There’s a peculiar loneliness, shock, weariness in hearing the words, “You have cancer.” It sets you apart from the world you thought you knew. Suddenly, you live between scan results and hopeful prayers, trying to cling to faith while everyone else seems to want you to act “encouraged” and “normal,” even as your body and life are anything but normal.
It’s strange how fast people want to make your pain smaller. Some will say, “Well, we’re all going to die someday,” as if that somehow means you shouldn’t be afraid or hurt or weary. None of us knows the day or the hour, but there’s something different about staring at your mortality through the lens of a diagnosis. The words may be meant to comfort, but often they only add to the weight. You wonder, Do they not see me?
And then there are the well-intentioned lectures. Take the meds. Drink the medicines. Swallow the vitamins. Eat, even when you can’t. They hand you a list and then walk away with their lives intact, while you’re left feeling like a failing science experiment if you can’t keep up with all the advice. The pressure to perform, to look “encouraged,” to act like you’re winning a battle when sometimes the scan says otherwise, can feel suffocating.
You want to believe God has healed you. Some days, that faith comes easily. Other days, it’s hard to muster the hope. Especially when people around you want “victory stories,” not the honest story of what hurts and where you’re still waiting for God to show up. You wonder, How do I respond? Am I letting God down if I’m not upbeat?
Let’s get honest, faith is not pretending. It’s not slapping on a smile while you’re bleeding on the inside. Jesus Himself, in the garden, sweated drops of blood and asked if the cup could pass. Faith doesn’t mean denial; it means trust, even when the answer isn’t what you hoped for.
Don’t pretend. God is not asking you to put on a brave face for Him, or for anyone else. You don’t have to convince yourself or anyone else that you’re feeling great, that you’re full of faith, or that you’ve got it all together. God already knows you. He sees you exactly as you are, right now, and loves you. Bring your real self, your real questions, and your real faith, which isn’t about positive thinking or emotional gymnastics. It’s trusting the love of God, especially when you don’t understand what’s happening, and when every feeling inside wants to give up. Not because you’re strong, but because God is. Not because you’re never afraid, but because God never lets you go.
God’s love is not on the other side of your cancer, your pain, or your struggle. His love is right here, right now, in the waiting room, in the hard news, in the confusion and the fear. You’re not asked to “climb up” to where God is, but to realize He has already come down to you. And He’s not leaving.
God never calls you to walk through the storm alone. The same Lord who allowed the trial has promised to walk with you every step of the way. When you are afraid, confused, or weary, He is not disappointed in you. He understands your weakness, and He never expects you to be stronger than you are. He only asks that you lean on Him, just as a child leans on a father’s steady hand.
Prayer isn’t a performance or a way to change God’s mind; it’s simply coming to your Father, just as you are, and letting Him love you. When the world minimizes your pain or pushes you to “act encouraged,” you don’t have to play along. Instead, you can rest in the assurance that God’s love is not dependent on how you feel or what others expect. He loves you because you are His.
Obey God and leave all the consequences to Him. That doesn’t mean stuffing your feelings or pretending everything is fine, it means doing what you know to do: trusting God, taking the next step (even if it’s a tiny one), and leaving the rest in His hands. If that means crying out to Him in fear or frustration, do it. If it means being honest with your friends about how hard things are, do that too. God is big enough for all your questions and strong enough to hold you up, no matter how shaky you feel.
No diagnosis, no disappointment, and no loneliness can separate you from the presence and care of your Heavenly Father.
When it comes to interacting with others, it’s okay to set boundaries. You don’t have to put on a show for anyone. If you can’t be the “encouraging patient” today, that’s okay. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is simply show up for another day.
You don’t get to choose the circumstances, but you do get to choose your attitude. As John Maxwell often says, “Sometimes you win, sometimes you learn.” Even on the days when you don’t feel victorious, you are learning what it means to lean on grace, to accept help, to let God carry you when you can’t carry yourself.
You don’t have to be great to start, but you have to start to be great. Some days, starting is just getting out of bed or asking God for enough faith to make it to your next appointment. That’s enough.
So, how should a believer respond when the world wants you to minimize your journey, or act like everything’s fine when it isn’t? Respond with honesty, humility, and hope. Refuse to let shame or comparison rob you of the right to grieve, to rest, to heal in your own time. You are not a problem to be fixed, you’re a person to be loved by God, by others, and by yourself.
If you feel small, tired, or unseen today, remember this: God’s love isn’t measured by your performance, your positivity, or even the outcome of your next scan. He loves you now, in the valley, just as much as He ever did. There’s grace for the hard days, not just the hopeful ones.
If you need permission not to have it all together, here it is. God’s strength is made perfect in weakness, and you don’t have to pretend. You can breathe. You can rest. You can cry. And you can trust that God sees you, loves you, and walks with you—even when nobody else understands.
You are safe to be exactly where you are. That’s the only place where grace can meet you.
You don’t have to carry this alone. Lean on God, and let Him carry you through, one step at a time.