A Moment of Heaven on Earth

There comes a moment in every parent’s life when heaven feels painfully silent. For us, it was just a few days before Jack was discharged — when the oncologist walked in with a serious look. I held my breath.

Then he said the words that felt like God Himself was in the room:
“Jack is cancer-free.”

On March 20th, 2024, we heard the miracle we had prayed for day and night. Doctors had prepared us for a full year of maintenance chemotherapy, but God had a different plan.
No more infusions. No more rounds.
Just healing.

I cried — not out of fear, but relief so deep it felt holy.
Yes, there was still work ahead: regaining strength, gaining weight, relearning to walk. But in that moment, all we felt was God’s overwhelming goodness.

I share this to shine a little light into someone’s darkness. To parents praying over their children tonight, and to kids still fighting:
You carry a strength you never asked for… but God sees you. He is near. And you are never alone.

If this story touches your heart, leave a prayer for every child still in the battle.
Your words matter more than you know.

Just weeks ago, Mav’s parents were begging God not to take their little boy — watching alarms go off, watching his body lock up, watching a disease try to steal him in real time.

Today, they’re holding onto something they haven’t felt in a long time: hope.

Mav’s infection is finally gone from his bloodstream. His levels are slowly climbing back to where they should be. And if today goes well, doctors plan to pull his PICC line — a huge step forward after another nearly two-week hospital stay.

But now comes the moment that will define everything.
December 12th.
The MRI.

The one that will show if his bone marrow transplant — donated by his brave 8-year-old sister — is slowing the disease that has already taken Mav’s ability to walk, talk, and eat on his own.

His mom said this day will tell them how much time they may have… and whether this version of Mav — quiet, still, unable to speak — is his new normal.

This is the weight they’re carrying into December.

What powerful message of strength would you send this family as they prepare for the most important day of their lives?