“I urge you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you… for God did not give us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, of love, and of a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:6–7

Well, that sounds simple enough. Simple not easy. When we are faced with situations that stir up fear, we have, right within us, the power, the love, and the sound mind (self-discipline) of the Holy Spirit to do what is right and good, even when we are trembling.

I was about seven when I first learned that verse. It was at the home of a man named Stan. (Is that irony?) His oldest daughter taught it to me, when I was afraid at a sleepover. I wanted to go home, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t. I remember lying there, whispering those words over and over until something deep in my spirit grew calm. I knew, even at that age, that the Holy Spirit was real, and that He was with me. Truly, He was with me then, and He is with me still!

This morning, we go back to the hospital so that doctors can place a port catheter into my little girl’s tumor-ridden body, a body that should never have to carry this kind of pain. Through that port, they’ll inject medicine strong enough to destroy what’s destroying her, in the hope that it kills every active cancer cell and shrinks the tumors to an operable size. But this takes an enormous toll on her body.

To say I’m not afraid would be a lie. This is, without question, the most terrifying thing I’ve ever been asked to do as a mother. Watching your child endure this, even knowing it’s the right and necessary thing, cuts deep into every corner of your heart. But one thing I will not and can not let go of is hope.

Because I know that same Spirit who comforted a scared seven-year-old girl still lives in me now. The Spirit who gives power. The Spirit who gives love. The Spirit who gives a sound mind when fear wants to steal it all away.

By the Spirit, Ennie and I will walk into that hospital hand in hand with our brave little warrior and trust that the God who began this good work will be faithful to complete it.

Please, friends, pray for our EvanMarie, for peace, for strength, for miraculous healing. Pray for wisdom for her doctors, steady hands for the surgeons, and courage for this mama and her family as we walk this road.

Because even in the valley, especially in the valley, we have hope in Christ.

⸻

Come, Holy Spirit,
fill our hearts with Your presence.
Drive out fear, and pour in peace.
Give us courage to walk in love,
strength to endure the unknown,
and faith to trust that You are near.

Padre Apla’s, ruega por nosotros.

Amen.

As many of you already know, on Thursday, September 25th, our life changed forever when our dear 2-year-old daughter, EvanMarie, was diagnosed with high-risk neuroblastoma, an aggressive solid-mass cancer that is most common in infants and toddlers.

It was a painful shock, a horrific blow to our family. I had some choice words with God that night.

However, from that first quick drive home from the ER to grab clothes and essentials for Cana and EvanMarie, I realized that not too many people get to experience a challenge like this in their lifetime.

I could feel it in my bones: this was holy ground. Not because it was beautiful or peaceful or easy, but because it was sacred, a moment set apart for something unseen, something God was doing beyond my understanding. He is near.

It sounds strange, but many of the people who know us best have said something like, “If anyone can do this, it’s y’all,” or “It couldn’t have happened to a better family.”

I know what they mean. They knew we would double down in faith, in the promise of Christ, and double down in hope in the One who loves her even more than we do.

They knew Hickmans rarely back down.
And God knew that too. (Is this the way He treats His friends, Teresa of Avila?)

Through the years, I’ve watched people stand up to great trials like this, pray fervently, and somehow, even in the face of loss, still say, “Everything’s going to be okay. God’s got this.”

I used to wonder how they could say that. Now I know. It wasn’t denial. It was total surrender.

It was trust that God’s goodness doesn’t vanish when the world caves in. They knew He is near to the brokenhearted, and that His will is still the best outcome, no matter what.

We are humbled and honored to be invited into that circle now.
We didn’t ask to be in it. But here we are.

And Cana and I want to steward this moment well—to the glory of God and to the benefit of our family and neighbors. 

That might sound dramatic, zealous or overly pious to some, but for me, it’s the task at hand. The cross that’s been placed on our shoulders is very, very heavy, but it’s not meaningless. We are in! 

Every day brings a choice: to fight with faith instead of fear, to believe that God is still writing a beautiful story with all of our lives.

But it’s hard. Really hard.
Just because we have faith and hope here doesn’t make watching my baby suffer any easier.
This sucks. Cancer sucks.

Thank God, though, our family is closer than ever. Our friends and loved ones are closer than ever. It was like my larger-than-average family and community immediately sprang into action and collectively said, “Not today, Satan.”

When everything is stripped away, you see what really matters—presence, prayer, and people who simply show up.

Not everybody gets to experience this kind of struggle, and not everybody gets to experience this kind of generosity. The hand of God has been so present, in the details, in the daily mercies.

For the last three weeks, the nearness of God has shown up in meals dropped off, in late-night texts, in donations, in the quiet compassion of doctors and nurses, and in the unexpected tenderness of strangers.

Every second of every day feels like a small miracle, evidence that we’re not alone, that grace keeps finding us.

That’s how I know God is near.
Emmanuel. He is with us.

The Church, the Body of Christ, is alive and active in our lives like never before.

It’s not abstract or theological; it’s pulled pork, prayer chains, and hugs in hospital hallways. It’s the love of God made visible and tangible.

Beautiful flowers are blooming in a difficult valley.

What’s strange is that we’re used to being on the other side of this story. We’ve given talks for decades about hope and trust and faith. We’ve sat with families in great pain. We’ve been the encouragers—the ones who show up.

But now… we’re that family in need. I’m that dad.
We’re those people.

And it’s humbling.

There’s a strange grace in being carried. It strips away pride, illusion, and control, and leaves you standing before the Father, desperate, but still trusting:

“Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof,
but only say the word, and my daughter will be healed.”

God is near to the brokenhearted.

When our family feels the nearness of our community, we feel the nearness of God.

Friends (you know who you are), your radical generosity, your gift of self, has been the tangible, physical, visible face of God to us. The love of Christ is evident in our life through you.

It’s a miracle. God is so good.

We’re thankful for today, this moment, this challenge, this grace. 
For EvanMarie.
For the gift of community.
For light that darkness cannot overcome.

EvanMarie can’t walk right now, but boy can she talk, she’s still her spunky self, curious, playful, full of opinions and judgement. We’re soaking up every moment her laughter, her stubbornness, her light.

Many of you miss her, because she’s been a light everywhere she’s gone.
She’s still that light for us.

And one day soon, we hope she’ll be out there again, shining that same light on you and reminding all of us of what’s true:

That God is love.
That He is with us.
That even here (especially here) glory belongs to Him.

Glory to God. Glory to God in all things.

Please continue to pray for EvanMarie’s healing, and for our family’s strength and surrender. Your prayers are carrying us. Thank you. 

EvanMarie is one tough little girl! She continues to impress every new doctor and nurse she meets with her cooperative spirit, her brilliant two-year-old mind, and of course, her spunk and sparkle.

Yesterday, she went under anesthesia for the third time, this time for a procedure called an MIBG scan. While not quite as detailed as an MRI, this scan shows every place in the body affected by active cancer. The results are given as a Curie Score, the highest possible score is 30, and the lowest is 0, meaning no active neuroblastoma.

Based on her earlier CT scans and detailed MRI of the brain and spine, her doctors had prepared us to expect a score around 22 or higher, meaning active cancer was spread throughout most of her body. They reminded us not to be discouraged, since the goal after three more rounds of chemo would be to bring that score down to “at least 2 or under, but my goal is zero,” as our primary oncologist told us.

When the results came in yesterday, our fellow, Dr. Willis, could hardly contain his joy as he shared the news: EvanMarie’s total Curie Score is a 2. Yes, you read that right. Not twenty-two… a two!

Thanks be to God!

This confirms that her body is responding extremely well to the treatment, and we now hold even greater hope that a score of zero can be achieved in the rounds ahead. It’s also a powerful reminder that our prayers are being heard! 

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for continuing to lift our little girl up in your prayers. We trust the Lord and believe He is leading us through this journey and that He will “take care of everything”. We’ve been told many times that the road of childhood cancer is long, and filled with highs and lows. Today, we are rejoicing in this great report!

We give all glory to God!
And we thank you for your ongoing prayers, support, and love. The "Pink Out" especially, at The Saint Constantine School, brought EvanMarie so much joy the other day!

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,
now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen!"

Back at Braes Meadow at last, praising God that EvanMarie is well enough to be home for the next week and a half before her next treatment begins. On Wednesday she had a couple of intense procedures to help determine exactly where the cancer has spread throughout her little body, and the results were as suspected, the cancer is nearly everywhere. BUT the good news is; the cancer is NOT in her brain or her spinal cord!! And it is NOT currently compromising ANY major organs! Thanks be to God.

Sleeping in our own beds for even one night now, is so, So, SO GOOD!! We are focusing our energies on praising God, and on relearning how to be together in our very own home. Our family is certainly living under a very “new normal”. Our diets, our lifestyle, and many of our habits will have to change as we adjust to battling cancer together. However, the most central things will stay the same. Love shelters us here, and the delight that EvanMarie brings each one of us just by being her spunky self has only increased! 

Being home has stretched us in ways we wouldn’t have expected. Our usual “open door policy” to all friends and neighbors is on pause right now as her immune system cannot handle the exposure. It feels odd to us to limit visitors to an "invite only" basis, but it’s very much in her best interest. That said, we’re hanging out in the fresh air as much as possible since we missed that desperately while we were in the hospital. If you do get a chance to see her, you’ll notice she still has hair on here head, and she doesn’t look particularly ill, but both of those things are subject to change, and that’s ok! EvanMarie has one of the strongest wills of all of our children, and I’m confident that same strength will serve her well in the fight ahead! 

To all of our beloved friends and family who have been praying for our little girl, and for us, her family — we have no way to adequately express our deep gratitude and appreciation. We feel so held up by our community far and wide. It has been a constant reminder to us that we are not alone, that God is with us, and that goodness and joy can be found in the most difficult of times.

Please don’t stop praying for EvanMarie!! Pray for her complete and miraculous healing. Pray for the healing of her body, mind, and spirit. And pray for us, her caregivers to be able to make important decisions with clarity and peace, and to continue to surrender ourselves and our little girl to the care of our savior Jesus Christ who loves her (and us) even more than we can imagine. 

In addition to the prayer to Blessed Stanley Rother, we humbly request you pray (as sincerely as you are able) the Surrender Novena [linked here] with us. We will begin this Sunday 10/12 and end on 10/21 which is the day EvanMarie will be re-admitted to the hospital to receive her “port” catheter, and begin her second cycle of chemotherapy.

This girl is a fighter (see her fighting face in the picture)! And our God is bigger than cancer! We have great hope. 

With love, 
Cana, Ennie, and the Hickman family

​In the words of our sweet EvanMarie, “it was a little bit scary!” 

This morning, she had a repeat CT scan — similar to the one that first revealed her cancer diagnosis just a week and a half ago. She amazed everyone today on the CT team by lying perfectly still without any sedation so they could get the images they needed to see how the first cycle of chemo is working.

And the news is good — truly good! 🙌
Thank God, the tumors have shrunk, and her airway is less constricted than it was before. This is exactly the news we had been praying and hoping for!

Now, her full medical team will meet to discuss the next steps: whether she can be safely sedated for the full-body MRI and MIBG scans, and when they can place her new port, which will make it much more comfortable for her to receive medications, chemotherapy, and transfusions moving forward. 

We don’t yet know if she’ll be able to come home before the second chemo cycle, but we do know she is in excellent, loving hands here at Texas Children’s. Our lead oncologist, Dr. Sarah Whiddle, is a neuroblastoma specialist, and she knows her stuff. Also, EvanMarie is having a fine time at her “hotel-hospital”. With music and animal therapy, playrooms, fish tanks, gardens and a library she keeps busy having fun in between therapy and vital exams.

Please continue to pray for complete and total healing for our precious girl, and for deep, lasting peace for her parents and siblings who love her more than words can express. We know God is good, He is near and He will get the Glory no matter the outcome. For us, we will continue to praise Him in this storm. 

EvanMarie’s young life is calling us and many others to a greater trust in His plan. Keep turning to the Father with us! Today we can thank Him for the positive report. The tumor is shrinking! Praise Him.

Blessed Stanley Rother, pray for us. 

Friends, now is the time to pray. Today, EvanMarie will have her next CT scan, and we humbly ask for your prayers. This scan will show how her body is responding to chemotherapy, and we are praying, with hearts full of hope, that it reveals clear signs of healing. We believe with all our hearts that our God is powerful, loving, and near, and that He can bring full restoration to our little girl. Please join us in storming heaven today for favorable results, peace for our family, and strength for EvanMarie as she continues this brave fight. We are so grateful for your love and support.

Blessed Stanley Rother, pray for us! 

PS. If you haven't done it already, go sign up for "Team EvanMarie" to get the latest updates and a few pictures. 

PSS. Our girl is having a great day! She is in good spirits and being her goofy, silly self.

We made it through the 1st cycle of chemo! Now we pray for good results on Monday.

If you’re anything like me you’ve lived your entire parenting life with a low level terror of the “big C”. And so also, if you’re like me, you’ve done things like focus on instilling in your small children a love of whole, real food and an awareness of artificial flavors and food dyes, and over processed “junk food”. You’ve taken steps to reduce plastics, and limit toxic chemicals in your home, you’ve moved your wardrobe and that of your children toward natural organic fibers and away from synthetic “toxic” clothing. You use apps to help identify yucky ingredients in toiletries, food, and other products in order to select the most natural and nourishing things for their skin, teeth, hair, etc. And then, if you’re REALLY like me, your baby gets cancer anyway. 

Now, hear me. Please don’t stop doing the above things. I still believe those steps make for a better earthly human experience, and can be very important for the health and well being of your children. But this week when my daughter was diagnosed with high-risk neuroblastoma, a disease that targets the youngest of children, and for which there is NO KNOWN CAUSE, it was a sobering reminder that despite my great fear-driven effort to the contrary, I don’t get to pick what happens to my kids. I am not actually in control. God is. When each of my children were born, and in fact, even earlier than that, when I first knew their precious bodies were forming inside of me, I surrendered their eternal souls to the One who gave them to me. I promised to do my utmost, with full knowledge of my sin, my wounds, and my human limitations, to care for them well, and to introduce them to the Lord who loves them more perfectly than even I ever could. And, oh, how fierce is my love for my children! I would literally give ANYTHING probably to a great fault, not to have them suffer. And yet too often, I’ve witnessed or even caused it! I know many parents can relate. And so this week as my mother’s heart has felt as though it’s been torn from my chest, I am aching with the pain of the unclenching my hands, and the opening of my heart into a posture of reception. I know it’s probably obvious to everyone else, but I literally cannot control the outcome here. And it’s excruciating. 

And yet, my daughter has been entrusted to my husband and I and we will fight this cancer with everything we’ve got. EvanMarie is under the care of the top pediatric cancer doctors in the world, and we plan to seek the care of expert oncology nutritionists, and integrative medicine practitioners who can help optimize our girl and her tenacious spirit to ultimately win the brutal battle that is raging inside her little body. In the meantime, we are encountering multitudes of ways daily, that we are having to re-surrender EvanMarie, our other children, and our very lives to God’s providential care. Our focus has become crystal clear. We currently must devote every waking moment to the physical, emotional, and spiritual healing of our precious family. Sometimes that might look like letting other people down. Sorry, not sorry. Beyond that though, we know that we cannot ever achieve that goal apart from community. And wow — what a community!! I am floored. 

The support we have received is nearly indescribable and certainly incalculable! There has been a literal army of people caring for our home and our other children since we were admitted to the hospital one week ago this same night. Countless people have provided for us in so many and varied ways, that it reduces me to tears to even begin to name it all. Our sweet EvanMarie is being prayed for across the country, and across the globe by dear friends and total strangers alike. Her name and petitions for her healing have been brought before shrines and holy sites as far away as Fatima, Lourdes, the Holy Land, New Zealand, Australia. We are not alone. We could never have predicted this kind of outpouring of mercy and compassion for us and our little girl! We are grateful beyond measure to each of you.

When our long time friend Jeff (who also happens to be a VP here at Texas Children’s Hospital) came by to visit this morning, he delightfully pulled off his sock and shoe to show EvanMarie his freshly painted pink toenails, painted by his own sweet daughters in honor of ours. She had shown him her freshly painted pink nails just a day earlier and now she thanked him with the most contented giggle! What did we do to deserve such a moment of pure joy?! One thing is certain, grief and joy co-exist,  but darkness and light cannot. We are in this for the long-haul. However long that journey might be. But we cling to the hope that is Jesus Christ the Light of the World. As our dear friend Ike so beautifully sang at his recent concert we firmly believe that “there is a light that can overcome the darkness, and there is no darkness that can overcome the light”. Yes, even in the darkness of late stage cancer, the light is with us because of each of you who have turned to the Father on our behalf. Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who have prayed for a miracle for our baby girl! Whether the miracle comes via modern science, supernatural intervention, or heaven itself, we have full confidence that God will answer our petitions for healing for EvanMarie. We beg His merciful healing for ourselves and each of you reading this as well. May God be glorified in all things. +AMDG

​Our girl is showing us every ounce of her fierce little (opinionated) spirit. She does not like this one bit. 

Days are full of ups and downs. One moment she’s laughing and playing play-do, the next she’s sound asleep mid-sentence from sheer exhaustion. Monday night, EvanMarie was moved from the PICU to the hematology-oncology floor at TCH. Of course she eyed all the new nurses with her signature mean mug, the same eyebrows so many of you know. If you know her, you know she has always made every grown up work for her trust. Once she decided they were all worthy, she proudly hopped in the wagon and lit up the whole floor with her dimply smile and oddly mature for her age verbosity. And like any determined two-year-old, she has also made it very clear that she does not like taking her medicine (a point she repeats loudly and often).

Tuesday, doctors confirmed our worst fear, she has been diagnosed with high-risk neuroblastoma. The bad kind. It’s aggressive and fast. Our hearts are broken, but we are not at all without hope. So far, there have been no complications with the chemotherapy. On Monday, she will get another CT scan to see if the tumor is shrinking. Pray for a miracle y'all. 

We are deeply grateful to be here in Houston, surrounded by world-class doctors we trust. And more than ever, we trust God’s plan for our daughter and for our family. We already see Him at work in so many ways. it really sucks, but God is in all the suck. Thank you to those how have passed our story along to prayer groups, religious orders, and folks on pilgrimages. 

God hears our prayers! He can’t mute us. 

A few specific prayer requests: please pray that the chemo is working, that we see signs of progress on Monday, and that EvanMarie can adjust to this new daily routine of medicine and generally a bunch of hard things. 

Thank you dear family for every prayer, text message, and act of love. We truly feel them carrying us through.

​Our brave girl remains happy and full of light, though understandably exhausted as her body begins to fight a big battle. The oncologists here, who are truly extraordinary in their skill and compassion, believe the diagnosis is neuroblastoma, originating in her adrenal glands and now present in her kidneys, liver, spine, and esophagus.

Last night at 8 p.m., EvanMarie began her first cycle of chemotherapy. For now, she will remain in the PICU, likely through this first cycle, and possibly the second, so that the team can closely monitor her vitals, especially given the tumor’s impact on her airway. As the tumor begins to shrink and her breathing becomes less compromised, we hope to move her from the PICU to the oncology wing of Texas Children’s Hospital.

The staff here continues to astound us with their care, kindness, and dedication, and we are deeply grateful for the countless ways they are supporting EvanMarie and our family.

This is, without question, a very difficult time. Yet even here, in the midst of uncertainty, fear, and waiting, we feel the overwhelming strength of God’s nearness and the love of our community. We are profoundly grateful for the prayers, messages, and support pouring in from across the country and around the world.

A special word of thanks to Fr. Christopher Plant, Fr. James Shadid, and Deacon Timothy Rask for their spiritual and Sacramental care and presence, and to all of you, clergy and lay faithful alike, who continue to lift EvanMarie to the Father. Those in Houston, who have gone above and beyond, you know who you are. We couldn’t have made it these past few days without you.

We ask you to keep storming heaven for her healing, through the intercession of Blessed Stanley Rother, St. Charbel, and Our Lady of Sorrows, all to the glory of God.

​We’ve been getting a lot of questions about what led us here with our sweet girl. Two weeks ago to the day, I made the decision to add EvanMarie, almost on a whim, to a doctor’s appointment that I’d made for Lucia. Lucia had been suffering from some pain in her hand and it was interfering with her volleyball season. EvanMarie on the other hand had just not been herself. She was a little clingy and not sleeping great at night, and then started limping a bit after playing on the trampoline with her siblings. Since I was going anyway it felt like enough of a reason to have her seen. I just scheduled the appointment online and chose to do it for the following Wednesday as it was convenient for me, and neither complaint seemed urgent. On the day of the appointment. I didn’t even get to vocalize my concerns about EvanMarie, because upon examination she discovered a new heart murmur and then by palpitation of her abdomen felt what she described as a “mass” on her lower left side.  She referred me to a cardiologist and ordered x-rays for both our girls that day. We received results in a couple of hours. Lucia’s wrist was broken 😳 and EvanMarie’s test was “negative”. We were relieved. My doctor then ordered an ultrasound. That appointment was scheduled for the following Monday and the cardiologist the following Thursday.

In the meantime we changed our plans a bit and brought EvanMarie, birthday girl Zelie, and my mom with us on a little road trip /pilgrimage to the shrine of Blessed Stanley Rother in Oklahoma where our organization Amigos de Apla’s had helped to sponsor an event. From there we dropped Ennie in Dallas so he could fly to DC to give a keynote to a stellar group of young adults, and the girls, my mom and I continued on to San Antonio for a little birthday trip for Zelie to see her godfather Ike Ndolo in concert. We had a great time! Throughout the whole trip I watched EvanMarie like a hawk. Her symptoms continued. She was a little sensitive,  still not sleeping great, maybe a lowered appetite but overall still our fun-loving, talkative, delightful little girl.

On Sunday I was filled with so much hope and gratitude, I looked forward to checking the ultrasound off our list with the hope of it revealing a very minor fixable issue. Instead it revealed a 2cm mass on her liver. But we didn’t even get those results until Wednesday as the imaging center had “missed” the STAT order. Now we were definitely worried, but not dismayed. It was small. It could be a lot of things, etc. But we knew we needed a CT scan. We also took EvanMarie to the pediatric cardiologist to whom we were referred and she reassured us that her heart was strong and totally structurally sound, but that something was causing an acceleration in the blood flow of some vessels at the back of the heart. She explained that sometimes this is normal in kids her age,  but especially given the ultrasound results, she’d also recommend a CT scan that included not only abdomen but chest. We miraculously secured a CT appointment for that afternoon, and by the time we got home, my pediatrician was urgently calling to have us return to Texas Children’s ER. She was admitted to the PICU that night. The CT scan results are like nothing I’ve ever seen. Her case is complicated and critical and it’s hard to believe something so large could have been growing inside my baby girl without making her more obviously ill.


We feel so supported by your love and prayers. Thank you for staying with us through this very difficult time.