When my husband was diagnosed with sarcoma cancer at age 28, I was confronted with a whirlwind of emotions. I was devastated, frustrated, confused, heartbroken, anxious, and terrified. The only cancer patients under 60 I knew were from stories, and they centered on being brave, positive, and happy despite hardships. And yet, here I was, sobbing in bed. I could barely make out my husband’s silhouette through the tears. I didn’t feel brave, positive, or happy.
Enter another emotion: guilt.
I concluded that I was doing it all wrong. I had this challenge, dramatic enough to describe in a news story or devotional, but my response was far from inspiring. Who would be inspired by this puddle of tears? Who would want to hear the story of the woman who screamed, “I hate cancer!” into her pillow without an ounce of grace or dignity? Why didn’t I respond with optimism and strength? Was I lacking faith?
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