Yesterday when I came home from teaching at MCC, I sat on the family room couch not only to relax, but also to do some reading for class instruction. Unease swept me away into a river of anxiety, one I didn’t see coming and one where I couldn’t get grounded. I tried to ignore it and just kept working. As I lay in bed watching television later in the evening, something triggered my memory. I looked at Facebook on my phone and my oncologist, Dr. Gamal Eltabbakh, posted a new profile picture of himself and his dog.  I remembered. It was the seventeen year anniversary of my diagnosis: Stage 3 Borderline Ovarian Cancer.

I learned some memories are held deep within the subconscious mind, hence my earlier anxiety.

The experiences in the weeks following my surgery and the months of chemotherapy lingered in my thoughts during the twilight hour, the time just before dawn when you are somewhat awake but not quite there. One truth remains the hallmark of my cancer journey: I wouldn’t trade the moments of utter abandonment to self and reliance on God for anything. I certainly wouldn’t want to go through the surgery and chemotherapy again, but the worth of those precious moments I spent on my knees cannot be forgotten.

I found a supernatural strength I didn’t know existed. My determination to live and breathe and have my being came from my faith in God. I learned to cast my cares upon him when the chemotherapy sucked the life out of me, when I went into anaphylactic shock from my allergy to the very drug meant to save my life, and when my long blonde hair lay in clumps on my pillow. I learned to weep at the feet of Jesus. Honestly, it was the only place I could be. I didn’t wash his feet with my hair. I didn’t have any, but I still embraced his feet with humility because his grace sustained me in every waking moment. Like a child, I sat upon the lap of my father God and listened to his heartbeat until mine begin to beat in sync with his. I no longer had the title of the woman who fell from grace, my badge of shame. God’s grace helped me to live, to breathe, and to fight.

I learned that my sanctuary, my bed, became a sacred place, more so than walking into the church I loved. My prayer closet, under my covers, is where I encountered holiness, not that I had any in me. Honestly, I experienced the true holiness of God in my quietness and reliance on Him.

Where does this remembrance take me? I can’t imagine trading my experience for anything of worldly value. I wouldn’t want cancer again, but I would welcome His divine presence. The night I went into shock, I felt Jesus in the room. The tangible experience of love is more than the human mind can fathom, but I have an awesome God who let me experience it firsthand without dying. My divine encounter will stay with me till my last dying breath. I am not afraid to die. In those brief moments, I felt the embrace of Jesus. He held me in his arms, cradling me in his comfort as hospital personnel panicked around my bed. How could I ever forget such an amazing experience?

My life changing moments is meant to encourage you. Have any of my readers experienced the divine presence of God? If so, let me know. Sharing is building faith and community. Let’s do it.