When Faith Meets Scan Anxiety
There are parts of this journey that no one really prepares you for.
One of them is scan anxiety.
If you’ve walked through a cancer diagnosis, you know this rhythm well. Even after healing, the scans continue—often for years. For some, like our daughter, they come on a steady rotation. Right now, her MRIs are every 10–12 weeks. Before that, they were even closer together.
And every time, it’s the same quiet tension building beneath the surface.
Scripture tells us in Matthew 6:34, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” And I truly believe that. I do.
But if I’m being honest… this is hard.
Because one scan can change everything.
We’ve lived that reality. September 7, 2023 is a date that will always mark a before and after in our lives. And ever since then, each scan carries weight—not because we don’t trust God, but because we understand how much can shift in a single moment.
And maybe that’s the tension no one talks about enough:
You can fully trust God… and still feel the weight of what’s at stake.
I know I can’t control the outcome.
I know I have prayed—persistently.
I have fasted.
I have sat quietly, waiting to hear from Him.
I have read His Word on repeat.
And still, it’s a battle.
Not because my faith is weak—but because my love is strong.
I don’t want to go through it again.
I don’t want to feel the fear, the waiting, the unknown.
I don’t want anything other than, “Thank You, God, for showing us healing.”
But that’s not how this works.
So we walk in anyway.
Philippians 4:6 tells us, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
Notice it doesn’t say we’ll never feel anxious.
It tells us where to take it.
And that’s what this has become for us—a constant returning.
Every 10–12 weeks, we bring it back again.
We pray again.
We surrender again.
We trust again.
Not perfectly. Not without emotion. But faithfully.
Because the truth is, this process wears on you. It shows up in the exhaustion, in the tension, in the quiet moments no one else sees. It’s the kind of tired that doesn’t always have words.
And yet, right beside that weariness, there is something else.
Trust.
Deep, rooted, unshaken trust.
I trust the One who is in control.
I trust the Author of our story.
I trust that He is good, and that He has good plans for my daughter.
Those are not surface-level words. They are truths I hold onto with everything in me.
And then there’s our daughter.
She doesn’t want anyone to see the hard parts. She doesn’t want to worry anyone. She walks into this with a quiet strength, confident that she’s got this—because God has her.
She is braver than I was at her age. Stronger. More steady.
And if I’m honest, at 42, there are moments I want to do the opposite. I want to kick and scream, to say “no more,” to demand that the waiting is over.
But that’s not the path we’ve been given.
So we keep showing up.
This Thursday is MRI #13.
We will walk into that room like we have before.
I will read the Word while we wait.
I will pray for healing.
I will lay it down again, just like I have every time before.
Not because it’s easy—but because He is faithful.
Scan anxiety may be part of this journey.
But so is trust.
And every single time, no matter how we feel walking in, we choose to place it back into His hands.
Again.
And again.
And again.