Chris's Lymphoma Journey

For most of my life, I knew what it meant to be strong. I was an athlete — physically capable, disciplined and confident in what my body could do. I saw that strength as a gift from God, and it was. But over time, without realizing it, I had also learned to rely on it. Strength has a subtle way of convincing us that we’re more self-sufficient than we really are.

That illusion was shattered in 2023 while we were serving in Chiang Mai. I went from riding mountain roads and running daily to barely being able to walk to the neighbor’s house. At first, I couldn’t make sense of it. I knew my body well enough to recognize something was deeply wrong, but aggressive stage-four lymphoma was the last thing I imagined. When the diagnosis came, it felt unreal. Yet even then, God met us — guiding test results, connecting doctors across continents and giving clarity at exactly the right times.

As my condition worsened and pain became constant, I learned something I couldn’t have learned any other way: Pain has a way of stripping you of a false sense of independence. There were days when Scripture had to be declared aloud — by me, or to me — because truth was the only thing stronger than the suffering. God’s Word became an anchor, steadying me when my body and future felt out of control.

Hospital rooms and long scans became holy ground. One day while lying still for hours with nothing but the noise of an MRI and my thoughts, God brought this verse to mind:

“We fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:18, NIV).

I began to understand how much of reality — healing, timing, provision, hope — exists beyond what we can see. In hindsight, God’s hand is often clear. But in the moment, things are simply hard.

My recovery was nothing short of miraculous. The cancer disappeared faster than the doctors anticipated, my strength returned and we eventually made our way back to ministry in Thailand. Gratitude marked every day. I felt like I’d been given new life again.

Then, six months later, came the relapse — this time hidden in my spine, undetectable until it nearly broke me. Hope was harder the second time. I wondered if this was the end. But again, God drew me into the unseen reality of His nearness.

“You love him even though you have never seen him. Though you do not see him now, you trust him; and you rejoice with a glorious, inexpressible joy” (1 Peter 1:8, NLT).

When I had no control over the outcome, I discovered joy rooted not in certainty but in Christ’s closeness.

God provided everything we needed — medical care, shelter, food, even comfort through people we didn’t know. Through storms I never would have chosen, His Word anchored us. And it still does. God is faithful even when the waves are high, and we are learning — still — to trust Him with our very lives.

Today, I live with gratitude for the word remission. As of Easter 2025, the cancer is gone. But healing in one area doesn’t erase loss in others. We’re grieving deeply — the end of 14 years of life in Thailand, the transition back to the States, the disorientation of starting over. And our kids are processing their own losses. Some days feel impossibly hard.

Remission is a gift I didn’t earn and couldn’t control, but it hasn’t brought the resolution of pain I imagined. What it has brought is this: a deeper trust, a clearer hope and the quiet joy of knowing that, whether in strength or weakness, celebration or grief, seen or unseen, God is near, and He is enough.

Scripture Reading: 2 Corinthians 4:18, 1 Peter 1:8, 1 Peter 3:15, Psalm 119:114

Group Questions for Discussion:

• How has walking through suffering or loss reshaped your understanding of strength, control and dependence on God? (What past pain would you not trade?)
• What does it look like to trust God in seasons when His work seems unseen, and circumstances aren’t making sense?
• When hope feels fragile or costly, what helps you keep choosing faith rather than certainty?

Personal Questions for Reflection:

• Where in your life are you being invited to release self-reliance and lean more fully into trust and dependence on God?
• How can you intentionally notice, name and celebrate God’s faithfulness — both in seasons of healing and in seasons of waiting?

This devotional, originally titled Anchored and Aligned: The Pain I Wouldn't Trade was written by Chris Hirt and published on January 30th, 2026 in the Wycliffe devotional series Deeply Rooted.  I hope it blesses you!