I'm in the hospital

Due to uncontrolled nausea, I came to the Emergency Department early this morning.

My doctors have made the decision to admit me.

I'll update more when I can.

I’m going to continue to live

Good morning, Everyone.

It's now been a few days since I went to the ER and finally had to admit the pain I was experiencing was more than I could push through and that over-the-counter medications were no longer enough. The CT scan performed that morning confirmed what my body had already been telling me: the disease is progressing.

In many ways, this was a turning point.

For the first time, I had to acknowledge that this season has changed. I have always avoided prescription pain medication whenever possible, but I also realized something important. Pain management isn't simply about reducing suffering. It's about protecting the things that matter—the things that make me who I am for as long as I am able. Walking Wrightsville Beach in the morning. Heading to Florida over the weekend to work with some of my favorite people at Concilium. Spending time with people I love here in Wilmington. Enjoying the gifts God continues to place in front of me each day.

That realization has been freeing.

Over the last few days, I've been asking the Lord one simple question: "Father, what does faithfulness look like with the time I have?"

I don't know how many days lie ahead. None of us really do. But I know this: today is a gift.

So I'm going to keep writing. I'm preparing my first devotional, Fear Is Not My Future, for publication. I'm continuing work on the second book in the series. I'm making plans for August, September and even Christmas because I would rather prepare with hope than wait with fear. I'll continue to travel as I am able. I'll keep showing up at Wrightsville Beach each morning for as long as my body allows.

I'm going to continue to live.

On the home page of my website are these words: "I do not know what the days ahead will bring, but I am determined to live them with as much grace and enthusiasm as possible."

I needed those words when I wrote them in 2023. I need them even more today.

They remind me of the heart posture I chose when my first recurrence was diagnosed, and they continue to call me back to that same place of trust. I'm also understanding more fully, day by day, that faithfulness is not measured by how long we live. It is measured by how we receive and steward whatever the Lord places in our hands while we have time.

That is what I want to do. I want to steward my life well.

Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for encouraging me. Thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts with you.

I continue to believe what I have believed from the beginning.

Fear is not my future.

Christ is.

Just when we think we have plans in place . . .

Plans are made. Plans change. In Proverbs 16:9, the Bible says:

“We can make our plans, but the LORD determines our steps.”

The truth of that in regard to my health care became apparent this week when both my blood work and my CT scan showed continued progression of disease despite four rounds of chemotherapy. I met with Dr. Robinson and his PA yesterday, and it was decided that there is no valid reason to proceed with chemotherapy as it is not having the desired palliative effect.

What’s next? We are not yet certain. A number of options have been discussed. I will have a telehealth visit with Dr. Rossi on Monday and another appointment with Dr. Robinson on Thursday, June 25. I hope to have a plan in place by this time next week.

I recently did a genetic profile with the Target Cancer Foundation’s TRACK study, and we will likely choose one of the options they recommended. Dr. Robinson is willing to try an option that he has not used for GCT before. I appreciate both his compassion and willingness to think outside the box.

I love this quote, and I want it to define how I live in the days ahead:

“The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”

— Jack London

Thank you to all of you who continue to pray and reach out to me. I know the prayers of the saints are what sustain me day by day and give me this deep peace that even I don’t comprehend.

MRI, Cold Capping, and Chemo

The results of the MRI of my head yielded normal results. 🙌

My hair, though thinner and wilder, is still holding on. 🙌

I feel much better than I did last week. 🙌

We're on track for Round 4 on June 8. 🙌

Chemo. Round 2. Week 2.

Side effects have been minimal this time around, and I was able to spend this week ministering out of state.

I'm so thankful.

Chemo. Round 1. Day 6.

Highs

• Running at the beach this morning

• A sweet “chemo care kit” from Wallaby Windows of Coastal Carolina which just did our window installation in the living room

• Having the coconut kefir that I “like” (Does anyone actually like kefir?)

• Ginger candies from Rachel and lunch with her at Drift

Lows

Persistent low-grade nausea (and yes, I could take Zofran or another one of the three anti-nausea meds that were prescribed, but I would prefer to avoid them as they have their own side effects)

---

Countdown to Chemo. Stop #7

POV: Run a half marathon with a critical care nurse. That person will get you to the finish line. 5/5 recommend that medical professional be your own son.

The Myrtle Beach Half Marathon 2026 is in the books, and it was a great time.

The next stop on my Countdown to Chemo is tomorrow, and I can hardly wait.

A faith with no coincidence

I was walking the beach this morning, praying through the thoughts in my mind, when this song came up on my playlist. I listened once and hit repeat. And then hit repeat again.

Burning Bushes

(Gullahorn/Kinney)

I've never seen a dead man come to life or seen a blind man get his sight.
I've never seen water turned to wine.
It isn't that I don't believe but it would be easier for me if you would just send down a sign.

I remember the childlike innocence.
A faith with no coincidence.
The world around was living proof.
Has that world just disappeared or is it me that isn't clear how to recognize it’s you.

I walk through the water and the waves looking for a drop of rain but you're still not coming through.
Maybe its new eyes that I need or maybe it takes more faith to see I'm drowning in the truth.

Chorus:
I'm praying for a miracle to let me know you're listening.
Waiting for a lightning bolt to strike.
Walking through a garden of a thousand burning bushes looking up to heaven for a sign.

---

As I was thinking about “It isn’t that I don’t believe, but it would be easier for me, if you would just send down a sign” - asking myself what it looks like to ask God for a sign, what it means to see that sign for myself, I saw the most beautiful shark’s tooth in the sand. In fact, I had walked right past it before I processed what I had seen and had to turn to go back and pick it up.

I was reminded of a conversation from over a year ago with my friend, Jenni, when she asked me, “What is God trying to teach you through these sharks’ teeth?”

I remember laughing a bit when she asked me that question, but this morning I realize that on the very morning I was thinking about asking for a sign, it was there.