Reverend Dr. Claire Ripley
“My Grace is Sufficient for You”
As I reflect on this stormy chapter of my family’s life, I am reminded that every part of our country experiences storms. In the South we face hurricanes, the Midwest endures tornadoes, and the West battles earthquakes and wildfires. Each has the power to disrupt our lives and shake the foundations we depend on.
Looking back on my own storm is a humbling experience. Yet with every passing year comes the gift of perspective, and for that I am deeply grateful. To help tell my story, I’ve divided my breast cancer journey into three chapters. The first is “Self-Sufficient Claire Meets ‘My Grace Is Sufficient for You.’”
In December 2000, I listened numbly as my surgeon delivered the words every woman dreads: “You have breast cancer.” Then he added, “I think we’ve caught it early,” and scheduled a lumpectomy within 48 hours.
As my husband and I drove to that appointment, we prepared ourselves for difficult news, but I never imagined this would be God’s path for me. Eight years earlier, I had undergone major surgery at Duke University Medical Center to remove most of my right lung after months of uncertainty and repeated bouts of pneumonia. At 28 years old, with a two-year-old daughter, I believed that would be the great health crisis God, and I would walk through together.
I was wrong.
Like many women, my lumpectomy was followed by a radical mastectomy when the cancer had not been completely removed. Suddenly, I no longer heard, “I think we’ve caught it early.” Instead, I found myself searching the faces of my doctors for clues about the future. It was a lonely season. Surrounded by loving family and friends, I discovered that my own strength, education or financial resources were no longer enough.
What followed was what I now “lovingly” call Boot Camp.
Months of chemotherapy brought hospital stays, dangerously low white blood counts, deep bone pain, and nausea. Yet they also brought unexpected gifts — a new sense of humor and friendships with others walking the same road. (Isn’t it remarkable how suffering levels the playing field?) Cancer introduced me to people who had discovered new life on the other side of unimaginable hardship.
Many entries in my journal were simply titled “Mission 46:10,” a reminder of Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.”
God gently taught me to live in the present. At first, I had no choice because thinking about the future was overwhelming. I couldn’t bear to think about another treatment or the possibility of a recurrence. Some days, my greatest accomplishment was unloading the dishwasher or sorting through the mail. I longed to plant flowers, tend a garden, and enjoy ordinary life — but those things would have to wait.
It was truly time to be still.
During Boot Camp, I learned to trust God one day — and sometimes one hour — at a time. I also realized how much of my life had become one endless to-do list. I had been living in my own strength, measuring success by accomplishment and control. It was only when all that scaffolding came down that I recognized a painful truth: I had become the object of my own faith.
While the rest of the world raced ahead, my life came to a standstill. It was there that the words, “The joy of the Lord is my strength,” took on entirely new meaning. It was as though God pressed the “Ctrl-Alt-Delete” button on my life. In that quiet place, fear no longer sat at the helm, and I heard Him whisper, “I have you in the palm of My hand. My grace is sufficient for you.”
One memory still sustains me today. Every Thursday, treatment day, dear friends picked up our ten-year-old daughter, Katie, from school and welcomed her into their busy home through the weekend so I could recover. She loved being part of their large family, and their kindness carried us through a season when I didn’t even know what to ask for.
On cold afternoons, another friend would wrap me in blankets, serve hot tea and homemade treats beside a roaring fire, and simply sit with me. That simple ministry touched me so deeply that today our church has a Caring Tea Ministry, led by another wonderful woman who is also a two-time breast cancer survivor.
By God’s grace, treatment ended, and it was time to reenter the world. My coworkers at the bank celebrated my return by wearing hats, and one colleague —already bald — told me he had shaved his head in my honor. It was wonderful to be back.
But before long, I slipped into my old patterns of striving and self-reliance.
Then September 11th happened.
As I watched our nation respond to tragedy, I recognized something in myself. The uncertainty the world was experiencing externally was similar to what I had experienced internally. After almost twenty years in corporate banking, I knew it was time to leave.
The third chapter of my journey is “Who’s the Boss?”
With no clear career plan, I accepted an invitation to serve as a deacon at my church. During that year I discovered how much I loved walking alongside people who were asking hard questions about their life, and I slowly sensed God calling me into the ministry.
That call eventually led me to earn a Master of Divinity from Erskine Theological Seminary and Doctor of Ministry degree from Gordon-Connell Theological Seminary. Today I have the privalege of sharing the transforming love of Jesus Christ with people in every season of life.
So, what have I learned?
When serious illness enters your life, it can feel as though your world has stopped while everyone else continues spinning on the merry-go-round. That can be painful, but it is also often where God does His deepest work.
For those caring for someone with a prolonged illness, be patient. Healing is rarely quick, and God often works where He calls us to wait.
Boot Camp taught me to cherish the present, love the life I’ve been given, forgive quickly, encourage others generously, and refuse to let life’s small distractions steal today’s joy. Take in as many sunrises and sunsets as your heart can hold.
Our brokenness reveals God’s sufficiency. The psalmist’s weakness pointed him to God’s strength. Our temporary lives awaken us to an eternal perspective. True hope is not found in our own ability to overcome brokenness but in the completeness, faithfulness, and everlasting love of God.
Written by Reverend Dr. Claire Ripley
Submitted by Laura Brasington
Photographed by Sliced Tomato Productions