How We Saw God’s Goodness Through Our Child’s Cancer

To encounter profound suffering is to wrestle with isolation. From Job’s seat in the ashes to your neighbor’s loss, news of suffering often includes a struggle to connect.

Our family’s cancer journey was like that. We felt alone. And we sensed disconnection—even helplessness—from people who heard the news.

Childhood cancer is a blessedly uncommon experience, but navigating pain is inherent to life in a fallen world. When we encounter others’ pain, we have a “Good Samaritan choice”—to step forward and show compassion or to walk away.

Nightmare

Our 3-year-old son, Ben, had an unexplained illness. After a week in the hospital, we were ushered into an ICU conference room full of doctors and nurses. They delivered the news: “Your son has cancer.” One of the nurses was crying before they even said a word.

Our family is from Washington, DC, but we were about 10,000 miles from home. We’d been serving as missionaries in Costa Rica, yet we weren’t there either. On that January day, we were in a hospital in Sydney, Australia, on our dream trip—a family Christmas in summertime. It was quickly becoming a nightmare.

The days after the diagnosis were filled with rapid changes. We couldn’t go back to Costa Rica. Returning to DC was almost impossible. The Ronald McDonald House was our new home. My daughter started kindergarten at a new school, in a new country. She drew a picture of her family. There was no home, garden, or pets—just a hospital bed.

Over the next six months, Ben endured 96 nights in the hospital, 25 general anesthetics, and chemotherapy so strong it could blind or even kill an adult. He was traveling through the metaphorical valley of the shadow of death, and it was decorated with bright colors and superhero stickers.

May 22 is a day we still celebrate in our family as “no more chemo day.” Ben took his final dose of chemotherapy, and we rejoiced with a trip to McDonald’s and a chocolate cake.

Despite the celebration, the years ahead held mortal peril. His doctor told us relapse was a risk without a treatment plan. All we could do was watch and wait. Ben was immunocompromised for the years that followed, extending into the 2020s when the disruption of a health crisis—previously rare—became globally mundane.

Today, Ben’s body still carries the scars of his cancer and the side effects of the lifesaving treatment he received. But he’s a survivor. To any passerby, he looks like an ordinary 12-year-old boy.

My wife and I have scars too. But we also carry the lessons the Lord taught us along the way. Those lessons are available to all believers as we encounter the pain of others.

Here are three that stand out.

1. You can’t depend on people.

Suffering has an odd way of resetting relationships. We saw it repeatedly, in our experience and with other cancer families we met. The apparent uniqueness of the suffering—and the emotional reactions it stirred—drove some people away. They wouldn’t, or couldn’t, step close and walk with us.

However, those people stepping away opened the door to gospel opportunities for us. Australian hospitals rarely have private rooms, so we spent most of our 96 nights sharing rooms with people from diverse cultures and faiths. As other people pulled back from them, we were able to step forward and hold out the hope of the gospel in a dark and hopeless place.

2. You can depend on people.

While some in our life pulled away, others chose to pull close. We were thousands of miles from our church family, but people still found ways to care for us. When we shared the news about Ben’s illness, our Facebook post reached more than 15,000 people around the world.

It wasn’t the eyeballs that made a difference but the thoughtful actions. Local believers jumped into action with a meal roster. Costa Rican friends translated our English updates to equip our Spanish-speaking friends to pray. American friends prepared care packages, sent encouraging texts, and came to visit.

For every person who had pulled away, we were blessed by more who pulled close with gestures—large and small—to encourage and support us.

3. God will use suffering to demonstrate his sovereign care.

John Piper memorably said that “God is always doing 10,000 things in your life, and you may be aware of three of them.” From the oncology ward, it felt like our awareness grew to 10! There was a late-night delivery of goldfish crackers, the miraculous provision of a cheese pizza, and countless answers to prayer as the treatment progressed.

For every person who had pulled away, we were blessed by more who pulled close.

But it wasn’t in the good moments when God’s care was most evident. It was in the dark moments, often at night, when we were unsure if our son would survive. Feeling isolated and alone, we stared around the cold hospital room—and God showed up, again and again. He comforted our hearts, he led us to passages in his Word, and he provided text messages of encouragement at just the right time. We’re deeply thankful that the Lord spared our boy, but his goodness was most evident when we didn’t know if he would.

Hope for Next Time

When you look beneath the surface of our unique journey with cancer, you see a universal human journey through pain and uncertainty. We can all learn a lesson here.

When you see people in your life encountering “unique” suffering, don’t pull away. Instead, pull close. Ask how you can pray for them. Text them with a verse. Bring a meal. Keep showing up.

As you look for practical ways to serve, bring eyes looking for God’s sovereign care. Whether the news is good or bad, you’ll find him working there.