It was a regular evening as we were enjoying our family dinner when the phone rang—a call from the doctor’s office I had been anxiously awaiting. I stood up from the table and walked to the kitchen sink as my husband and children watched me. I answered the call. After some confusion about whether or not she had the correct file, the nurse’s words were clear: my scans revealed a brain tumor. 

Shock doesn’t fully capture what I felt since this tumor was an incidental finding while scanning for something completely different. I was a young mom with a one-year-old and a three-year-old, nursing, reading bedtime stories, and soaking in baby snuggles. Now, my life had been upended. I turned to the internet to decode the medical jargon. When I saw that my diagnosis had its own awareness ribbon, I thought, I have something that needs a ribbon? To be honest, I was ticked. I didn’t have time for this. Why in the world was this happening to me?

My world had just been turned upside down, inside out, shaken viciously, and then slammed to the ground. I felt the weight of this world slowly crushing every ounce of my being, and for the first time ever, I felt claustrophobic in my own body. I felt trapped. I remember staring at the scan results with the white tumor shining bright. There was no way I could erase it or ignore it. It was there. It felt as though an intruder was threatening my life, my family, my dreams, my everything. Now, what was I going to do?

God Is Bigger Than Any Tumor

In the whirlwind that followed, I met with specialists and endured scans. The tumor was growing slowly but steadily, and the neurosurgeons were concerned about its location. This was not the life I’d imagined—my dream job was rocking my babies, smelling their sweet hair, and kissing their soft cheeks without the weight of the world on my shoulders, not interviewing neurosurgeons.

I wrestled with fear, constantly wondering if my children would have to grow up without me. The year prior, an acquaintance from my hometown had died of a brain tumor (a different kind of tumor), leaving behind her children, and recently my husband’s cousin had suddenly passed away, also leaving behind her children. The only person I knew who had survived brain surgery was now in heaven. I couldn’t just call her and ask her what it was like. It was all just too heavy. 

Amidst the chaos, I knew I wasn’t walking this road alone. God was not surprised by my diagnosis, and time after time, He showed up to remind me I wasn’t forgotten and that he had a plan for my life. Trusting Him wasn’t easy. I had to fight back tears, wrestle with fears, and learn to trust God in ways I never had before.

It was a constant battle—fighting the fear that consumed me and surrendering it all to the One who made me. All while wearing a smile and showing up for my family every day. It. Was. Hard.

Operation: Trust God

After much prayer and countless interviews, I finally chose a neurosurgeon—a kind, compassionate man I trusted with my life. The morning of my surgery came. It was cold and rainy, matching the heaviness in my heart. My babies were nestled around me, sleeping so peacefully, and peeling myself out of that warm bed felt impossible. Kissing their soft, warm cheeks goodbye was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

Every part of me wanted to stay there, holding them close, but I knew I had to be brave. I had to fight for the chance to be with them—to hold, love, and watch them grow for years to come. I prayed to God that he would bring me through surgery so I could hold my babies again. I didn’t want that kiss to be goodbye forever. 

Kissing my husband goodbye in the pre-op room was no easier. Being wheeled into the OR and saying goodbye to the people you love will put things into perspective quickly.

I knew it was just me and God at that point as they wheeled me through the double doors. I love humor to lighten the mood, so I asked the OR staff to make sure knives were extra sharp as I looked around the OR and saw all the tools they needed for surgery. Thankfully, they thought that was funny, and I don’t remember what happened next in the OR.

God did bring me through surgery with full resection of the tumor. We couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. I am so incredibly grateful.

I will never forget laying in the ICU where my window looked out over the city. I looked down towards the parking lot only to see my precious babies running towards the hospital door with balloons in their chubby little as they came to find me.

My eyes are welling up with tears just thinking of God’s goodness. I am so grateful. My babies climbed up into my ICU bed with me, and life couldn’t have felt more perfect. My babies had their mama, and I had them. It couldn’t have been a brighter ending for a day that started so dark.

The recovery was long and grueling. But through it all, God gave me peace. Peace that didn’t erase the pain or questions but shifted my focus. Early on in this journey, I realized that it wasn’t about me; it was about what God wanted to do through me. I chose to pivot, trust God, and intentionally shine His light in every circumstance. It was a pivot with purpose.

Beauty in the Blur

This shift changed everything. I faced my fears, knowing that Jesus was with me, providing exactly what I needed. I learned to let go of what doesn’t matter and hold tightly to what does. Life is too short to waste time and energy on what doesn’t bring peace or purpose to my life.

Facing my mortality gave me a gift—a clarity and freedom that often takes a lifetime to discover. I just don’t care about things that don’t matter. Things I don’t have control over aren’t worth losing sleep over. The things people think are “big” as they rush around with their busy calendars each day aren’t big things at all.

All the little moments in life add up to treasures when all is said and done. I learned quickly not to let busyness steal the beauty of simplicity in life each day. We must be intentional to find the beauty in the blur. Each day is a precious gift, meant to be savored and filled with gratitude. Each day is filled with small blessings easily missed when we don’t intentionally look for them.

During this hard season, nothing was wasted. I felt like life was trying to bury me, but it didn’t know I was a seed. This dark season gave me roots and strength to grow and flourish in the light once the darkness lifted. I now live with the conviction that what we do in this life echoes in eternity. It also gave me a passion to help other women pivot with purpose so they can live their lives intentionally.

So, I ask you: How are you spending your time? Are you focusing on what truly matters? Is it time to pivot with purpose? God is the same, whether on the shore or in the storm, and He is always faithful to carry us through. God shifted my focus from fear to freedom, and I am eternally thankful for this. We have one life to live. Intentionality matters. He has generously given me the gift of perspective and intentionality.  Gifts that I pray will bless my children, family, friends, and clients for years to come. 

Meet Dana Hanks

Where to find her . . .

• Website
• Instagram

Begin Within is a series to inspire a year-round lifestyle of gratitude that will impact not only your own life, but the lives of your neighbors as well. Gratitude is a theme we talk about often around here because it ties so closely into other missional living rhythms. Practicing gratitude reminds to keep our hearts soft and expectant and our eyes open. Therefore, the more we embrace gratitude, the easier it becomes to truly see our neighbors and where we can join what God is already doing in our neighborhoods.

If you would like to contribute to Begin Within, you can find the submission guidelines here.