The Longest Walk: Faith in the Shadow of the Scan
There is a specific kind of exhaustion that sleep cannot fix. It is the exhaustion born of the spirit, a weight that settles into the bones when the future hangs on a doctor’s phone call or a manila folder sitting on a nurse’s station. For Jason and Brittney Roberts, and most of all for their son, Will, last night was not a time for rest. It was a time of vigils. It was a time where the hum of the air conditioner felt too loud, and the ticking of the clock felt too slow.
In Ralph, Alabama, the sunrise today didn’t just bring light; it brought the heavy reality of “The Day.” Three days ago, Will—a young man whose strength has become a beacon for his community—underwent extensive scans to monitor his ongoing battle with bone cancer. Today, the waiting room of the mind gives way to the consultation room of the clinic. Today is the day the data is translated into a plan, and the unknown is carved into a path forward.
The Weight of the Wait
For anyone who has ever sat in the “waiting” phase of a medical crisis, you know that time becomes elastic. Three days can feel like three decades. Every vibration of a smartphone causes a jolt of adrenaline. Every silence from the medical team is filled with the mind’s own projections—sometimes hopeful, often fearful.
Will has been fighting bone cancer with a tenacity that defies his years. But bone cancer is a thief that doesn’t just steal health; it tries to steal peace. It forces a family to live in two-week or three-month intervals, punctuated by the high-stakes drama of “the scan.”
Today’s meeting between Jason, Brittney, and the medical team is about more than just images on a screen. It is about the “what now.” It is about looking at what the cancer has done and what the science can do in response. Will there be a new treatment? Is the current path holding the line? Or is there a need for a radical shift in strategy? These are the questions that keep a parent’s eyes open at 3:00 a.m., staring at the ceiling and bargaining with the universe.
A Fortress Built of Faith
If you know the Roberts family, you know that while they respect the science, they do not worship it. They are a family of deep, abiding, and unshakable faith. In Ralph, their story isn’t just one of medical struggle; it is a testimony of spiritual endurance.
To the Roberts family, prayer isn’t a “last resort” or a superstitious ritual. It is a lifeline. It is the belief that while the doctors look at the scans, there is a higher Great Physician who looks at the soul. They believe deeply in the power of collective prayer—the idea that when hundreds, or thousands, of hearts beat in sync for one cause, the atmosphere changes.
There is a peculiar peace that comes when you realize you cannot control the outcome, but you can control who you trust with that outcome. Brittney has been a transparent warrior on this journey, sharing the “Brittney Battles Roberts” updates not for attention, but for community. She knows that every like, every heart, and every “Amen” left in the comments section is like a virtual hand placed on her shoulder, reminding her that they aren’t walking this valley alone.
The Science of Encouragement
We often underestimate the power of a simple comment. We think, “It’s just a Facebook post,” or “My words won’t change the scan results.” But yhe medical results are only half the battle. The other half is the mental and emotional stamina of the caregivers and the patient.
When Jason and Brittney sit in that office today, their phones will be in their pockets, buzzing with notifications. Each buzz represents a person in Alabama, or across the country, who stopped their busy day to think of Will. That cumulative energy creates a “calm” that doctors cannot prescribe. It is the science of encouragement: knowing that you are loved makes the news—whatever it is—easier to carry.
Waiting for test results is a special kind of trial. It is a purgatory of the heart. By leaving an encouraging word, we aren’t just being “nice”; we are actively helping to regulate the nervous system of a family under extreme pressure. We are helping to lower the heart rate of a mother who is terrified for her child. We are helping to steady the hands of a father who has to be the rock.
Standing in the Gap
As we move through this morning, we are essentially “standing in the gap” for Will. We are holding the light while they walk through a dark tunnel. Will Roberts has shown us what it looks like to fight with dignity. He has shown us that cancer might attack the bone, but it cannot touch the spirit if that spirit is anchored in something greater.
Today, the doctors will speak. They will use clinical terms, they will show graphs, and they will suggest medications. But the final word on Will’s life isn’t written on a scan. It is written in the love of his family and the prayers of his community.
Jason and Brittney, if you are reading this: Ralph is with you. The community of faith is with you. We are sitting in that waiting room with you in spirit. We are holding our breath with you, and we are ready to exhale whenever you are.
To the rest of us: Don’t let this be just another post you scroll past. Stop. Breathe. Type a word of life into the comments. Let Will know that his “Army” is awake and on duty.
Later today, the results may come. There may be a new mountain to climb, or there may be a valley of rest ahead. Regardless of the report, the mission remains the same: We stay grateful, we stay faithful, and we keep moving forward.
Will, today the world is praying for your peace. Jason and Brittney, today the world is praying for your strength. The scans see the cells, but we see the hero.
