You mentioned it casually. They had found a lump in your breast again. You’ve been here before, and maybe that means you better know how to navigate it. Except how can we possibly know how to handle such things? What emotions lie hidden behind your words? You tossed out words like lumpectomy and biopsy as if you were sharing a grocery list.

I don’t know you well yet, but as you spoke the words, I had a deep desire to let you know I’m sorry.

Seated around the table that night, you asked us to pray for you. I committed to do so then and have done so every time I think of you moving forward. Even when we’re not there at the table anymore, when instead we find ourselves out and about, doing all the daily things, forgetting there are life and death situations we might face, I want to be a person who brings your name before God.

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Not because He’s forgotten you. Of course, He hasn’t. Rather, because when I pray, something happens. I know it does because I can sense it. A lot of mystery for certain, but also I notice how it softens my heart, gives me a desire to be the prayer warrior God has made his children to be.

Prayer connects you and me, with Him.

I choose to believe it does something in your life too. We don’t know yet if we need a miracle. They put off your biopsy as those who handle scheduling tend to do sometimes. We do know we need the presence of God in our lives. So I pray for you. I pray you’d feel His presence. I pray God would draw near, and you’d experience His supernatural comfort.

When you tell others the news—good or bad—or when we come back together as a group and you give us an update, I pray you’d feel that same calm I saw in you the first evening. Maybe at that exact moment, someone else was praying for you. Maybe you know it’s hard because you’ve encountered cancer before, and cancer sucks.

Right then, however, maybe a friend was lifting you up by name to God. Maybe that’s why you could say the words so casually even as emotions raced through you. Maybe our prayers for one another offer that kind of supernatural strength. Or maybe at that moment, the Holy Spirit himself was groaning to God, interceding on your behalf, like the Bible tells us he does.

Or maybe you were calm because you and God have faced this before.

You’ve stared dark right in the face, and you know it will not, cannot, overtake you. Maybe that’s where your tenacity comes from.

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The other ladies and I, we’ll be waiting for an update about your scheduled biopsy appointment. I’ll remember to ask about any other news you get about your health too, because God is teaching me we help one another best when we carry one another’s burdens.

I haven’t experienced what you have, not cancer, but I know the human emotions of overwhelming fear and being scared and wondering if you’re going to have to go through something alone.

The day of your biopsy, I’ll reach out to let you know I’m praying. I’ll ask if there’s anything else you need. The day before He went to the cross, Jesus sat at a table, among his friends. He promised them, and us, we would never be alone. He promised a Helper, the Holy Spirit. What an honor, we get to partner with the Helper.

Someday I’ll need your help too.