love.

I wrote this as a class assignment on why I do what I do – or my calling.

In July 2021, Shawn and I moved to Demotte, Indiana, from our home in Highland, where we’d lived the past 23 years. It was a 45-minute move south, however, in terms of keeping up with the people “up north”, a world away. During the packing and purging process, I noticed a spot on my chin that looked unusual, so I made an appointment with my dermatologist. As doctoring goes in the 21st century, the appointment was set for six weeks in the future. I had much bigger things to worry about, such as whether to take the two egg white separators or if we could be okay with just one, so the wait time didn’t bother me at all. We began the process of moving into our new home, and in the second week of July, I went to my appointment. She chose to biopsy the spot, and I still didn’t think too much about it because the whole reason I had a dermatologist was that I go yearly and often get pre-cancerous spots removed. 

July 23, 2021, I was standing in my kitchen with unpacked boxes in chaos all around when my phone rang. I answered, and it was the nurse from the office. She said that typically they’d have me come into the office and talk with a doctor, but with COVID still a thing, they’d tell me the results over the phone. I knew this wasn’t going to be good news. She proceeded to tell me that the spot on my chin is cancer, and it needs further testing to reveal exactly which kind. They’d already scheduled me for surgery, and she gave me the day, my birthday, August 10th. She said she’d send me an email with more information about the exact kind of surgery I’d be having, along with pertinent information for the day of. If I have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call the office, and they will be happy to answer them. You know in the movies, when the main character gets bad news and the camera pans all around them? Or, when there’s a car crash or something traumatic and the camera slow-pans to see all of the wreckage? That’s what happened to me. I stood in the middle of my kitchen, phone in hand, while the camera panned to the unpacked boxes, 90s wallpaper half off the walls, and my husband and children blissfully unaware. 

I know cancer. My parents both battled different cancers and died at 58 and 59. I know what treatment does to your body and lifestyle. I know how dependent you become on those in your life, and, if I’m being candid, what kind of drain you become on those people. I’d just moved to a whole new world, and outside of my husband and kids, I had one friend. My support circle was tiny. 

Surgery was on my 45th birthday, and it was hell on earth. I had what’s called a Mohs surgery, and you’re awake through the whole thing, which is supposed to be a good thing, as it’s easier on your body. I’ve never wished for anesthesia to knock me out, or really death, more than I did in those hours. The following week, I visited the doctor’s office for suture removal and a consultation. The tech came in to remove the sutures, and then the doctor came in with a folder in his hands and a head tilt I know all about. He started talking, and my brain simply couldn’t hear any more words. I’ve been a crisis worker for much of my career and, not to be braggy, can really rock a crisis. As it turns out, when it’s my crisis, I don’t do so well. I think I started floating; however, my body stayed tied to the chair. He must have noticed I was not listening to anything he said, so he stopped and offered for me to have my support person come in from the parking lot (COVID). When I informed him I’d driven myself, he started to look nervous. He started handing me papers from his folder. First, an order for a PET scan with the appointment time of 8:00 am the following morning, next came details about the type of cancer I had. If I could speak, I would tell him that I’d Google all I need to know, and please stop handing me papers. He asked if I had any questions, and I said no. He asked if I was okay, and I think I chuckled a bit because what a dumb thing to ask. I, of course, said yes.

Before this experience, I’d heard tangibly from God a handful of times. It was always incredible when it happened. I didn’t know how to make it happen, so I just enjoyed it when it did. I knew that the Holy Spirit was within me, guiding and directing. I hadn’t realized it before this time, but my body felt different in God’s presence. A good kind of heaviness, perhaps. When the doctor stood up and left the room, God’s presence went with him. I was now alone.

I stayed alone through all of the decisions for treatment, ER visits when the treatment almost killed me. I failed college Biology twice. Should I be the one making these decisions? I ended up doing all holistic treatment, which isn’t singing “Kumbaya” in the backyard while barefoot and lighting candles. It involved, among other things, sending blood off to Greece to input the specific cancer killers and inject them back into me, and changing my diet and taking 97 supplements a day, and fasting and juicing. Repeat testing and waiting. I was not able to get off the couch without my husband’s help. I had a small circle of friends who encouraged me to keep trusting and believing that God was with me. I did. But checking in with my body, He was gone.

In March 2022, I was driving down State Road 49, heading back home after leaving Meijer. While driving home, I was making a to-do list of tasks that needed to be done before going for an evening with friends.  I was stretching the speed limit a bit in my hurry to get home and shower before leaving. 

Right before I got halfway home, I heard God speak to me, “Amee, I love you.” At first, I wasn’t really sure it was God. He’d been absent for so many months at this point. I turned the radio down as many people do when they need to concentrate. 

Again, “Amee, I love you.” I spoke out loud in the car, “Oh my goodness, God, you’re back. I’ve missed you.”

“Amee, I love you.” I wanted to close my eyes and soak it in, but I was driving. “I know God, I know you love me.”

“Amee, I love you.” I knew God had been absent, and these declarations had already almost surpassed all the times I’d directly heard from God before this point. “I know God, I learned long ago that you love me. I’ve never really doubted your love for me.”

“Amee, I love you.” Now it’s just getting repetitive.  “Okay, God, I get it, you love me.”

“Amee, I love you.” And, bam. Just like that, I knew something I hadn’t before that moment in my life. God loves me. This was more than head knowledge. More than all the time and effort I’d put into my daily walk with God. This was more than … everything. This love enveloped my entire body. I felt it pour into my spirit and flow back out of my pores. I had to pull the car over as I was physically unable to drive. I pulled onto the side of the road, lay my head on the steering wheel, and sobbed. God loves me. How have I not known this before this moment? God loves me. I can do anything. Be anything. Go anywhere. No amount of performing is going to make God love me more. I can just sit in this car for the rest of my life, and God will love me. Everything I’d strived for – all the study, good deeds, Bible reading, praying – it didn’t matter. God loves me just as I am. Just because I have breath. God loves me. I am created in His image. I am His child, his beloved.  I am His. God loves me. 

I don’t know how long I sat on the side of the road—a long time. I just sat in the love of God. 

By the time I made it home, my face was a mess from crying. My husband took one look at me and timidly asked if I was okay. A whole new round of sobs erupted from my body as I told him God loved me. Understandably, he was confused. By this time in my life, I’d been a born-again Christian for over forty years. Of course, God loved me. Through sobs, I tried to explain that I knew God loved me, but I didn’t know God loved me. These are not my husband’s favorite type of riddles to understand, but by the amount of sobbing, he knew he needed to try. Soon, he caught on to what I was saying. As best he could. 

After getting as cleaned up and calm as I could, we were on our way to meet our friends. We were back on SR 49 heading to Valparaiso, talking about nothing but how much God loves me. On this same road, we were talking about how nothing I do will make God love me more when Shawn said, “And nothing you do will make Him love you less either.” A whole new amount of sobbing. I’d lived with a low level of shame about any decision I made. I was constantly running things through a God approved meter. It was an exhausting way to live. I’d only begun to understand the freedom I’ve been given by knowing God loves me. 

The rest of my cancer treatment wasn’t easy. However, it was different. God loves me. I’d go through two more surgeries. One blissfully asleep and one more torturously awake. In November 2022, the cancer had spread to my liver, and the doctor thought I might not come back from this. Due to circumstances, I switched doctors and went to see the new one two days before Christmas. He said that if I survive until after Christmas, come back and we’ll formulate a new plan. I survived, and we made a plan. Slowly, I got better until I rescanned in August 2023, and the cancer was gone from my liver. I adjusted and readjusted my treatment protocol until, one day, I could get off the couch without assistance. I could walk down the stairs without having to take a break. 

In September 2023, through a series of God-ordained circumstances, I began working as a life coach. The clients God sent my way were women who had been raised in the church and had no idea that God loved them. My soul was set on fire. Why have we not been telling people that God loves them? I know we are told God loves us. John 3:16 is one of the most quoted Bible verses, and it begins with, “For God so loved the world,” but perhaps it’s the tense of the verse? God loved the world. Maybe that’s the disconnect? I also leave room for some people who are doing it better than I’d received it—either way, I couldn’t imagine living a life that didn’t proclaim Jesus’ love every day. In November of that year, I started work at the church I was attending. I prayed and worked every day that everyone who came into the building would know the love of God. Remarkably, this was a challenging and uphill battle. During this time, I also began exploring how to live life with true freedom in Christ. A lot of my people-pleasing and co-dependency habits had been healed through years of therapy and recovery, and now with the true heart knowledge that God loves me, I was completely uncaring of what anyone thought of me. I strictly perform for an audience of one. I also became a questioner. We have to do it this way. Why? How is that showing God’s love to people? All of a sudden, Jesus’ words in the Gospels came alive: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.’ This is what life is about – love. 

I’ve spent the last couple of years fully immersed in loving God and receiving His love in return. It continues to be wild to me, but God speaks to me often. I’ve recently explained His voice as a knowing. It comes directly to my body, and I know it’s God. I’m having the time of my life exploring life as a contemplative and a mystic. As one of my favorite quotes says, “Walking by faith; constantly tripping,” I get it right a lot and sometimes have to try again. I’ve continued my work as a Life Coach, and God continues to send me clients who need to know about His love. I have the best job. 

In March of this year, I officially tested in remission from cancer. This was the cancer they told me would be with me always, just hopefully in a dormant state. God chose differently. I wonder if I’ll ever come down from the high I’ve been riding since my roadside experience? I hope not. I pray the love of God fills me up so much that it lasts until my last breath here on earth. I pray that love shines out of me and affects the people around me. This is my calling. Love.