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One day last October, I realized I was tired. Not the “I need more sleep” kind of tired, but rather the sort where I was bearing an everyday burden of fatigue that wasn’t shaking. In December, when a random sickness going around stuck to me like glue for six long weeks, I dragged myself to my doctor, offering my right arm as the phlebotomist extracted a few vials of my blood for testing.

This blood sampling was repeated twice over the next several weeks as we watched my lymphocytes go surprisingly higher and higher. My astute nurse practitioner sent me to Oncology, where, after much more testing, I am now squarely established as a patient, probably for the rest of my life.

I have leukemia. It turns out there are many kinds of leukemia, many categories or “buckets” of leukemia, as my new doctor at Mayo Clinic likes to say. Mine is apparently the best kind of bucket: slow progressing and should respond well to treatment when I need it – hopefully not for a few more years.

While the good news is good, and I am grateful, the stunning reality is that I have blood cancer. The truth is an invisible physical battle within my body sends spunky me, more often than I like, to the sideline of life for rest.

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This spring, I began a brand-new-for-me routine that, by God’s enabling grace, has become a habit. This is a faith habit that I hope you may be inspired to adopt as well. As my eyes flutter open to my gentle lullaby wake-up tune and I inhale deeply, pulling my comforter closer, I whisper out loud, “I love you, Lord. You are my strength.” (Psalm 18:1)

Before my feet touch the floor each morning, I now seek to confess two things to the Lord:

1. My love for Him as my Savior.

2. My dependence upon Him to restore energy and mitochondrial action to my inner workings for that day.

This daily declaration, this morning manifesto, is orienting for my disoriented state.

“I love you, Lord. You are my strength.”