Called Forward By What I’ve Seen
I didn’t realize I was keeping a record.
Not intentionally. Not neatly.
But somewhere between biopsies and scan results, between school drop-offs and oncology appointments…
I was collecting evidence.
Like a photo album lying open on a table.
Every biopsy. Every PET scan. Every doctor’s appointment.
If I flip back through those pages now, I see something I couldn’t see then.
In those moments, I thought I was alone.
But I wasn’t.
There was the nurse navigator who listened as I sobbed.
The counselor who gently reminded me of God’s peace.
The Bible verse that appeared on the screen while I waited for the surgeon.
The ultrasound tech who sat beside me when I got my diagnosis—who looked me in the eyes, hugged me, and said, “You can do this. I went through it too. I’m here. And you will be too.”
The neighbor who scooped up my kids so I could tell my husband the results without shouting over the noise.
The song that steadied me.
The friend who cleaned my entire house without being asked.
The one who took my kids to the aquarium the day of my surgery so they could laugh while I lay on an operating table.
My teenage niece showing up at 8 p.m. to pick up the scattered debris when I had nothing left to give.
When I look back, I see them everywhere.
Like confirmation.
Like fingerprints.
Like evidence.
It’s like looking at an old photo and realizing someone you love was in the background all along—unnoticed at the time. Maybe even before you knew them. You have to squint to see it.
But once you do… it’s unmistakable.
These weren’t random acts of kindness.
They were provision.
They were presence.
They were Jesus—showing up in the middle of what I thought would break me.
He didn’t remove the pain.
He didn’t take away the hard.
But He met me in it.
He lightened it.
Loosened its grip.
Shouldered the weight with me.
And now… I’m staring at the next page.
Another appointment. (Today.)
More scans in a couple months.
More unknowns.
Uncertainty looms like a heavy blanket.
So many questions. So few answers.
The pages ahead are blank.
I don’t know what they will hold.
But I don’t need to.
Because I know this:
He will be there too.
As I look through the album of trials and life-altering moments, the pattern is clear. His fingerprints are everywhere.
Why would He be present in every page behind me… and absent from the ones ahead?
When we look at the heroes of our faith, we see a man after God’s own heart come to the same conclusion.
“The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine.” (1 Samuel 17:37)
David stepped forward into something terrifying—
not because he felt strong,
but because he had seen God be faithful before.
I think that’s what looking back is for.
Not nostalgia.
Not replaying the past.
But gathering evidence.
So when I face what’s ahead…
I don’t walk in empty-handed.
Just like in every moment I thought I wouldn’t survive—He was there.
And because of that, I am assured of His continued presence.
So I will turn the page.
Not because I’m unafraid—
but because I am not alone.
And one day, the final page won’t be a scan or a diagnosis or a question.
It will be Him—
fully, finally—
leading me into a peace that no longer comes in glimpses…
but never ends.
Reflection
Where in your life are you facing a blank page of uncertainty right now?
If you look back, can you see evidence of God’s presence that you didn’t recognize at the time?
What would it look like to move forward armed with those memories—not because you feel ready, but because you trust you won’t be alone?
Challenge
Today, instead of trying to anticipate or control the next page…
take a moment to remember the ones behind you—
and trust His provision for what’s to come.
