Finding faith, purpose, and answered prayers in the midst of uncertainty

There’s a powerful moment in the Book of Isaiah where the prophet delivers a message to King Hezekiah: “I have heard your prayer and seen your tears; I will add fifteen years to your life.” —Isaiah 38:5
And later: “Lord, by such things people live; and my spirit finds life in them too. You restored me to health and let me live.” —Isaiah 38:16
Hezekiah’s story is one of desperation, faith, and remarkably more time. Time he wasn’t expecting. Time he pleaded for. Time God granted.
My family and I understand that story in a deeply personal way.
In October 2012, Tisa was diagnosed with stage four metastatic breast cancer. At the time, we were provided the survivability odds— a five percent chance of surviving five years. If treatments like chemotherapy and radiation were successful, we were told we might have two to three years of good quality life.
Those numbers are based on statistical averages. They are clinical and detached. They don’t account for faith, for community, or for the quiet, persistent hope that rises when everything else feels uncertain.
Tisa was a young mother to our three children. Naturally, we prayed—for healing, for strength, for a miracle. And we weren’t alone. Family, friends, and members of our church from around the world joined us. There were countless prayers offered and many tears shed—echoing Hezekiah’s plea before the Lord.
And God answered. Not by removing the trial entirely, but by giving us something incredibly sacred: more time.
Tisa had specific hopes. She wanted to see our oldest son, Tyson, graduate from high school in 2017. She wanted more time to help guide Peyton and Rīsa—teaching them the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and leading them by example as they prepared for their own walks of faith. These weren’t just wishes; they were deeply held desires that gave purpose to every step forward.
Those milestones became anchors for us—something we held onto through every treatment, every setback, and every miracle.
And she didn’t just make it to that graduation.
She was there to see Tyson return from his mission and witness his wedding. She lived to see Peyton return from his mission. And she fought with all her heart, mind, and strength to see Rīsa cross the graduation stage.
These weren’t small moments—they were sacred chapters in our family’s story. Like Hezekiah, we were given time we didn’t expect.
That doesn’t mean the ending was easy. Tisa eventually passed after developing pneumonia following a successful but high-risk brain surgery. Even in that, there was complexity—hope intertwined with grief, gratitude alongside loss.
But I can say this with certainty: God hears prayers. He sees tears. And He answers.
Sometimes the miracle isn’t the removal of suffering—it’s the extension of time. Time to witness milestones. Time to say what needs to be said. Time to love more fully.
Hezekiah was given fifteen extra years. We weren’t promised a number. But we were given enough time to experience what mattered most.
Those added years—those unexpected moments—weren’t just time. They were life. They were evidence of a Savior who is aware of us, who walks with us, and who is intimately involved in the details of our lives.
I don’t pretend to understand why some prayers are answered this way and others differently. But I do know this: Our prayers were heard. And in ways that matter eternally, they were answered.
And like so many who trust in Christ, I’ve learned to hold on to this truth—especially when the outcome is uncertain: “If ye have faith, ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.” —Alma 32:21
If you are in a season of waiting, pleading, or wondering if heaven hears you—don’t stop praying.
Trust that Jesus Christ sees you.
Trust that He understands what matters most to your heart. Trust that even when the miracle looks different than you expected, He is still working in your life.
Hold on to faith. Cherish the time you are given. And look for the quiet ways God is already answering your prayers.
Because He is.
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