Kim Holman's Journey

Wake up. Get ready. Work. Go home. Sleep. Repeat.
For a long time, that rhythm felt too small for the life God was inviting me into.

A year ago, as I was reflecting on my goals for 2025—work, health, family, marriage, and faith—I realized something had to change. I couldn’t keep moving through life on autopilot. There had to be more than simply getting through the days. On Saturday, January 11, 2025, I shared my deepest prayer with my dear friend Angela. I surrendered all to God, He could have whatever it would take from me—my plans, my expectations, my timeline.

The very next day, I received my metastatic cancer diagnosis. And while I grieved the loss and uncertainty that came with that news, I also cried tears of joy. Somehow, deep in my soul, I knew God had heard my prayer. I trusted that He was already at work, even if I couldn’t yet see how. This year has been a journey—holy, stretching, and full of grace.

In January, Glen and I were blessed with the opportunity to travel to Türkiye, Jordan, and Israel. While in Israel, I was re-baptized in the Sea of Galilee, celebrating the full surrender of my life to God that had begun a year earlier. As I walked out of the water, one person played Goodness of God on their phone, unaware of the tears I have shed with that song. Our group congratulated me on my healing. When I explained that I am stage 4, they continued to boldly claim healing over me. At first, I gently resisted—but everything changed when we visited the Pool of Bethesda.

I had heard the story from John 5:2–9 many times before, where Jesus asks the paralytic if he wants to be made well and then tells him to pick up his mat and walk. Sitting there, I heard Jesus speak clearly to my heart: Live like you plan to continue living. I’m not in denial. I am simply choosing not to live as if I’m waiting for the day things get worse. I’m choosing trust.

Today, my nuclear medicine scans show no signs of live cancer in my bones. My CT scans show no growths in my organs. My breast MRI still doesn’t show a cancerous tumor. My cancer blood marker score is within the normal range. Nothing has changed; I’m stable. These results are nothing short of miraculous. Many women never receive this gift, and I hold that truth with deep humility. There are also many people living with stage 4 cancer for twenty years or more—and there is no reason I can’t be one of them. I remain profoundly grateful to Dr. Millard, my oncologist; Dr. Gildea, my pathologist; and Sarah Larsen, my counselor—for the ways God is using each of them in my healing.

So what does life look like now, practically speaking?

Since my last blog in November, I’ve savored the holidays with family, made a couple of meaningful trips to the Museum of the Bible in Washington, DC with friends, and spent two incredible weeks in Israel. I fully intend to keep seeing the world—especially alongside the people I love most.

Closer to home, my parents are now settling into the Stuarts Draft Retirement Community in a lovely two-bedroom independent living unit. Even Sparky is enjoying the extra space! Liz is coming this week to help my mom unpack and organize which will be a tremendous gift.

As for finding my rhythm this year, I’m returning to the basics. For several weeks now, I’ve established steady morning and evening routines. Recently, I made a small but important change: instead of starting work immediately after my morning smoothie and squeezing in Bible reading later, I now set aside 30 minutes for devotion, Scripture, and prayer before opening email or beginning my workday. This time feels grounding—like setting my heart’s tempo before the day begins. I’m also working toward greater consistency with exercise, trusting that by early March, a sustainable rhythm will emerge.

Weekly rhythms are beginning to take shape as well. Sundays are for church. Monday evenings are Bible Study Fellowship. Tuesdays are for yoga. Wednesday mornings I meet with my small group with Marty and Kelly, followed by counseling in the afternoon. Monday – Friday you will find me at work. I’m intentionally leaving space in between—room for flexibility, rest, and the unexpected. Once a quarter, I plan to take a weekend away by myself to listen, reflect, and reset. Will everything fall neatly into place right away? Probably not. But I’m learning that rhythm isn’t about perfection—it’s about presence.

I call upon the Lord in my day of trouble;
He will deliver me, and I will glorify Him. (Psalm 50:15)

And in that promise, I am learning how to live—fully, faithfully, and one God-given rhythm at a time.