I've never considered myself to be a superstitious person, but I spent most of February 13th holding my breath.
On February 13, 2021 I was waiting for a bride to pick up a dress. Luckily, she wasn't planning to try it on, just pick it up. A very loud knock at the door made me jump. It wasn't the timid knock of a bride, but the bold pounding of a pair of deputies, delivering the message that Mom and Dad Henderson's house was on fire.
On February 12, 2023 I was in the throws of the bewitching hour, hurrying dinner along to feed Andrew before he needed to race off to work. It was the night before my thyroid surgery, and I was a little nervous they might find thyroid cancer. My phone rang, and a very shocked PA delivered the news that I had endometrial cancer.
While both experiences were relatively earth shattering, both in the long run have provided countless opportunities for miracles and growth. Both were painful, exhausting, frightening, expensive, left scars, were unplanned and quite unwelcome, they also were testimony-building and gratitude-inspiring. They brought family closer together, created memories, and were full of opportunities to serve and be served.
One of the greatest blessings during my cancer was to be the recipient of my mom's experience and wisdom from her chemo treatments several years before, and likewise to share my experience with a friend in my ward who was diagnosed not long after me.
While I shudder to think what future February 13ths might bring, I know that all things will work together for our good, through our faith in God. We are blessed beyond measure and I'm eternally grateful for the peace found in Jesus Christ.
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