At the beginning of 2023, I was ready and determined to live in the valleys of life well. By “valleys,” I mean those moments when things are hard, when plans fall through or you are just plain tired of pushing through life. I wanted to live as well in those moments as I do in the mountaintop moments. I wanted to be the person who wasn’t afraid of the hard stuff of life, who praised God anyway and who taught her family to do the same.

Well, God heard my proclamation—maybe even smiled a little at my overconfidence—and was ready to help me learn. Because early in 2023, we found ourselves in the lowest valley we have ever been in. Ever. 

We found a lump on our eight-year-old, Maverick. That lump changed everything.

Blood tests, X-rays, ultrasounds, visits to the doctor. For four months, we found ourselves either getting a test or waiting for the results of a test. But the biggest test was how we were going to live in this valley and who we were going to be when God brought us out. 

Maverick is my first born. He is so full of life—he knows so many useless facts, is an excellent drummer and an even better big brother. He made me a mommy and helped me become the person I am today. 

I know God is good no matter what. I also know, deeply, that trials and bad things happen because we live in a fallen world. But when we were pressed, I discovered what I really believed—that there was absolutely no way God would give my baby a horrible disease or even take him from me. 

My theology was flawed, my beliefs were messed up and I was not living in the valley well.

It wasn’t until my husband, Daniel, and I were talking about the next scheduled test while at our Hope Company Café dropin program, that I realized just how flawed my thinking was. He shared a dream he’d had where Maverick was walking beside Jesus and telling him all about his Pokémon cards. And at that moment, I realized that these kids—who I would give my own life to save—were not actually mine at all. 

I realized that every single one of my goals would be accomplished by that dream coming true—my son hand in hand with his Saviour, meeting his creator and playing drums for heaven’s worship team. Because that’s it. That’s the purpose of parenting. To point my kids to Jesus and teach them to bring along as many people as possible to the kingdom. 

Four days before Easter, we received a call from our doctor, who was thrilled to tears to finally tell us that it was not what we expected and feared. Maverick was OK. All was well in the world again. 

But that lump still changed everything. It taught me to live every day with one foot in heaven and one here on earth, in that tension of “mine” but “not mine.” It made me refocus on the things that matter. It gave me more confidence in the things of the kingdom. 

God feels bigger, bike rides feel sweeter, prayers are deeper.

The biggest thing it has changed is this—every time we get into a conversation about one of our kids, the first question we ask is: Does this matter to the kingdom? If the answer is yes, then we deal with it and adjust right away. There is an urgency to kingdom things because Jesus is coming again. 

If the answer is no, then we take a deep breath, put our full trust in God and let it slide. Because what our kids wear to church, what grades they get, how many sports teams they are on, how many friends they have, if they can play an instrument—none of that matters to Jesus. How much we progress in our careers; if we receive praise or money or prestige—none of that matters to the kingdom.

Whatever valley you are in or lump you may find, never, ever let it take your eyes off the goal: to point your kids to Jesus and teach them to bring along as many people as possible to the kingdom. No matter what the cost. Bring on the next valley.

Captain Bhreagh Rowe is the community ministries officer, St. Albert Church and Community Centre, Alta

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