January 3, 2026
“It’s OK to Be Sad”
Five words hit me hard today.
I had been given permission to be sad.
You might not think this is a big deal, or you might think it sounds strange. After all, I’m a 60-year-old woman who has seen her share of sadness. But today, those five words landed deeply. You see, I was diagnosed with breast cancer in October 2025. Hold that thought.
I’ve always been a fixer, a doer, a warrior (that was even my high school mascot!). I’m not good at sitting still—although God has taught me a lot along the way, and I’m much better at it than I used to be. I’m not a type-A personality, but I don’t just sit back and let things happen when I believe I can make a difference for the better.
Most people would probably describe me as more quiet than talkative, and as I’ve aged, I’ve grown much more introspective than I was as a younger woman. I’m also a physical therapist. So if I have pain, I usually know how to fix it. If I feel weak, I know how to strengthen. If something feels off, I know who to go to for help. I’ve always taken good care of my body. I’m a deeply feeling, common-sense, factual woman—not much on fluff.
So now that you know a little about me, let’s go back to the cancer diagnosis.
When I was told that I did, in fact, have cancer, I couldn’t quite grasp it. That’s a big word. A heavy word. A word that has been given so much press, so much fear, and so little hope. It’s a word no one ever wants to hear. And there it was, staring me in the face. I think it even had a smirk on it.
So what did I do?
I told my family and a few of my closest friends—and then I went on a missions trip the very next day. I did share the diagnosis with my new team of friends later in the week, and we prayed together. When I came home, I returned to work. Work has always been my outlet. I’m a hard worker, and when I’m working, I can escape myself for a while because I truly love what I do.
So how does all of this connect to being told, “It’s OK to be sad”?
Today, two close friends—who are also sisters—asked me how I was really feeling about the cancer diagnosis and about life in general. I told them honestly that I don’t feel like I’ve lost faith, or that I don’t have enough of it. I don’t feel forgotten by God, and I don’t feel like He doesn’t want to heal me.
But my joy is gone.
I miss joy.
Some days I cry a lot. I don’t feel depressed; I just cry when certain words hit me hard. I can still smile and laugh most days. But every day, underneath it all, I feel sad. I shared this with tears in my eyes.
And that’s when she said it:
“It’s OK to be sad.”
In that moment, something broke—and I was released. It was like a light bulb turned on and light flooded my being. I cried, of course, but I also felt freedom. I’ve been asking God to help me, to heal me, to restore my joy, and to show me what He wants to teach me through this mess.
But I’ve also been trying to fix myself.
Ever been there? Trusting God, yet “helping” Him at the same time?
That’s when the words of Psalm 46:10 came rushing into my mind—words we had just discussed in Bible study that very morning:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
We also talked about Psalm 91, where we’re promised that if we abide in Him—if we learn to walk in His shadow and allow Him to hide us under His strong and mighty wings—He will cover us, protect us, and keep us safe from the enemy. He tells us there, “You shall not be afraid.” He tells us to put our trust in Him.
Wow.
God’s timing is perfect, and that’s not a cliché.
Those words—“It’s OK to be sad”—took me from striving, joyless, and somewhat confused, to free. Free to cry when the thought of cancer hurts. Free to still know that my joy is in the Lord. Free to run straight into the loving arms of my Heavenly Father and simply be still there.
As I’ve said before, I’ve been learning how to be still over the past few years, and He continues to faithfully and gently instruct me. Through this pain, God is teaching me to be still, to trust Him to give me only His best, and to understand that it truly is OK to be sad.
He is present.
He can handle it.
And all I need to do is be still—and know.
By Michele DeGarmo, IWM Trip Leader
