Expectations

“Your biopsy results are in.”

The doctor continued, “It’s an aggressive form of cancer, but it was only present in two of the twelve biopsies. It appears we caught it early enough, but I’m ordering a PET scan to make certain it hasn’t metastasized.”

Those are words that make everything else in the room disappear. Then came the words that made it all very real.

“This must be treated. Of course, you have a choice.”

A choice. My mind raced. Will I or will I not subject myself to treatment? I had heard wonderful stories of recovery, but also difficult stories of lingering, life-changing side effects. Suddenly, those were no longer somebody else’s stories. This was my story.

Trying to gather my thoughts, I asked, “Well, doctor, what type of treatment is necessary?”

He explained that if the PET scan showed the cancer was contained, treatment would include hormone therapy followed by approximately thirty to forty radiation treatments.

“It should be curative,” he said. “Your general health is very good, and you could live another ten to twenty years.”

Ten or twenty years. Those words sounded pretty wonderful to me. Hope stirred again. I agreed to treatment, but underneath my confidence was a simple prayer: Lord, increase my faith.

Then came the waiting. Your mind wants to run ahead into every possible tomorrow, while God keeps calling you back to today. So we prayed—not because we knew the outcome, but because we knew the One who would be with us whatever the outcome.

Finally, good news! The PET scan showed the cancer had not spread beyond the original area. What a relief! God’s hand had been over us, and we could proceed with curative intent.

I was referred to a medical oncologist and a radiation oncologist, and another blessing awaited me. The cancer center openly acknowledged the Lord’s provision and protection. That mattered to me. The staff encouraged me and answered my questions. Of course, they had to list possible side effects—fatigue, aches, discomfort, complications.

As they talked, something inside me cried, Lord, keep me positive. Don’t let me live in fear of what might happen. But they treated me like a person rather than a diagnosis, increasing my expectation that this road, though difficult, would be manageable.

Hormone therapy came next, and radiation began two weeks later. Daily appointments, questions, side effects, and the uncertainties of unfamiliar territory.

But something changed in the way I looked at it. Instead of staring down the entire road, I began taking it one day at a time. One appointment. One treatment. One prayer. One more day of God’s amazing grace.

Sometimes we want God to show us the whole journey before we take the first step. We want to know how difficult it will be, how long it will last, and exactly how everything will turn out. But God rarely gives us the entire map. He gives us Himself, and that is enough.

Cancer reminds us how little control we really have. Perhaps that is one of its unexpected lessons. We were never truly in control to begin with.

“Lord, we’re counting on You to exchange Your strength for my weakness. We’re grateful for good doctors and modern treatment. But we’re counting on You to work through them and walk with us through whatever lies ahead.”

As I write this, I’m only about one-third of the way through treatment. Some days are better than others. The stubborn part of me wants to “cowboy up.” You know what I mean—I’m a man. I should be able to handle this. So I find myself trying to prove how much I can still do. I can lift that. I can fix that. I can keep going.

Illness can challenge a man’s expectations of himself. We want to be strong, provide, solve problems, and keep doing everything we did before, as though slowing down means surrendering.

But perhaps strength does not always look like pushing harder. Sometimes strength is knowing when to rest. Sometimes courage is admitting, “I’m tired today.” Sometimes faith is allowing someone else to help.

My wife keeps reminding me, “It takes as long as it takes. By God’s grace, you’re going to get through this. Be gentle with yourself.”

I need those words. I remind myself this is another adventure. Another chapter. Another story that someday I hope to tell from the other side. This, too, shall pass.

Meanwhile, I’m learning something deeper about expectation.

The Bible says: “Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13).

God does not ask me to pretend cancer is easy. He does not ask me to deny the aches, ignore the fatigue, or act as though I never feel afraid. He fills me with His hope. Biblical hope is eager expectation. And He asks me to put my expectation in Him.

“My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation is from Him” (Psalm 62:5).

My expectation cannot rest in my own strength or in how tough I can be. It cannot rest in my ability to cowboy up and push through another day. It cannot even rest entirely in doctors, medicine, hormone therapy, or radiation—as grateful as I am for them.

My expectation is from God.

I do not know what every remaining treatment will bring or how I will feel tomorrow. But I know Who will be there. The God who was with me when the word “cancer” first entered the conversation is the same God who will walk with me through every treatment and every uncertain day.

So I will do my part. I will show up. I will follow the doctors’ instructions. I will rest when needed. I will receive the love people give me.

And when I come to the end of my strength, I expect Him to keep His promise: “… My strength is made perfect in weakness …” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

I’m counting on God. Because He was faithful yesterday. He is faithful today. And whatever tomorrow brings, I have eager expectations of His love and faithfulness.