Recently, my oldest overheard my tears as I cried in my room. He came immediately. He does that these days, my Ash, arm around me, bending his head to my shoulder.


That’s all he has to say. I know the fear in his voice.

I shook my head and laughed sheepishly. No, I wasn’t crying over more bad news. I don’t know any biopsy results. I looked up at him and told him I was crying over conflict. That I was struggling over my heart and how to respond, that I was angry and hurt and praying for a humble heart. He grinned, “You want to be spiteful, don’t you?” Oh, he knows me so well. Yes. I wanted to lash out, to respond in spite.

“See, Ash,” I said, “Just because you grow up doesn’t mean you don’t still have to deal with relationship issues.” I looked up at him. “It’s constant, this sanctification thing. And see,” I laughed, “Your mama’s nowhere near perfect even though I think I’d like to be.” (Which I really wouldn’t, because then I wouldn’t need Jesus, and y’all, I’d be the most insufferable perfect person on the planet.)

He eyes sparkled as he shook his head, “After all these years…I never knew.” I punched him playfully on the arm as he hugged me again and headed back to his room to finish the vast multitude of homework he has this year, and my heart smiled at the interaction… at the fact that we are safe with each other even when the world around us feels so unsafe.



That’s how I’ve been feeling this week. So much has happened. A biopsy on Wednesday that they started, but after I had a major panic attack they had to reschedule. Friday we went back in for the procedure under sedation… sedation which didn’t take. The nurse told me she gave me enough meds to make a 300 lb. quarterback snooze for hours. Not me. Nope. My heart rate did slow from 125 to 80, so it did calm me some, but I felt everything, all seven of the needles. The doctor had trouble because of the amount of scar tissue in my neck, but she got good samples and now we wait for pathology. I am stiff and sore and bruised, but I am healing.

And y’all, I get to do it all over again this coming Friday for the spot in my abdomen. Yep another biopsy, but they can’t reach it from the front because of all the organs in the abdomen, so they’ll have to go from the back. Yes. Sticking a needle from my back to my front. I. Am. Terrified. They did say they learned a lot about me and what my body could tolerate, so they are going to handle sedation differently, so would y’all pray that I am completely under and can’t feel or remember this procedure?



The nights are so long and dark. I don’t sleep well and I am anxious for all the procedures. I haven’t even begun to process the results of those procedures, because the panic of them overwhelms. I am emotionally weary.

A dear friend recently brought me coffee and sat with me for an afternoon. She had sad, hard news to share about the lives of people we know and love. “Do you want to hear?” she asked me, not wanting to weigh me down with more. I told her I wanted to know. I want to care about more than myself and my struggle. I want to pray and bear burdens of those I love.

And the darkness of the night eases as I bring them all before the One Who cares intimately for us. And as I pour out to Him all of this brokenness, I know I am safe, even when the darkness makes me feel otherwise.


I write on my children’s lunch napkins every day. Sometimes it’s a quote. Sometimes just a love note. Sometimes a pun. Sometimes an encouragement as they face a test. Sometimes a Bible verse. Last week I wrote, “The name of the Lord is a strong tower, the righteous run to Him and are safe.” I encouraged them to run to Him, that He is safety.



This world is. Cancer is. Suffering is.

I feel it.

But I am not.

I wrote in my last post of my longing to have my gaze fixed on Jesus. A dear friend from my youth, who along with her husband does not close her eyes at night without praying for my family and me, wrote to me of how even better is that His gaze is fixed on me. I wept over those words.

His gaze is on us.

I am safe.

The waves of the world’s tides crash and surge and toss us to and fro, but He holds us fast.

We sang of this in church yesterday, and I couldn’t make it through the words. And as my Bella wrapped her arms around me, and my Bear grabbed my hands, I listened as they sang beside me… Though I fear my faith will fail, Christ will hold me fast… Hearing their sweet voices sing truth next to me is one of the most beautiful memories I will hold. I have been carrying this (one of my favorite hymns) in my heart ever since.

I am safe.

My Savior loves me so.

He will hold me fast.

4 responses to “Unsafe”

  1. Our ever loving Father WILL hold you fast. I pray for you and this fear you speak of . I know the fear but not as long as you’ve endured. I will pray for peace to take hold of your heart and that you would feel HIS hand in yours and HIS arms around you as you go through the next biopsy.


  2. Love that song! I’m so sorry, Angie. That is not a good way to feel. You are safe though and I pray you will feel that more and more and heaven will be so glorious won’t it? We sang Glorious Day this past Sunday! When we are in heaven I want to hug you! Love and prayers!!!


    Praying for you and your sweet family.
    Va. B


  4. Oh dear sweet Angie, My heart aches for you and all you have suffered. Thank you for being so transparent and sharing your journey. It is such a privilege to lift you up to our Father. You may not know what I’ve been through with my divorce and the pain it still gives me. Your words of faith have given me strengtmany many times when I’ve struggled trying to comprehend why this, why us? Fear is the number one foe but our God is the fear conquerer. This prayer warrior is going to battle for you!!


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