“You have cancer.”
Those were the only words that registered when the doctor called me in January 2026 with the final biopsy results. A large, bleeding polyp had been discovered during a colonoscopy—and it was cancerous. Just weeks earlier, on the last Sunday of 2025, I had experienced severe abdominal pain accompanied by a significant amount of blood in my stool. Two doctors initially diagnosed it as a colon infection, which subsided after a course of antibiotics and a pain injection. I thought the episode had passed. I did not expect it was only the beginning.
The news left me shell-shocked. My doctor explained that I would need surgery to remove about 20cm of my colon, or else the cancer could spread beyond control in 3 years as it would hit the lymph nodes and liver. For now, the cancer had already reached the deeper layers of the colon tissue. He reassured me that the cancer was in its early stage, and that the prognosis was good.
Yet, despite the hopeful outlook, the word ‘cancer’ felt like a death sentence and the three years, a timeline.
I struggled with the sudden news and tried to make sense of it all.
Cancer? Where did that come from? Why me? What happens next? Questions flooded my mind.
Would I face long-term treatment like my late father did with kidney failure? Would I even survive the surgery, or have the same outcome as my mother, who passed on the operating table during an angiogram? I was confronted with a future I was not ready for. What made it even harder to grasp was that I had already been dealing with autoimmune conditions—vitiligo (a chronic skin disease in which cells that make pigment are attacked and destroyed, causing the skin to turn a milk-white color) and a dysfunctional thyroid. Since August last year I had been seeking medical treatment to manage and prevent further complications. And now cancer? Why another health battle?
I was not afraid of dying.
Really. I was anxious about what life would look like after the operation if I should survive the surgery. Honestly, I was a little disappointed at this setback. There was so much I was looking forward to in this new season. I had just completed my doctorate. I had just stepped into a new leadership role in the church. I was teaching at Bible Institutions. There was momentum, vision, excitement and suddenly, everything felt interrupted and put on hold. I just couldn’t process it.
I began making calls to close friends and colleagues, informing them of the diagnosis. I am deeply grateful for my brother, family, godfamily, mentors, ministry partners, colleagues, and church friends. Though they were equally taken aback by the news, they rose up in faith — praying and walking with me in the weeks leading up to surgery.
Community became a tangible expression of God’s assurance that I am never alone in my struggle.
I was scheduled to travel to Baguio, Philippines before my surgery, to speak at an international women’s conference. With my mentor’s prompting and reminder, I decided I would focus. I chose to do so through worship, prayer and the Word. I curated a Spotify playlist titled ‘Songs of Comfort’. It played constantly — throughout the day and even during my hospital stay. I held on to God’s word daily, especially Isaiah 26:3: “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in You.” As I fixed my thoughts on Him daily, His peace guarded my heart. I prayed in the Spirit as often as I could because I just had no words to describe my pain, disappointment and confusion. Praying in the spirit strengthened me spiritually and it also prepared me for the days ahead. As my body was wasting away, God was giving me life through his Word.
During the final session of the women’s conference in Baguio, in a time of worship, I was overwhelmed by the presence of God. I found myself on my knees, face to the ground, weeping. In that sacred moment, the Lord quietened my fears and spoke gently to my heart:
This is a reset. A new season. You can trust Me.
The encounter was deeply personal—reminiscent of when I first received my calling. But this time, it was not a calling; it was a recommissioning and I had to come to a place of surrender. I had to surrender my confusion and the need for all answers. Surrender my plans, my future, my will and my entire life to Him. God was beginning to expand my faith, my perspective, and my vision. I still wrestled with my “whys”, “how comes” and “what ifs”. Surrendering was a daily exercise.
There were many moments of tears. But each time in my struggle, I sensed the Lord gently reminding me: Trust Me. Trust my plan.
I told the Lord that I would walk through this fiery trial, as long as I was assured of His presence. And He reminded me that my life was not my own. You see, when I was two years old, I had been miraculously revived from an epileptic episode that almost took my life away. My parents had prayed me back to life. For 50 years, God had held me in His hands. He would not fail me now.
I told God, “If I live, I will continue to live for You, for You are my strength and my victory each day. Because You live, I can face tomorrow, whatever the outcome. And if the surgery does not go well and I die, it is truly gain. I will be with you.”
In fact, in a conversation with Sister Diana, Pastor Gary’s wife, I told her that this was my stance – “for me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”
Two days before the surgery, I attended my last onsite service. I remembered singing the song ‘Firm Foundation’ loudly.
I was declaring truth: My house is built on You. Christ is my firm foundation.
The announcement of my surgery was made to the church after the service. The congregation prayed earnestly. I felt an overwhelming sense of love, support, and, above all, the peace of God.
God has always been faithful to see me through every fiery furnace and deep waters. In this season, I sensed that the Lord was inviting me to live out the very message I have been preaching to the church for the year:
To trust the Master’s plan, to yield to the Potter’s hand and to allow Him to empower me for expansion even through this trial.
On 24 February 2026, I went into surgery with a deep sense of peace that Jesus was with me. When I woke up from surgery, there was a deep rejoicing in my spirit although I was in pain.
I was alive! There was no infection, no stay in the high-dependency ward, no blood transfusion, and no complications. The surgery was described as “uneventful”—the best possible outcome.
I had a good surgeon—and an even greater God who presided over it all. The first words I uttered to those waiting for me in the ward were: “I am alive!” I was so grateful for another chance to live for God!
During the eight days in hospital, I witnessed God’s healing hand at work – swift, steady and sure. Each day brought good progress and much encouragement. I cleared one milestone after milestone swiftly, much to the medical team’s delight and surprise. I received exceptional care from doctors and nurses, and was surrounded by the love of family and friends. Visits, prayers, and messages strengthened me. I rested well and soon had all four tubes removed from my body. After discharge, I continued my recovery at home.
I learnt to rest and be patient with my recovery. I chose to focus on thanksgiving and praise. I curated another Spotify song playlist and played it daily, giving thanks to God and strengthening my spirit because I knew if I didn’t, I would be consumed by what I couldn’t do, couldn’t eat and where I couldn’t go. It was a season of deep restoration—physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I thank God for people who sent groceries, lunches and made healthy meals for me.
On 11 March 2026, the full pathology report was released. My surgeon called with the news:
All was well – I could now be considered cancer-free. No chemotherapy. No further treatment.
This is nothing short of the grace of God. My heart overflowed with gratitude. I stood in awe of God’s mercy and kindness. He is my Healer, Deliverer, Redeemer, and Restorer. I have been given another opportunity—to live for Him, to love deeply, and to embrace the relationships and calling He has entrusted to me.
I trust Him still to bring healing to every other area of my body.
I have learned that surrender is not a one-time moment, but a daily choosing – of laying down my plans, my questions, my need to understand. And a daily renewing of my trust in my Lord.
Today, I stand on the other side of what once felt impossible. Cancer is no longer my diagnosis. Christ is my everything and my all. I carry in my body the marks of surgery which are evidence of God’s mercy and grace. What could have taken me out became the very place where I encountered God more deeply than ever before. He did not just bring me through — He met me there, walked with me and worked in me there.
I was finally able to return to church for Good Friday service. My heart was filled with joy as I stood among my church family once again in worship. In that sacred moment, I was deeply reminded that because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, I am not only a cancer overcomer I am more than a conqueror.
My life is not my own. It never was. And now, more than ever, I live remembering that every breath is a gift, every day is grace, and every step forward is an opportunity to live fully for Him.
For me to live is indeed Christ and to die is gain – ultimate, full restoration and everlasting life with Jesus. But it is not the end until He says it is the end. I look forward with faith to the good things He has prepared for me in the days to come.
