Walking Beside Her

 

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to love someone well.

Before all of this began, I probably would have answered that question differently than I do today. I would have talked about helping, fixing problems, taking things off someone's plate, or finding the next solution. Those are all things that come pretty naturally to me. If there's a problem, I want to solve it. If someone I love is hurting, I want to make it better.

Cancer has a way of reminding you that there are some things you simply can't fix.

If I could carry this for her, I would. If I could trade places with her, I wouldn't hesitate. Every parent understands that feeling. You spend your children's entire lives trying to protect them, and then one day you discover there are places you can't go for them.

A few days ago I had a conversation with a friend that has stayed with me. She has her own experience with breast cancer, and she had some hard things to say to me.

She reminded me, this isn't my journey. It's Rachel's. I'm on the sidelines were her exact words. To be honest, I bristled at that and a voice inside my head responded, "You have no idea of our relationship, I may be on the sidelines, but I'm walking this with her her every step of the way." But I understood what she was saying, and I knew it was a painful truth.

That sounds so obvious when I write it, but it changed something in me.

My role isn't to experience cancer for her. It isn't to absorb every fear before it reaches her or to somehow carry a weight that isn't mine to carry. As much as I wish I could, that isn't how this works.

My role is to walk beside her. To pray, encourage, listen, show up, make dinner, laugh with her, cry with her, and remind her, whenever she needs reminding, that she is never walking alone.

There's a surprising amount of freedom in understanding the difference.

I don't have to anticipate every possible problem before it happens. I don't have to spend today worrying about next month or next year. I don't have to carry responsibilities that belong to tomorrow.

I simply have to be faithful today.

When I think about Jesus, I'm reminded how often He simply walked with people. Yes, He healed them, but He also spent an incredible amount of time just being present. He listened. He ate meals. He traveled dusty roads. He stayed. His presence mattered just as much as His words.

Maybe that's what love often looks like. Not having all the answers or making everything better. Just refusing to leave.

I've also been reminded that Rachel has her own walk with the Lord. God isn't asking me to stand between them. In fact, some of the sweetest things I've seen already are the ways He has been meeting her exactly where she is. He's teaching her things I could never teach. He's strengthening her in ways I never could.

As her mom, that's both humbling and comforting.

I still pray every day that this road will be easier than we expect. I pray for healing, for wisdom for her doctors, for strength during treatment, and for peace on the hard days. Those prayers haven't changed.

But my own prayers have changed just a little.

Instead of asking God to show me how to carry this for Rachel, I find myself asking Him to help me walk beside her well. To know when to speak and when to simply sit quietly. To recognize when she needs encouragement and when she just needs someone to share the silence.

Maybe that's been one of the unexpected gifts of this season already. I'm learning that love isn't measured by how much I can fix; sometimes it's simply how faithfully I can be present.

And when I remember that God has never left either one of us—not for a single moment—I realize I'm simply following His example.

I can walk beside her because He is already walking beside both of us.