Why ask why?

We’re taught not to question the Almighty. To accept. To bow our heads. To trust without trembling.

But if He knows my heart… if He knows my thoughts before they ever form on my tongue… doesn’t He already know my questions too?

I find it impossible, as a human wrapped in human emotions, not to ask why when bad things happen to good people. And yes, I understand that “good” can be debated. None of us are perfect. But I’m talking about the ones who live gently. The ones who work hard, tend to their families, mind their business, show up for others, try to leave rooms softer than they found them. The ones who do inherently good simply because it’s in them to do so.

Why must the good suffer?

Why cancer? Why the slow violence of chemotherapy, a treatment that often feels more offensive and destructive than the very disease it’s meant to eradicate? Why the indignity of fatigue that steals your strength, the nausea that robs you of appetite, the hair that falls in quiet surrender? Why must the body endure a war on two fronts?

It is a particular kind of helplessness to watch someone you love suffer. To stand beside hospital beds and infusion chairs with nothing but prayers and presence. To offer words that feel small against the weight of a diagnosis. “I’m here.” “I love you.” “We’re believing.” And sometimes those words feel like feathers trying to hold back a storm.

Yet time after time, that is what we do. We pray. We support. We show up. Because we believe prayer changes things. Because even when I question the why behind it all, one thing I never question is my ability to trust fully in the Almighty. I do not understand His timing. I do not understand His methods. But I trust His heart. And I believe in Him for full healing for those I love who are afflicted.

Right now, that someone is my sister.

She fought one hell of a battle against triple negative breast cancer. She endured it. Conquered it. Had a clear scan this past November. We exhaled. We praised. We dared to imagine the worst was behind us.

Only for that sneaky, sick disease to circle back and attack her lung and liver.

And here we are again.

We’re already claiming victory. We’re already speaking healing. But we are also human, and it’s exhausting to have to suit up for war twice. It’s disheartening to realize the fight isn’t finished. It’s frustrating to see someone so strong forced back into the ring.

Make no mistake, she is one hell of a fighter. Resilient. Determined. Courageous in ways that humble me. I just wish she didn’t have to be. I wish her strength could be used for joy instead of survival. But like people in hell want ice water, we deal with the hand we’re dealt. We don’t get to choose the battlefield, only how we stand on it.

So we stand again.

We question, yes.

We grieve, yes.

But we also believe.

If you believe in God and the power of prayer, send some healing her way. Speak life over her lungs. Speak restoration over her liver. Speak strength into her bones and peace into her mind.

It’s time to get back in the ring.

And we’re believing this time, too, cancer is getting knocked out.~micaiah