Meet Me in the Fire

I want to rush this season of cancer. All of it.

I want to be on the other side of this diagnosis already. I want answers, resolution, healing. I want to figure out every lesson this cancer is supposed to teach me, learn it quickly, and move on. Rip the bandaid off. Let’s get this over with.

But healing does not seem to operate on the timeline I would choose.

Years ago, one of my favorite songs was Whatever It Takes by Imagine Dragons. There’s a line that always stayed with me:

“Break me down and build me up.”

At the time, I think I loved it because it sounded strong. Resilient. Unstoppable.

Now those words feel different.

Cancer has a way of stripping away the illusion that strength means pushing harder or moving faster. I cannot force my body to heal overnight. I cannot demand certainty from doctors or timelines from God. I can do everything in my power to pursue healing — and I am — but ultimately I am still held in the merciful hands of my Creator.

And maybe that is what I am relearning in all of this:

That transformation is rarely instant.

The deepest work God does in us usually happens slowly. Quietly. Through perseverance. Through surrender. Through walking straight through fires we would have done almost anything to avoid.

I have spent years praying dangerous prayers without fully realizing it.

Lord, set me on fire for You.
Make me bold.
Remove my fear.
Teach me to stop shrinking myself to make other people comfortable.

I think I imagined that kind of transformation would feel inspiring. Victorious. Immediate.

I never imagined it might also feel like refinement.

But fire does not only illuminate.
It also purifies.

And maybe that is the harder, holier work happening here — not simply getting me to the other side of cancer, but becoming someone more surrendered, more courageous, more alive while walking through it.

Not rushing through the fire.
But allowing God to meet me within it.