The tuna sandwich came on a lunch cart, and Mom fought hard not to drift off into sedated sleep when she saw it coming. She looked forward to that cart and that five minutes of normal. With her pain numbed by the drugs, she stayed awake long enough to take a few bites of the sandwich. Chemo was several times a week for eight hours or more, and sometimes it felt like we lived there. We looked hard for those moments of normal tucked within the long hours, and somehow a tuna sandwich made it all feel delightfully mundane. We talked, laughed, and ate. Those normal moments were a gift.
Mom poured into me during those hours, when it was just the two of us at chemo. She poured lessons, teaching, counsel, prayer, hope, and direction for the future of my life. I didn’t see it at the time, but I realize what a gift those tuna sandwich moments were. One day, as we were eating, I asked Mom if her faith had been shaken. It had been a rough week.“I have faith, Lisa. And that means I believe when there is absolutely no reason to hope. I may not see the results I want to see right now, but I am believing, and I will never stop hoping or give up. I will trust the good Lord even when there are no results, and I will believe that the results are happening somewhere. And sometimes, that somewhere is happening inside of my soul, reminding me to draw close to
Jesus.”Conversations like that are a gift. Mom not only walked it, but she also lived it.
Not long ago, I visited a patient who was fighting the same cancer as Mom did. She reached for my hand. “This feels so good to sit and talk, pet Mabel Joy, laugh about my wig being on backwards, and just feel like a normal person again.” I looked on the chair beside her, and there it was—a tuna sandwich wrapped in plastic with a side of potato chips. “Is that your lunch?” I asked. She nodded. “It sure is, and it’s my favorite. I’m here for eight hours and that lunch is my favorite part of it all. My daughter packs me a lunch before every chemo, and it’s always the same.”
I held back tears for a few seconds before they filled my eyes. I shared with her about our “slice of normal” in life. It was a precious conversation, and maybe one I needed more than she did. Her prognosis was not good, but her spirits were. She knew that no matter what the rest of her story was, God had an eternal plan. The woman knew that regardless of what happened, she was ultimately the winner! Her spirit reminded me of Mom’s, and her last words to me as we hugged were, “God gets the final word on this, not the doctors, and when he says it’s time to go, I’ll go. There is a heaven filled with tuna sandwiches waiting!” We both laughed, then with tears in the corner of her eyes, she said, “Thank you for my slice of normal today. It felt so good!”
After I left our visit that day, I thought about seasons in our lives and how they change who we are. They can halt us or move us to become better. In my own life, it has been a season of the unexpected—losing dear friends to cancer and illness, navigating twists, turns, and the hurts in life. But then, I think of tuna sandwiches. Such a simple thing, but it reminds me that while I am in a waiting season, God is working, sending me tuna sandwich moments, showing me I can savor those precious moments, come up for air, and breathe Him in. I can take the risk of trusting Him over and over, even when there aren’t clear answers. His delays are not denials. His ways are not our ways—they are much better! I am also learning not to underestimate those gifts and promptings God puts into our lives—like my tuna sandwich slice of normal. The promptings and moments might turn into a story you retell. Your stories and obedience matter, and they just might help someone else in their difficult season.
If you are in a place of pain and can’t remember what normal feels like, Jesus is there. Even when the pain feels unbearable, be assured that he chooses to enter in your pain with you and catches every tear you cry. Every tear. You have never cried 
alone, even though it may have felt like it. He has been with you the entire time. As one of my pastors quoted in a sermon: “God is present with you and has a purpose in it. God may wait until the expiration of our expectation so He can manifest His glorification.” Let that soak in.
It may seem too late, but it’s not too late for God. He’s working behind the scenes, and He will be exactly on time. You won’t have to question where the miracle came from. You will know. So, don’t give up—no matter what the rest of your story is, God has the final word.