The Big G and the Big C: Wrestling With Faith After a Cancer Diagnosis

When you’re told that you have terminal cancer, your thoughts inevitably turn to God, Heaven, and the afterlife. Far more than you’d like them to. Those nagging thoughts are ever present when confronted with your own mortality. A “no cure,” stage IV diagnosis makes you question everything—your faith, the concept of God, and what really happens to us after we die.

I didn’t grow up attending church regularly, even though my mother was a “PK”—a preacher’s kid raised by a Protestant minister. We belonged to our local United Church, but my memories of involvement are hazy. I recall singing in the choir at Christmas and attending holiday services. I also remember making crafts with other kids and then enjoying treats in the church basement. But I’ve never owned a Bible, nor have I read one in its entirety. As a family, we never said grace before meals or even spoke about God.

I believe my mom struggled with her own understanding of spirituality and the church. In her later years, before she passed away in 2021, she became involved in her local congregation. A talented quilter and crafter, she contributed her creations to the church bazaar. She discovered A Course in Miracles, which deeply resonated with her, and she hosted discussions at her home to share the wisdom she found in these teachings. I suspect that, because she was raised in the church, she sought a way to reconnect with her faith, even though her path was complex and personal.

Perhaps in an effort to introduce some religion into my life, when I was 12, my parents signed me up for 2 weeks at a Christian summer camp in Ontario, Canada. This camp was known for its emphasis on water sports, luxury accommodations, and a heavy focus on prayer and God. It was my first eye-opening encounter with born-again Christianity—a place where the message was clear and uncompromising: You must accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior NOW, or face eternal damnation in the burning fire of hell. Frightened, I vividly remember speaking aloud, “Please God, show me the way. I don’t want to burn for eternity!” So, I accepted Jesus into my heart.

Upon returning home from camp, my thoughts of God and Christianity slowly dimmed from my daily life, until I returned to camp the following summer. Like a jolt of lightning, once again, the same message of fear and urgency echoed in my ears: “You are not worthy of eternal love unless you embrace this path.” Fear and the guilt of my failed commitment to Christ instantly resurged. And the pattern once again repeated.

In retrospect, the consternation of all-or-nothing salvation and subscribing to an unforgiving God did not sit well with me, then or now. I’ve never been a follower. I’m not comfortable with fear-based practices, whether they be based on religion or any other type of ideology. I think my experience at summer camp effectively pushed me further away from trying to understand God in a meaningful and loving way. That was the last time I went to camp. As time passed, so did my connection with any form of religion, and my relationship with God faded as well.

It’s not that I don’t believe in God, the Universe, or a higher power. I absolutely do! I am a very spiritual person. I believe in life after death. I believe that our souls are the true essence of who we are. I believe that our loved ones, in spirit, remain ever present, divinely guiding us as we move through life. My beloved dad has sent me countless signs from Heaven. Stories so remarkable they defy explanation, other than the fact that, despite his passing, he remains near me, making his presence known. These glimpses into a realm beyond our own provide me with great comfort and peace. To me, they are the proof I need to feel assured that we are deeply loved and that our lives continue beyond our physical bodies.

This peace, I imagine, is similar to what people experience by attending church or in their own relationship with God. I don’t question a peaceful and loving transition to a higher plane—what most people call Heaven. I’m not afraid to die; I just don’t want to die and leave this physical world behind. I’m too young. I’m not ready! There’s still so much I want to see and do. Most importantly, I want more time to experience future milestones with my husband, my children, and my extended family and friends. Who doesn’t want that?

When you’re diagnosed with cancer, you hear the phrase “You are in my prayers” often. While the sentiment is sweet and comforting in an otherwise chaotic and fearful time, you can’t help but wonder…surely, God hears these prayers and will respond with an unshakeable certainty of healing and restoration. Right? Sadly, it doesn’t work that way.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer in 2020, a high school friend of mine, who became a devout Christian in his early 20s, emphatically told me that “the reason people get cancer, or any other illness for that matter, is because their souls are not right with God.” I explained to him that I didn’t believe that was true. However, once that seed is planted, it’s hard to stop it from taking root, especially when facing a life-threatening illness.

He began praying for me and sending me daily quotes of inspiration and devotion. And despite my better judgment, I found myself silently questioning whether God was screaming at me through this illness to “get right with Him” before it was too late.

If I align with you, God, and do everything you ask of me, will I be saved and cured of this wretched disease? Throughout the nearly 5 years I’ve been in this battle, I’ve had many people, from friends to strangers, tell me that God is the only way toward healing, if only I would just believe. And each time, I feel myself spiraling back to that 12-year-old girl at summer camp, fearful that my faith, or lack thereof, has somehow contributed to my current plight.

I recently read a heartbreaking article by a mother who lost her 14-year-old daughter to a rare form of liver cancer. The daughter painfully asked her mother, “What did I do to deserve this? Why does God hate me so much?” It’s unimaginable! I just can’t fathom hearing those questions from your own child. And yet I admit, I’ve asked myself the exact same questions! Why does one person triumphantly announce, “Praise God, Jesus healed me of my cancer!” while somebody else begs and pleads to God for a healing miracle that never comes? Simply, it comes down to biology and whether or not you have the genes or mutations that will respond to the current medications available. I believe Jesus doesn’t pick and choose whom He wants to help, who is worthy of salvation based on who is most faithful. My rational mind, along with that mother’s from the article, knows that we did NOTHING to deserve this. God loves us infinitely and unconditionally.

People often say to me that “God will never give you more than you can handle,” or “God only gives the hardest battles to the strongest soldiers.” It’s nice to think that there is so much faith in my ability to triumphantly rise above this life-threatening disease because through prayer, God will reward me and sustain me. God, the challenge has become too great! Please, ease my burden and heal me! Please hear my prayer!

At the end of 2024, right before Christmas, I received the devastating news that my breast cancer had spread beyond my lungs to multiple other places in my body. Just 6 weeks prior, everything was relatively stable, and my oncologist was pleasantly encouraged. Six weeks! This disease is unrelenting and unforgiving. The summit that once seemed attainable is now distant. Now, I feel like I am swimming in the ocean, desperately trying to get to shore, but the current is too strong and is relentlessly pulling me back out to sea.

I don’t know what my future holds or how much time I have left. I don’t know if there will come a day when I no longer want to endure the pain and suffering without the desired result. For now, I persevere through the treatment and sickness hoping for brighter days and more time with my loved ones. I ask the Universe for clarity amidst the confusion and for sunshine-filled days after the storm.

I know God hears me. I know God loves me. And I also know that I may not be one of the lucky ones who achieve long-term remission or a cure. That doesn’t mean I don’t continue to pray to my spirit guides, to my angels, and to God for advancements in science and for miracles that continue to give me hope for more beautiful days!

And if that day comes when the mountain is just too steep, the climb too heavy and exhausting, and my legs can no longer carry me, I know that God, and all of my loved ones who have left before me, will welcome me home.