Listening for God’s Whisper in a World Full of Noise
How I Found Healing, Hope, and a Miracle Mindshift After a Life-Changing Diagnosis
It was just days after my 40th birthday when the world suddenly became deafening. Life had been busy and full — I was running a thriving tearoom business, greeting customers with laughter, pouring tea in fancy china cups, and dreaming up new desserts that would make anyone’s heart happy. Everything felt beautifully ordinary — I was working hard, caring for Madison, and finally settling into a season that seemed to hold some peace after years of storms. My faith was strong, my health felt stable, and my days were full of purpose.
Until the day I sat in the specialist’s office.
I still remember sitting in that cold exam room, the smell of disinfectant in the air, my heart racing faster than the ticking clock. The doctor walked in with that serious look you never want to see. His voice was calm but heavy as he spoke the words no one ever expects to hear: “It’s cancer.”
Those two words dropped like a bomb. Everything blurred. I could hear nothing and everything at once—the shuffle of his papers, the hum of the fluorescent lights, the sound of my own breathing.
Fear has a way of shouting. It amplifies every “what if” and drowns out faith until all you can hear is panic. But even as my thoughts started to spin, something deeper within me rose up—a quiet knowing that God still had the final word.
When Fear Was Loud and Faith Was Quiet
The first days after the diagnosis felt like a whirlwind. The doctor’s reports were loud. The statistics were loud. My own anxious thoughts were the loudest of all.
What if this is the end? What if Madison grows up without her mom? What if the dreams God placed in my heart never come to pass?
Fear will fill any space you give it. It starts small—a whisper of worry—and before you know it, it’s a full-blown storm. But somewhere deep in my spirit, I knew that if fear had a voice, faith did too. And I had to decide which one would have the microphone.
In the middle of that chaos, I discovered something life-changing: God’s voice doesn’t compete with the noise—He waits for us to be still enough to hear it.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
Stillness doesn’t mean inactivity; it means surrender. It means deciding whose voice you’ll give authority to. I had to stop replaying everyone else’s words and start leaning in to what heaven was saying.
The challenge was learning to quiet the world around me long enough to remember who I was and Whose I was.
Parking-Lot Prayers and Gentle Promises
After one especially difficult appointment, I walked out to the parking lot numb and trembling. The sunlight felt harsh, the air too bright. I sat in the car gripping the steering wheel, tears streaming down my face. My mind was racing with a thousand thoughts, but my heart could only manage one whisper: “God, what do I do now?”
And He answered.
Not in thunder or lightning. Not through a booming voice or a sudden revelation. Just a single, quiet word that seemed to echo through my entire being: “Live.”
That whisper carried more weight than all the noise that had tried to crush me. In that moment, I knew heaven was not panicking. God was not pacing the floors of glory wondering what to do next. He already had my healing written into His plan.
From that day forward, I made a decision—to believe that one word more than every fearful voice around me.
“I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the Lord has done.” (Psalm 118:17)
The Miracle Mindshift
Healing, I learned, begins long before the body catches up. It starts in the mind.
Every day became a choice between replaying the doctor’s report or rehearsing God’s promises. I chose His promises.
Each morning I looked in the mirror and declared, “By His stripes I am healed.” (Isaiah 53:5) I said it through tears, through weakness, through shaky faith that was learning to stand again. When fear shouted, I spoke louder with truth. When despair tried to settle in, I reminded my heart of God’s faithfulness.
I began a habit of gratitude right in the middle of the storm. I thanked God for every small mercy—the kindness of a nurse, the warmth of a blanket, the friend who showed up with soup. Gratitude started to drown out fear, and faith began to rise like oxygen in my lungs.
It wasn’t instant. There were days when I felt fragile and days I wondered if my prayers were even reaching heaven. But I kept choosing to speak life, even when I didn’t feel it yet.
Faith, I learned, isn’t the absence of fear—it’s deciding who gets the final word.
“Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24)
Quiet Mornings and Holy Whispers
Healing also happened in the quiet, ordinary moments. Early mornings with a cup of coffee and my Bible open became sacred appointments. I’d sit with my journal, sometimes writing through tears, sometimes pouring out gratitude for small victories.
Madison would often be nearby, busy sorting her stuffed animals or organizing something creative in her room. Life wasn’t dramatic—it was raw, real, and filled with holy moments. That’s where I began to sense God’s voice again, not as a shout but as a steady whisper that cut through the noise.
You’re already healed.
I’ve got Madison’s future covered.
You’ll tell this story one day and it will help others.
He met me right there—not in the hospital hallways, but in the still corners of home. When I couldn’t feel Him, I learned to listen for Him. His voice didn’t bring panic—it brought peace.
“Your ears will hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” (Isaiah 30:21)
There’s something about quiet mornings that make room for miracles. The world rushes, but God whispers. When I finally slowed down enough to listen, I realized His presence had been there all along.
When Heaven Spoke Louder
The months that followed were full of noise. There were appointments, tests, and reports. At one point, the doctors said the cancer had spread and ordered an MRI to see what they were up against before opening me up in surgery.
But God had a different report.
That test didn’t just reveal information—it revealed a miracle. While everyone else was preparing for the worst, heaven was already writing a different ending.
I call it the Report Of The Lord!
Doctors can interpret scans and data, but Dr. Jesus has the final say. When the results came back, there was no dramatic scene—just a quiet knowing that the whisper had proven stronger than the noise.
I didn’t need a loud miracle moment. What I experienced was a peace that made no sense, a stillness that settled deeper than fear, and a quiet confirmation that God’s Word was true all along.
Lessons from the Valley
If you’re walking through your own battle right now—whether it’s sickness, heartbreak, anxiety, or confusion—here are a few lessons I learned in the valley.
Quiet the noise. Step away from the scroll. Turn off the opinions. Fear feeds on distraction, but faith grows in silence.
Listen with your heart. Not every voice that sounds urgent is true. Even well-meaning people can speak out of fear, but God’s voice carries peace. If it brings panic, it’s not from Him.
Declare the Word. When your mind feels loud, let your mouth speak louder with truth. Faith comes by hearing, and sometimes you need to hear your own voice reminding your soul who God is.
And finally—don’t rush the process. Miracles often unfold in layers. God doesn’t just heal bodies; He renews minds and restores hearts along the way.
The Only Report That Matters
Looking back now, I know this journey was never just about physical healing. It was about learning to hear again—not with my natural ears, but with my spirit.
We live in a world full of constant shouting—opinions, headlines, expectations—but heaven still speaks in whispers.
Sometimes God’s voice comes through a verse that leaps off the page, a friend who calls at just the right time, or a peace that makes no sense in the middle of chaos. The same God who whispered to me that day in my car is whispering to you now.
Every October, the world fills with pink ribbons and awareness campaigns, and while I honour every brave fighter and survivor, I know my healing came from a different source. I don’t live by a ribbon—I live by a report.
The Doctor of Doctors wrote mine in red.
I’m thankful for medicine and for the wisdom of those who help us heal, but I know Who healed me completely—body, soul, and spirit. I don’t need a symbol to remember; I have a story to tell.
My story isn’t about awareness. It’s about awe.
A Word for the Weary
If you’re waiting on your own miracle and heaven feels silent, don’t mistake God’s quiet for His absence. Some of His loudest work happens in the stillness.
He’s not ignoring you. He’s instructing you.
He’s not punishing you. He’s preparing you.
If I could go back and speak to the woman sitting in that specialist’s office, I’d tell her this: “Breathe. Don’t let fear have the final word. God’s whisper will guide you through this valley and lead you into victory.”
And if I could whisper something to you today, it would be this:
You are not forgotten. You are not finished. Your story is not over.
Today I stand completely healed—body, soul, and spirit—because God’s whisper was louder than the world’s noise.
Wherever you are right now, take a deep breath. Turn down the volume of fear, opinion, and worry, and tune your heart to heaven