After nine months of treatment, and two long days of scans, biopsies, and waiting, last night we received the news we’ve all been praying for:

Glory to God, there is no detectable cancer. 

None.

Her MIBG scan showed a Curie score of 0, and her bone marrow biopsies were also negative.

Even though EvanMarie’s cancer journey isn’t over (she will have at least 5 more months of treatment), today we simply pause, give thanks, and rejoice in God’s goodness. 

Thank you for praying with us through it all and supporting our little girl. 

Glory to God in all things.

​Tomorrow marks a gigantic milestone in EvanMarie’s journey.

Tomorrow morning she will ring the gong at MD Anderson, celebrating the completion of three weeks of daily proton radiation therapy. Twelve days of anesthesia and treatment in the “spaceship”, and a truly remarkable courage and joy in the hospital (see video below). We are so proud of our little warrior saint and so grateful for the incredible team that has cared for her at Texas Children’s and MD Anderson. We are daily moved to tears for the individuals who make the hope of healing possible for EvanMarie. 

Y’all, God has been present to us these last ten months, full stop. In the midst of every parents nightmare, we feel strangely fortunate to be this close to His action. Life is beautiful and sacred and needs to be lived. EvanMarie reminds us of this truth everyday. 

The road to this point has been long. Since her diagnosis, EvanMarie has endured many a variation of Neuroblastoma treatment and now we finish radiation. As I write that sentence, I’m amazed at how “normal” that sounds to me. Yet another example of Grace. Truly, God has been faithful, and your prayers and love has comforted us every step of the way. Your texts and phone calls have been our strength when it got hard. We are grateful.

But the journey isn’t over just yet.

Early next week she will undergo a CT scan, bone marrow aspirations and biopsy, and an MIBG scan to assess the cancer’s response to treatment. These are the scans we have been working toward for months. The time has come to see the results. 

Would you please pray and fast fervently with us one last time?

We are asking boldly that on July 15th, 2026 there would be no detectable cancer remaining in EvanMarie’s body. We know Christ Jesus, the Great Physician is still at work, and we continue to entrust our precious daughter to His loving care. 

Through the intercession of Blessed Stanley Rother and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, we beg for complete healing. Lord. Please heal our daughter. Your loving will alone, oh Lord.

Friends, thank you for “staying in the room” with us, through every valley and every victory. Whatever these scans reveal, we know that God has been faithful every step of the way, and He will continue to be.

Now please go pray. And let us know by clicking here.

Glory to God in all things.

​Today is the day.

This morning EvanMarie begins radiation treatment at MD Anderson. After all the chemo, surgeries, and bone marrow transplants, we are walking into this next phase with hopeful hearts and deep gratitude for how far God has brought us.

If you’ve seen our girl recently, you know what I’m talking about! Her spunky personality is back, her sense of humor is totally intact, and she continues to amaze us with her strong opinions and deep questions. Watching the sparkle return again has been a tremendous gift to us. 

Now, we are asking our friends and family to continue praying for her. Please pray that this radiation treatment accomplishes exactly what it is intended to do and that God, in His mercy, would grant EvanMarie complete healing. We continue to pray boldly and ask for a miracle. We pray for courage and peace for EvanMarie and minimal side effects. 

Blessed Stanley Rother, faithful shepherd and beloved friend of the people of Santiago, please continue to intercede for our little girl. Bring our prayers before the Lord and help us to trust Him more deeply each day.

Thank you for walking this road with us friends. Your prayers, encouragement, and love really matter. 

Jesus, we trust in You.

Glory to God in all things.

​Many of you have asked where exactly we are in EvanMarie’s treatment, so we thought a brief roadmap might be helpful.

Since her diagnosis of high-risk neuroblastoma last fall, EvanMarie has endured a total of six rounds of chemotherapy, countless labs and clinic visits, multiple CT scans, MRIs, MIBG scans, biopsies, blood transfusions, major surgery to remove her primary tumor, stem cell collection, and two autologous bone marrow transplants. For someone who still loves sparkles, unicorn princesses, and the crust cut off of her toast, it’s quite the résumé.

By the grace of God, we are currently home and enjoying a much-needed season of recovery as a family.

Looking ahead, the next steps in her treatment are:

June 23 – July 9: Proton radiation therapy with the MD Anderson Beam Team. Daily outpatient appointments. 

Week of July 20: Disease assessment scans to evaluate her response to treatment

August – December: Five months of immunotherapy back at Texas Children’s Hospital. 6 days of inpatient per month. 

As you can see, we still have plenty of road ahead of us. But we also have every reason to hope. The treatment has been working! The doctors remain encouraged, and our prayer is that by the time Christmas arrives, EvanMarie will be celebrating not only her fourth birthday, no only the birth of Christ, but also a clean bill of health and a body free of cancer.

One thing this journey has taught us is not to get too far ahead of ourselves. So for now, we are focused on the next right step, the next treatment, the next day, and the Daily Bread God provides for our family. 

Thank you for walking this road with us. Your prayers, encouragement, meals, messages, and acts of kindness have carried us this far.

We remain hopeful in her healing. We remain grateful for the daily miracles. And above all, we remain confident that God is with us and that He is good.

Glory to God in all things.

​I’ve discovered something about myself these past few months.
I am not at all satisfied with daily bread.

I want enough bread to last us at least a week. Daily bread? What is that? As a father, it almost seems irresponsible to only buy bread for one day. We need bread to last at least a few days or a week.
And when it comes to grace and provision, I want it Costco-sized, in order to last for way longer. Like a 100-pound bag of white rice stacked neatly in the garage, I want enough grace to cover my family for the next six months. I want the assurance that we're going to make it through it all.

Though the doctors are confident that the cancer is all but annihilated in EvanMarie’s body, we still have a long, long road ahead of us. Throughout the next six months we've got radiation at MD Anderson, another series of scans soon after, immunotherapy cycles, countless appointments and labs (lots of Braeswood drives), sleepless nights, and of course the "whatever else" that might go sideways, which, if you've ever met us, isn't exactly out of the question.

Honestly, at this point, I feel like I could use a second pantry.
Maybe a little barn out back.

The problem is that God has never seemed interested in giving His followers months of certainty.

I want the whole loaf. God keeps giving me a single slice. Enough for today.

The Israelites must have really hated manna. At least some days.
No barns. No stockpiles. Every morning they had to wake up and trust God again. Just enough for one day.

I used to read that story and think, How beautiful. He fed them every day. Now I read it and think, How frustrating. Because I still want tomorrow's bread today. And the next day’s as well if possible. 
I want guarantees. 
I want a roadmap.
Instead, God keeps handing me a day's portion and saying, "Trust Me."

And somehow, it keeps being enough.
Not the guarantee I’m after. Just enough.

The future still terrifies us.
But the present keeps convincing us that we're going to be okay.

That's the part I never expected.

When EvanMarie was diagnosed with cancer, I assumed joy would disappear for a while. I imagined our family entering some gray waiting room where nobody was allowed to laugh until the danger passed. But that's not what happened at all. The Hickmans kept being Hickmans. We still gather around the table. We still make each other laugh.

There is still the Holy Mass.
There is still our backyard garden.
There is still family.

And our girl, she keeps shining in some of the darkest places. She's recruited nurses and other kids on the hospital floor into foot races, bike races, and endless rounds of The Floor Is Lava. Back home now in the cul-de-sac, she is living her best life with her siblings and best friends. Laughing, being silly, and bringing joy wherever she goes. 

Life keeps showing up for us.
Not a perfect life.
Not an easy life.
But a good life. 
A life worth living. 

Jesus tells us to look at the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap, yet the Father feeds them. He tells us to consider the flowers of the field. They don't strive or worry, yet God clothes them in beauty. For most of my life, I've admired those verses. Lately, I've had to relearn what they mean. 

Hope isn't the assurance that everything will work out exactly the way we want.
Hope is confidence that God is good. And He will remain good. 

Tomorrow will have enough trouble of its own. Jesus told us that too. 

So today, I’m trying to receive today's daily bread. Today's grace. Today's Eucharist. And so far, somehow, miraculously, it's been enough.
We are just going to keep following and trusting the One who is feeding us.

Psalm 104 paints a picture of a God who continually provides, making grass grow, bringing forth food from the earth, sustaining every living thing He has made. Not all at once. Not for years in advance. But day after day, season after season, with a faithfulness that often goes unnoticed until we need it.

Maybe that's the lesson I'm learning. Daily bread isn't a lesser gift than a storehouse of certainty. It's a deeper invitation to trust the God who keeps providing it.

"Bless the LORD, my soul; LORD, my God, you are great indeed! You make the grass grow for the cattle and plants for people's work, to bring forth food from the earth, wine to gladden their hearts, oil to make their faces shine, and bread to sustain their human hearts."
— Psalm 104

Thank you to those of you, our beloved friends and family, who have sustained us daily, through your kind and loving support and prayers.

Glory to God in all things.

​We are home.
Glory to God.
It’s an understatement to say that these past few months, especially these last weeks of bone marrow transplant, have been some of the most difficult moments of our lives. And yet through all the pain and grief, we know we have never been alone. God has been present to us in new and miraculous ways. Your prayers, meals, messages, generosity, holy hours, tears, and encouragement have meant more to us than we could ever explain. We truly believe that the love of God has become tangible to us through our people. Thank you.

EvanMarie still has a long road ahead. For the next few weeks, she will continue IV nutrition for 12 hours each day and will return often to the hospital for labs and blood transfusions. Radiation begins around the first week of June. But honestly, we are not thinking too far ahead right now.

Right now, we are simply grateful.
Grateful to be together at home. Grateful to hear her laugh again. Grateful to watch her light return more each day.

This weekend she even got to attend her big brother Dom’s college graduation, a moment that felt almost impossible not long ago.

There is still healing ahead. There are still deep valleys to walk through. But today we are resting on the mountaintop, soaked in the goodness of God and the gift of life.

Thank you for standing with us through it all. Thank you for your love. 

Glory to God in all things. He is making us all better.

​Light is finally beginning to break through! 

After a long and very difficult week in the BMT, EvanMarie’s mucositis is finally starting to clear, and her little body is once again producing white blood cells on its own. Thank God for this hard fought progress. 
Today brought another beautiful gift: the doctors gave her permission to leave Floor 8 for a bit on Mother’s Day. After weeks of isolation, pain, and long hospital days, even a small outing for her will feel extraordinary.

At this rate, we are hopeful that we may finally be headed home sometime this week! 
​
We cannot adequately express our gratitude for your prayers. We truly believe they have carried us through the darkest moments of this valley. Thank you for loving our girl, for loving our family, and for continuing to hope with us.

​Glory to God in all things.

​Well, we are back in the thick of it. 

It’s round two of the bone marrow transplant, and our princess warrior is walking a very familiar path. Almost step for step, it looks just like last time. She’s no longer eating, and the sores in her mouth and throughout her GI tract are back, bringing with them intense, relentless pain. It’s so hard to watch.

There’s really no way to soften that part. No medicine, no relief. Sitting beside your child while they hurt like this… it does something to you. There are moments where all you can do is stay close, cuddle her little body, and whisper comfort while wishing with everything in you that you could just take it away.

And as much it is feels and looks like last BMT, there is something different this time.

We’ve been here before. We know this deep valley.

And even more than that, we know what’s on the other side of it all. We’ve watched her come back to herself, her smile returning, her laughter filling the room, her playful spirit shining through again.

And even now, in the middle of the hardest days, the light is still there. 

The light of Christ in her.
The light of hope, a hope that does not disappoint.
It flickers at times, but it has not gone out.

Her bravery, her quiet strength in the midst of so much suffering… it is deeply inspiring to both me and Ennie. She is showing us what it looks like to continue carrying light into the dark places.

These days still feel very long. The suffering is not small. But there is a quiet endurance running underneath it all, a steady reminder that this is not the end of her story. We are going to make it. 

God is truly here.
He has carried us through a lot.
And He is with us now.
But… it’s still very hard.

We need your prayers friends. We need your support. And we are so deeply grateful for the many ways you continue to show us that you are with us.

If you’re wondering how to pray for her today, please pray for:

Relief from pain, especially from the mucositis in her mouth and GI tract.
Strength and endurance for her little body. 
Peace, deep, steady peace for EvanMarie and for all of us.

The other day, I came across a video of EvanMarie taken just two days before her diagnosis. At the time, we knew she wasn’t feeling well, but we had no idea what was ahead for us. And there she was, sweet and steady, singing:

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…” 

Yes, baby girl. You are letting it shine. Even here, you are shining for all to see. We are so proud to be your parents. 

Thank you dear friends for holding us in prayer. We cherish you. 

Glory to God in all things!

​Today we walk back in to the hospital for EvanMarie’s second bone marrow transplant and another month long stay. Ugh.
Please pray for strength.

Different from last time, we now know very well the road that lies ahead: the long days of chemotherapy, the quiet calm of transplant day, the difficult stretch of pain management through the third week, and the slow rebuilding and recovery that follows.

We also know that there is “the good life” on the other side of it all. Throughout the past four weeks at home, we’ve seen her come all the way back. Her belly laugh, her energy, her personality in full force. That one truth is carrying us as we walk back through these doors.

Friends, there’s no way around it, this is going to be hard. Watching a child endure this kind of thing never gets easier. But we step forward with a deeper trust than ever, one that has been forged in the fire these last seven months.

We trust because God has remained faithful to us. And present. There have been miracles! and we know he will do it again! 
As always we are incredibly grateful for the care at Texas Children’s Hospital. The people here really love our girl well, and that gives us peace as we begin again.

And as we enter this difficult next stretch, we also need you again. 

Please continue to pray intentionally for EvanMarie, for protection over her body, for relief from the pain, and for endurance through the hardest days. If you are able, consider setting aside time this week for a holy hour, a quiet moment, to bring her before the Lord and beg for complete healing. We entrust her in a special way to the intercession of Blessed Stanley Rother and the Holy Family.

Jesus, we trust in You.
Jesus, we surrender. Take care of everything. 

And we also want to make a very real, very practical ask.

As Cana and I spend long stretches at the hospital, the weight at home shifts heavily onto our children. They have been incredible, selfless, generous, and brave. But this is a lot for them.

If you are able, we humbly ask for support that helps care for them: meals, check-ins, rides, time, presence, anything that eases the burden and reminds them they are not alone. 

And because EvanMarie is still EvanMarie, if you want to make her smile, paint your nails pink and consider sending a video of encouragement (the funnier the better)!

Today, we check in on floor 8 with full hearts. Grateful. Surrendered and hopeful.

We are confident that whatever comes, we are not walking this alone. We are so very grateful for you, our community. 

Glory to God in all things.