There has been no place for me to hide but also no place I’ve wanted to hide—not Sheol, not heaven, not the wings of the dawn, not lightness, not darkness. Jesus Christ has been real, present, and tangible—not just as doctrine or theology but there. Suffering with me, comforting me, assuring me, his hand in mine (vv. 7–12). He didn’t take hell away from me. He went into hell with me. And that’s far, far better.

I’ve always dreaded cancer. When I’d drive past cancer clinics, I’d pray for the people inside.

That dread became more personal four months ago. When I woke up from my regular colonoscopy, they wheeled me in to see my wife and she told me I had colon cancer. The surgeon came in and filled in the details. I’d need surgery, chemotherapy probably—maybe worse.

The stage 3 cancer hadn’t escaped from my colon or intestines, but it had invaded the lymph nodes and pushed into my intestinal walls.

I’d have to endure six months of intense chemotherapy, which started in early September. Twelve rounds, one every two weeks, each worse than the last. (I’m now in round five.) Plus, there’d be additional treatment for the eventual side effects: crashing white and red blood cell counts, bone pain, mouth sores, cold sensitivity, deep exhaustion, nausea, and more.

Yet today I’m happier than I have been in many years. Why?

I haven’t struggled with doubts, anger, or a sense God is treating me unfairly. I know many suffer from these thoughts. I’m not better than those people, and my profoundest sympathies are extended to them. But so far, God has spared me that.

Jesus Christ has never left me. All I’ve learned of his faithfulness and love toward me over 49 years of the ups and downs, the progress and backsliding, of the Christian life is now so real to me. I’ve experienced Christ in new and beautiful ways.

Anchored in a Psalm

At the beginning of this nightmare, God gave me Psalm 139, making it clear this psalm was to be my anchor. It crystallized my theology, making it real to me as I suffered in this fallen world.

Even though my children didn’t know about it, many of the songs they recommended to me pointed directly to this psalm. I have no doubt that God has wanted me to embrace it, to memorize it, to live it. He gave me this psalm to get me through. And he has made each part profoundly personal.

The God Who Thinks of Me

There’s not one thought, not one fear, not one doubt—in the past, present, or future—that he doesn’t know before I speak or even think it. And yet he assures me his thoughts toward me are loving, perfect, and whole (vv. 1–6, 17–18). This would strike fear in unbelievers, but they move through life unaware. For those who do believe it, for Jesus Christ’s redeemed sheep, this is profoundly comforting if we understand it aright.

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