The Whisper Behind Us

Halfway through, and still being held

The Middle Mile

We’ve hit the halfway point in Jenn’s treatment. In so many ways, it feels like it’s taken forever to get here, and in other ways, it’s flown by. There have been so many moments already—some big, some small, some loud and obvious, and others quiet and unseen. But all of them have led me to one deep realization: I am witnessing something rare.

I’ve spent years talking about emotional resiliency in grad school and as a clinician at a treatment center. I’ve heard the definitions, explained the frameworks. But to watch it lived out—up close, in the woman I love—is something else entirely. It’s inspiring. It’s holy.

The Quiet of the “New Normal”

It’s been almost two weeks since my last post. That’s not because things have stalled, but because I’ve struggled to find words. Maybe it’s because this part of the journey feels too predictable. Not boring, not dull—just heavy in its repetition. There’s a rhythm now to the suffering. What used to feel monumental has become strangely routine.

The first chemo.

The first sickness.

The hair falling out.

The wig fitting.

The waiting.

All of it is now part of what I’d call the “comfortably uncomfortable.”

We’ve just finished the third round of treatment, which means we’re officially halfway through chemo. We’re far enough in to know what’s coming—but still far away from what’s next: surgery, reconstruction, the year of treatment that follows.

And perhaps most unsettling of all is the unknown—is this chemo working? Is it killing the cancer? Those answers are still out of reach, and with them, the emotions they’ll unlock when the time comes.

Resilience, Up Close

In all this, it’s been incredible to watch Jenni’s resilience emerge in full color.

At Tin Man, we talk a lot about emotional resilience—the ability to cope with, adapt to, and recover from stressful or adverse events. Our clinical director, Phil Herndon, just did a webinar on the topic, and as I listened, I couldn’t help but think of Jenni.

Jenni’s ability to cope with the changes her body has endured is nothing short of a miracle. Her willingness to adapt without bitterness, to recover after each hit, has been humbling to witness.

We believe she’s able to do this because of God’s grace, and because of you. Each prayer, each message, each time you read or share this blog—it matters. You’re walking with us.

“You Don’t Look Sick”

Lately, I’ve watched Jenn regain some strength. She’s been more energetic, more steady. I’ve listened to her declare again and again her determination to make it through.

When people visit or see her at church, they often say the same thing:

“If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t believe you were going through chemo.”

It’s not because she’s faking it. It’s because there’s a kind of strength that comes from somewhere deeper—a peace that surpasses understanding. I truly believe she is walking worthy of the calling God has given her in this season.

The Bread of Adversity, the Water of Affliction

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been reading the book of Isaiah. Two verses, tucked into chapter 30, stopped me in my tracks:

Isaiah 30:20–21 (ESV)

“And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction,

yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore,

but your eyes shall see your Teacher.

And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying,

‘This is the way, walk in it,’

when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”

This passage felt like it was written for this exact moment.

Bread and water—the most basic elements of survival. Could it be that God, in His mercy, sustains us not in spite of adversity and affliction, but through them?

I dug deeper.

Adversity means pressure from outside—being hemmed in by circumstances you can’t control. It’s environmental, situational, like being in the wilderness with no map.

Affliction speaks to the weight inside—the emotional and relational pain that presses on the heart. It’s the internal suffering, the silent ache.

Reading those definitions, I realized: That’s why I feel so heavy.

I’ve been carrying both—what’s happening to us, and what’s happening in me.

The Whisper Behind You

But the most comforting part of Isaiah 30 wasn’t the suffering—it was the Teacher.

The verse says, “Your ears shall hear a word behind you…”

That line gave me the image of my 7th-grade teacher, Miss Carlisle. She had a gentle New Zealand accent and kind eyes. When I was struggling on a test, she would kneel behind me, lean in close, and softly whisper the answer—not to cheat, but to comfort. To remind me that I wasn’t alone.

That’s what I think God does.

He kneels behind us, gently places His hand on our shoulder, and says:

“This is the way. Walk in it.”

Even in the adversity. Even in the affliction.

Even at the halfway point, it’s easy to get numb.

The Bread and Water That Satisfy

Jenn continues to believe that the Lord is walking behind us, guiding us. She believes that while we eat the bread of adversity and drink the water of affliction, Jesus remains our true Bread of Life and our Living Water.

And honestly, I’m starting to believe it too.

How You Can Pray

We continue to be so grateful for your prayers and support. Here are a few specific ways you can join us:

1. Strength and protection from illness as Jenn’s immune system becomes more and more compromised.

2. That our kids will remain resilient in the face of so many ongoing changes.

3. That we will continue to sense God’s nearness and kindness in both seen and unseen ways.

Thank you for walking with us.