A Sabbath From Cancer - Make it Make Sense

“So the creation of the heavens and the earth and everything in them was completed. On the seventh day God had finished his work of creation, so he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because it was the day when he rested from all his work of creation.” (Genesis 2:1-3, NLT)

“For in six days the LORD made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and everything in them; but on the seventh day he rested. That is why the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and set it apart as holy.” (Exodus 20:11, NLT)

“And the one sitting on the throne said, ’Look, I am making everything new!’ And then he said to me, ’Write this down, for what I tell you is trustworthy and true.’” (Revelation 21:5, NLT)

For most of my life, Sabbath had a familiar pattern. Church in the morning, a stop at the grocery store on the way home, and—depending on the season—football on TV, reading by the fire, or long walks through the neighborhood. Sundays carried a steady rhythm, a pattern that helped me prepare for the week while also slowing down enough to breathe. Sabbath wasn’t dramatic, but it was grounding.

When Clara became sick, all of that disappeared. Suddenly, Sabbath no longer looked like a gentle rhythm of rest. It looked like every other day where I chased down side effects and symptoms. My life had narrowed to one focus: getting through each day. Dinner plans? Unknown. Playdates? Impossible. School events? Overwhelming. Every attempt at planning dissolved into cancellations and disappointment. The choices that had once been simple slipped completely out of reach.

Cancer became the ruler of our household. Its weight pressed on my husband and me constantly. For Clara’s siblings, it was the unease of never knowing who would meet them after school. And for Clara, life was reduced to the exhausting fight of keeping food down and pain at bay. Disease dictated our days, our energy, and even our hope.

There’s a particular hopelessness that settles over a home when you can’t make plans. We survived one day at a time, clinging to the hope that next year—or even next season—might be different. We longed for the day we could make a favorite meal, visit friends on a whim, or stand at the curb to welcome the school bus every afternoon. Yet, in the moment, survival was all that mattered. Each night, when my head finally hit the pillow, relief washed over me that we had made it through one more day.

My worn-out self needed more than a Sabbath from chores or schedules. I needed a Sabbath from cancer.

And that’s when I think I started to understand the bigger theme of restoration. God is going to eliminate cancer – not just for me and my family, but for everyone. He is going to fully restore the world so that there is no longer disease. He will eliminate war. He will comfort us in all the causes of pain and grieving and then eradicate them entirely.

My cry for a Sabbath was joining God’s.

God was faithful in our suffering. In time, He restored many of the things we lost. But His plan is larger than temporary reprieve. He is working toward full restoration: bodies healed, relationships made whole, creation thriving as it was meant to. Someday, the fog of brokenness will lift. Someday, we will walk in His presence without pain, without fear, completely at rest.

Until that day, Sabbath remains more than a pause from busyness. It is an invitation to rest in His reign. And in that, I rest assured.

Reflection: Sabbath isn’t just about slowing down, but about lifting my eyes to God’s character, His creative purpose, and His reign over all things. A Sabbath for me feels complete when I am able to find peace and comfort in the reality that not I, but a good God, reigns. For your next Sabbath, try praying “you are God and I am not.” Get curious with God about how you feel with that statement. Are you nervous? Resentful? Joyful? Relieved? Allow the Holy Spirit to guide, comfort, and convict you as you allow God to continue to form your soul. (Philippians 2:12)