Good News, Heavy Heart
A Benign Report and the “Heart of David”
I’ve been waiting for weeks to write this. This journey started five or six years ago as my PSA levels started climbing. Now at 22.5. That was enough to make the doctor nervous. Nervous enough for another biopsy.
In July 3, 28 samples were taken. It was painful and it took a long time due to an issue during the procedure. The doctor said that I would have the results in a “week or so.” At 10 days, we finally got the results back from my prostate biopsy — and every single sample was benign.
No cancer.
I’m incredibly thankful for this gift from God. His mercy and grace have lifted a heavy weight off my family’s shoulders. The anxiety, fear that has hovered over our days and nights — the uncertainty, the “what-ifs” — has been replaced by deep relief.
Yet even as I rejoice, I find my heart feeling heavy. Because I know not everyone gets this kind of news.
Cancer has scarred my family. My sister Laura died from it in 2022. My other sister Beth’s cancer is thankfully in remission, but it’s a shadow we all know can return. I have friends right now fighting through chemo, radiation, scans, surgeries — and some who are simply praying for more time.
So how do I balance this gratitude for my clean biopsy with the ache I feel for so many others whose news has been different?
It’s moments like this that remind me how fragile life is — and how sovereign God is over every cell in our bodies. Psalm 139:16 tells us:
“Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”
God knew these results long before I did. He also knows the journeys my sisters, my friends, and countless others are on. He’s not absent from any hospital room or tearful prayer.
Still, the waiting these past weeks brought me face to face with questions that reach beyond a cancer diagnosis. I’ve wrestled deeply with whether I’ve truly given my all to Christ, or whether I’ve held certain parts of my life back.
My pastor, Keoni Hughes, shared a quote recently that still convicts me. He said there’s a difference between the chicken and the pig when it comes to a bacon-and-egg breakfast. The chicken makes a contribution. The pig gives it all.
Am I the chicken or the pig?
Those questions felt urgent when I was waiting for biopsy results. But honestly, they still feel urgent today — even with good news in my pocket. Because life isn’t only about the absence of disease. It’s about living with an undivided heart for Jesus, whether our bodies are healthy or failing.
Paul’s words in Romans 8:38-39 have comforted me both during my waiting and now in my relief:
“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come… will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
As my wife said to me, “God clearly isn’t done with you yet.” I’m thankful. However, I’m not afraid to die. For me, death is stepping into the presence of Jesus. As Paul said in Philippians 1:21:
“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
But I admit — the thought of leaving people behind, of unfinished ministry, of family members who still need Jesus — that’s what makes me want more time here.
So I’m grateful that, for now, God has given me more time. And I want to use that time to help as many kids, teens, and families as possible know and grow in Christ.
Yet I know there are many whose scans and biopsies bring hard news. My heart breaks for them. And I pray that whether God grants healing or calls His children home, they’ll know the same comfort I’ve felt: that His mercies are new every morning, and His faithfulness never fails. Lamentations 3:22-23 says:
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
Through this journey, I’ve kept coming back to the story of David facing Goliath. We all have giants — cancer, fear, grief, doubt. The question is:
Do we have the heart of David inside us?
I even wrote a song about it. If you’d like to listen, here’s Heart of David.
If you’re in the middle of your own waiting room right now, facing a diagnosis that’s left you trembling, facing a family trial where you see no end in sight, please know you’re not alone. And remember what Jesus said in John 14:27:
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”
I’m rejoicing today — but also praying, grieving, and hoping alongside so many who are still in the fight. May God give each of us a heart like David’s.