There is a unique kind of vulnerability that comes with a 24-hour fast. It begins as a physical challenge—the stomach growling, the energy dipping—but it quickly transforms into something much deeper. It becomes a stripping away of the noise. When you remove the distraction of food, you are forced to sit with your thoughts, your fears, and your faith.
For Will and me, this past day was a journey through that desert. We made it through the 24 hours of fasting, but I won’t lie to you: we were counting down the minutes to 9:00 p.m. like it was New Year’s Eve. There was a sense of celebration in those two short hours between 9:00 and 11:00 p.m. We snacked slowly, soaking in every bite, tasting the goodness of simple things. We knew the clock was ticking, and at exactly 11:00 p.m., the “fast” would begin again in final preparation for the surgeon’s knife.
The Discipline of the Soul
In this journey with cancer, so much is out of our control. We cannot control the cell counts, the reaction to chemo, or the timing of the surgeries. Because of that, we’ve decided to focus on what we can control: our discipline.
This time around, we are trying to be more intentional—not just physically, but spiritually. It is a choice to trust that even when we are hungry, even when we are physically exhausted and mentally scared, God is still filling us. We are learning that nourishment doesn’t always come from a plate. Sometimes, it comes in the form of a peace that settles over a hospital room, a peace that defies logic and overrides the anxiety of what tomorrow might bring.
The Tools of Survival: Dominoes and Prayer
How do you pass the time when the weight of “tomorrow” is pressing down on you? For us, it was the simple things. A game of dominoes. A whispered prayer. A few snatches of sleep when the world felt quiet enough to let us rest.
These aren’t just hobbies; they are lifelines. In the middle of uncertainty, a game of dominoes becomes a battleground of normalcy. It’s a way for Will to be a teenager again, to be competitive, to laugh, and to forget—if only for a moment—the gown he’s wearing and the battle he’s fighting. Today, Will was in “rare form.” He was full of life, full of that signature personality that has carried him through the darkest days of this year. Seeing him laugh today was a gift from God, a reminder that the “prison camp” might hold his body, but it can never touch his spirit.
The Reality of Spiritual Growth
I fasted today because I wanted to grow closer to God. I wanted to be the “perfect” pillar of strength. But let’s keep it real: spiritual growth is rarely a straight line.
Will, in his vibrant and mischievous way, tested my patience enough today to make a couple of “less-than-holy” words slip out. I’d like to say I handled every moment with the grace of a saint, but the reality is that I’m a parent in the trenches. My spiritual growth might be slightly delayed by my human reactions to the chaos!
But that is the beauty of the God we serve. He doesn’t wait for us to be perfect to show up. He meets us right where we are—in the middle of the mess, in the middle of the weakness, and yes, even in the middle of the laughter and the slip-ups. He doesn’t demand a polished version of us in the waiting room; He just wants us to be there, leaning on Him.
Game Time: 4:30 AM
As I write this, the house is quiet. The alarms are set for 4:30 a.m. That is “game time.” That is when the preparation ends and the action begins.
Rolling out at that hour feels like going into battle. But we aren’t going in alone. We are rolling out covered in the prayers of a thousand people. We are rolling out with the memory of today’s laughter in our hearts. We are rolling out knowing that the surgeon’s hands are being guided by the Great Physician.
Thank You, God, for the peace You placed over us today instead of worry. Thank You for the togetherness. In the middle of uncertainty, You gave us joy. You gave us a day of life before a day of surgery.
Walking Forward in Faith
Tomorrow, when the sun isn’t even up yet, we will walk through those hospital doors again. We will sign the papers, we will kiss Will’s forehead, and we will watch them wheel him away.
In that moment, we won’t be relying on our own strength—because honestly, we’ve used most of it up. We will be relying on faith. Faith isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the decision to walk forward despite the fear. It’s the belief that 4:30 a.m. isn’t just an early morning; it’s an appointment with a miracle.
Thank you for standing in the gap for us. Thank you for being the village that holds our hands when they shake. We are ready. Will is ready.
Tomorrow, we walk forward—covered in faith.
A Call to Prayer:
Set your alarms with us. At 4:30 a.m., as the world is still dark, let’s light up the heavens with prayers for Will. Pray for the surgeons, pray for the healing, and pray for the peace that surpasses all understanding.
👇 DROP A “🙏” IF YOU’LL BE STANDING WITH WILL AT 4:30 AM!
#WillStrong #SurgeryDay #FaithOverFear #PrayerWarriors #TrustGod #TheFinalStretch #CoveredInFaith #GameTime
