January 27 — A Decade
Today is Tuesday, January 27, 2026. It started out as a normal day. I struggled my way through wanting to stay in bed but got to the gym by 6:15am, then quickly got some breakfast and got to work. About an hour or so into my shift, I checked something on my phone and was caught off guard by a featured photo widget. Just a selfie I took once after getting a haircut at a bougie barbershop. I immediately recognized the photo as one of more significance though. Not because of the haircut — but because I remember that day far too clearly.
January 27, 2016. Ten years ago today.
A few hours after that haircut, I got a phone call from my Drs Office. I had had a somewhat routine MRI the day before and was told my doctor would call sometime within a few weeks with some results. When they called me the very next day and insisted I come into the office that day, I knew something must be off.
January 27, 2016. That’s the day that my doctor told me that with a very high degree of certainty I had a very aggressive form of cancer in my liver ducts and best case scenario had six to 24 months to live.
Spoiler alert… I’ve outlived my prognosis. I’m happy to declare that I am now officially 8 years past my expiration date. As you can imagine, there is lots of story to go with all of this. More details for how those days in early 2016 unfolded and even more that I could share about how those days shaped me and what I have learned and experienced since then. I’ve been reflecting on a lot of that today and have even started to try to articulate and document more of those stories. Stay tuned.. I may look for ways to share some of that.
Back to today. Seeing that photo and realize that today was not just a normal Tuesday, I immediately felt this heaviness. Not a heaviness that was dark in any way — just an awareness that I needed to allow myself to process and be present. Not long after that I had my scheduled 15 minute break… I knew 15 minutes was a shadow of what I needed, but also was feeling an impending sense of overwhelm. I gave my manager a heads up of the significance of the day and the fact that I had just been surprised by the realization. Then I went to the back room and without even really realizing it was happening, I found myself in tears. It wasn’t even as though I was crying, just my body was responding and my face was leaking. I sat in the chair in the office and just let that happen. For about 5 minutes, with very little thoughts or added emotion, I simply cried. It felt good.
Overwhelmingly, the emotion I was experiencing was gratitude. So much gratitude. Of course, I’m grateful to have not perished. But even more than simply being grateful for being alive I was experiencing a Joy that doesn’t make sense.
There is this chorus we sing … “All my life You have been faithful. All my life You have been so so good. With every breath that I am able, I will sing of the Goodness of God.” I’ve been resting in that today. I am so grateful for the life Jesus has given me — throughout my life, and certainly in these last 10 years.
As I sat there, with my 15 minutes break quickly evaporating, recalling so many things to be grateful for, I became acutely aware of my family. The way this journey brought Care and I closer and built our faith and obedience to trust Jesus with everything and to not worry. And the fact that I have three incredible young men in my life who call me dad. I’m so grateful for the Grace of Jesus that I’ve been able to be in their lives, that they were spared from all that would come with losing their father.
One of the biggest things that was impressed upon me early in this journey was the idea of legacy — I suppose staring your mortality in the face will do that to you. I remember wrestling with Jesus about my legacy. What would I be leaving behind? What impact would I have on the world? How would I have the type of impact I felt called to if I had less tomorrows than I ever anticipated? As I wrestled through all of this I had an overwhelming conviction: if the impact of my life would only be measured by what my boys lives would look like and the ways they would impact the world — that was enough for me.
With certainty, one of the greatest joys and “accomplishments” in my life is that I get to be called “dad” by these three incredible young men. I’m far from a perfect father. And my relationship with each of my boys is invariably full of “what ifs” and “should haves.” But I am so so grateful to be called Dad. I am so proud of each of them and the journey and path I see them all on — each in their own way making Jesus the Lord of their lives and I could not be more grateful for them.
I’m curious about the significance of this day — January 27, 2026. The 10 year mark. What impact does this day have on me? What opportunities to meander back in time and glean more and more from this journey? I have this overwhelming sense there is a depth to this whole experience that I will be mining for many more years to come.
At the height of moments of fear and uncertainly in early 2016, I remember this conversation with Jesus. “Jesus, I’ve long since declared that I give you my life. I’ve longed to live in the truth that the life I live is not my own but Christ who lives through me. Although much of my humanity sits in fear and desires to ‘take back my life,’ I have no interest in doing that. Jesus, I give you my life. Jesus, I trust you with my tomorrows.”
As I think back over the past decade and as I look to tomorrow and however many tomorrows follow, I am so grateful for that posture. Jesus, thank you. Thank you for LIFE. Thank you for your Presence.
js
If you’re curious about hearing more about the journey of early 2016, here’s a link to a sermon I preached where I was first sharing this story with the wider community at our church. To be sure, it’s a sermon on a passage from the Book for Mark, but my story weaves in there pretty well.
Or, if you want to just read, I used to keep this other blog and I have a few posts that I compiled there. You can read that here.
