Most of us know someone who has or had cancer. In a split second, we can think of those we lost too soon. It’s a mystery how this disease robs their lives and changes ours so quickly. One minute they’re here, and the next, they’re gone. Life seems so short. Surely not fair.
I’ve known lots of people who had cancer—most of them passed in a couple of years after their diagnosis. But not Emma.
I “met” Emma in January, butapparently, we’d already been talking for weeks. She was the one helping me reserve dance practice rooms at the library—week after week, behind the desk—faithful, kind, steady.
One random Thursday evening, however, she messaged me on IG. I didn’t realize it was Emma from the library. Quickly, in a half a dozen audio messages and texts, she shared her story, asked questions about faith and mental health, and started opening up. I’m still not sure how, but we instantly clicked. I felt like I’d known her my whole life, but I’d only truly known her for a few weeks.
Over the next few months, we swapped dozens of voice memos and texts. By May, we finally met up in person. Three hours later, sitting across from each other at a coffee shop, I knew I had a new friend.
When Friendship Finds You
Emma was different. Her life shone a light that you could only understand if you’d met her. She didn’t have all the answers about faith, but she loved Jesus deeply. You could tell by the way she lived. The way she listened. The way she showed up. The way she inquired. The way she thought and pursued knowledge and holiness.
She was funny in that dry, roll-your-eyes-and-giggle kind of way. It took a special kind of person to understand her humor, but once you did, you realized she was hilarious.
She was kind, always putting others first—through her job, her proofreading business, her words. Very few people displayed the work ethic that she did, and it was evident to all. Once you met her, you wanted to hire her for every position you had available.
She was a light, the kind you could text for prayer on your darkest day, of which I would do often. As I updated her on my life, my publishing journey, and my health scares, she never failed to remind me of God’s goodness and plan. She reminded me that He would fulfill His purpose for me. She lived by example.
Then, one day, it was my turn to be a light for her.
When Grief Hits Without Warning
Emma texted me on July 3rd that she’d been diagnosed with stage 3 adenocarcinoma. It was my husband and I’s wedding anniversary, so I didn’t get the message until late. I was dumbfounded. Emma had never smoked, and neither had anyone in her family. Doctors were scratching their heads at where it came from and how it developed so fast.
By Friday, July 5th, I learned the diagnosis had progressed to stage 4. I asked her when my husband and I could visit her in the hospital. I told her silly jokes about me having my first accidental overdue library book. I told her I was praying, and I was.
About a week went by, and I hadn’t heard from her. I figured she was just overwhelmed, exhausted, and busy. She was getting radiation and chemotherapy, and I knew that was a lot to handle, especially at 24 years old.
She was strong, walking through illness like it was nothing, always hopeful, always pressing on. And then, she was gone.
Emma’s cancer had taken a turn for the worse on the evening of July 14th. The family traveled in from Iowa and spent their last moments with her. July 15th hit harder than I can explain.
I didn’t know Emma for long. Not like so many of her friends did. Their posts bring me to tears. I wish I’d had more time with her. But I’m so thankful for the time I did have.
What Emma Taught Me About Living Well
Losing Emma has shaken me. She was only 24. She had so much life. But she also had this quiet peace—like she knew her time wasn’t hers anyway. Like she would eternally praise the God who gives and takes away.
And now I can’t stop thinking about how fragile life is. How quickly things change. How each day really is a gift. How scared I am that someone else I love is going to get cancer.
What if it’s my husband?
What if it’s my mom?
What if it’s my dad?
What if it’s my grandma?
What if it’s me?
I didn’t get to see her after she got sick, but I did get to meet her family at the visiting hours. No matter how many times we call these events “Celebrations of Life,” something within me churns. I know she’s in a better place. I know she’s pain-free. I know that life in heaven is better than anything we could conjure up here. But I like to remember people alive. As they were. Before death or sickness and disease took hold of them.
Their tears were too much for me to handle. I looked at them, but beyond. I told them how I knew Emma. I told them we’d only been friends for about half a year. I wanted them to know the profound impact she’d had on my life. I told them I was so sorry. But that was all I could muster out before the tears.
As we approached her body, I knew it didn’t look like her. I took a quick look and glanced away. My eyes found a poem she’d written earlier that year. Part of it read this way: “To release and be empty is not a loss, true, but leaves my hands open to fullness of you.”
You see, Emma wasn’t in that body in the casket. And though I can still picture her smile, the way she made people feel seen, the way she loved, fully, she’s no longer here. Because she’d fully surrendered her life to the Lord in health, sickness would not be the end of her story. This release. This emptiness was the path to fullness. Of life, of love, of eternity. Just earlier than we’d expect for such a young friend.
Emma’s story still doesn’t feel fair. It pains me to think of her and the grief her family is experiencing. But it’s made me remember something crucial.
Living Like It Matters
We don’t get to choose how long we’re here, but we do get to choose how we love while we are. It’s a gentle reminder to live life well, to the full, while we have it. That no matter how hard life gets, it’s a blessing, a gift, we’re still here.
And though this earth is not our eternal home, we’re all just passing through, and we can look forward to a place that is. We don’t need to fear death, for death is not the end. Rather, to see and receive Christ is just the beginning. As John 11:25-26 notes: “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?'” (NIV).
Today, I want to know the Emmas in your life. Tell me about them. Let your heart remember and reflect. And if they’re still here, tell them how much they mean to you. But then, I want you to think about this:
-How are you living?
-Is your life in line with Christ’s?
-What are you holding onto that doesn’t matter in the end? Who do you need to forgive, thank, or reach out to today?
-If today were your last day, are you living like life matters?
Before she passed away, Emma texted me this: “I’m so thankful for your support. I thought of you a few times while in the hospital—when you were diagnosed with all those conditions at once, and how it must have felt a little like this.” I immediately thought to myself, my chronic health issues are nothing compared to cancer.But yet again, Emma displayed wisdom, humility, and submission beyond her years: “I would be grateful for prayers for a correct diagnosis and humility to accept what God has for me even if it changes a bunch of stuff I thought I could do.”
Near the end of her days, Emma never lost that humility. Her friends tell me over and over again that she wasn’t scared; she knew the Lord was near. I can’t say with certainty that I would display such faithful courage. I hope and pray that I would, but I also pray and hope that I don’t have to experience what she did.
Emma’s kindness changed me. It’s a reminder to all of us that we can change someone’s life just by the way we live. She also reminds us that it’s okay to ask the hard questions about faith and life, especially when the answers to those questions seem to go unanswered.
I don’t know why Emma had to get diagnosed with cancer. I don’t know why she had to die so young. My mind still struggles to understand. But I do know that she lived with open hands, as we all should.
“For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25, ESV).
Friends, choose one way you’ll live differently today.
Send the text. Forgive the person. Start the journal. Make the appointment. Pray the prayer. Pursue the dream.
Then waste no time. Live changed. Be changed. And change others’ lives. For the good. For the better. Because the hope of Jesus isn’t just for the afterlife, it’s for the now. He gives meaning to both life and loss, and we will walk that road together.
Agape, Amber
Photo Credit: ©GettyImages/KatarzynaBialasiewicz
Amber Ginter is a teacher-turned-author who loves Jesus, her husband Ben, and granola. Growing up Amber looked for faith and mental health resources and found none. Today, she offers hope for young Christians struggling with mental illness that goes beyond simply reading your Bible and praying more. Because you can love Jesus and still suffer from anxiety. You can download her top faith and mental health resources forfree to help navigate books, podcasts, videos, and influencers from a faith lens perspective. Visit her website atamberginter.com.
