not out of performance. Not out of ritual. But out of survival.

I began seeing Him everywhere.

In the sunrise that felt warmer than usual.
In strangers who offered unexpected kindness.
In the stillness that followed fear.
In the silence that somehow felt full.

That does not mean it was not difficult.
It does not mean I did not suffer.
It does not mean I was not afraid.

I was.

But when everything became uncertain, I leaned in instead of away.

I would walk outside, look up at the sky, and feel my heart physically expand. I began asking God for signs. I asked for patience. I asked for grace. I asked for transformation within me.

Sometimes the answers took weeks.

But they came.

And the change came too.

The kind of change that rearranges you from the inside out.

Faith does not remove suffering.
It anchors you through it.

Cancer forced me to confront mortality in a way most people avoid. When you are told your life could look very different than you imagined, time becomes sacred. Conversations become intentional. The trivial falls away.

You begin to understand that life is not about collecting things.

It is about experiencing moments.
It is about loving deeply.
It is about creating meaning while you are here.

As I healed physically, something else was happening spiritually.

I was expanding.

And sometimes when you expand, you outgrow.

You stop tolerating what you once tolerated.
You stop shrinking to make others comfortable.
You start living intentionally, not reactively.

Growth is not rebellion.
Expansion is not betrayal.
It is alignment with who God created you to be.

My life shifted. My service deepened. My compassion widened. My purpose clarified.

Hope became my offering.

Hope is one of the most powerful gifts we can give ourselves and others. It carried me through surgeries, through uncertainty, through nights of fear, and through the disintegration of what I once thought was permanent.

None of us know how long we are here.

At some point, we all face our mortality. It is humbling. It is sobering. It is clarifying.

Now I wake up with gratitude.
And I go to bed with gratitude.

That does not mean every day is perfect.
It does not mean there are no struggles.

It means every day contains something sacred.

Something meaningful.
Something worth sharing.
Something that can ease someone else’s burden.