Just Because You Asked

People keep asking how I’m doing, and with thousands of friends, readers, writers, and ministry acquaintances wanting an update, I figured I should say something now—before the rumor mill decides I’ve either moved to Tahiti or I’ve gone on to glory.

My life has always been a miraculous journey. One of my great storytelling challenges is convincing people that there may be nothing better than walking through the “fire” with God. I’ve been doing that most of my life. What others might call tragedies keep turning out to be my greatest victories.

That doesn’t mean I go looking for trouble. Apparently, trouble has no difficulty finding my address. But when it comes, I’ve learned that God is already there. And as long as he is with me, I’m convinced there is always something worthwhile happening—even when I don’t yet know what it is.

Cancer Free

I wouldn’t trade anything for what I’ve experienced over the last two years with stomach cancer, prostate cancer, and non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. People die from any one of those, so collecting all three was certainly more adventure than I had planned.

But from the beginning, I found myself wondering what God might do. Yes, that was exciting. It really was.

Along the way, I’ve given away hundreds of books to people I would never have met—patients, visitors, attendants, clerks, nurses, doctors, and others carrying struggles. Many people are starving for hope, especially when life becomes uncertain.

And really, we all have our struggles. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t have nearly as many opportunities to trust the Lord.

For now, at least, I’m cancer free. My doctors are delighted about that. I’m delighted too, of course—but not quite as enthusiastically as they are. After all, being cancer free means I don’t get to visit those offices and clinics nearly as often.

Fortunately, they haven’t gotten rid of me completely. I still go back about once every three months for checkups, which gives me a chance to see old friends, make new ones, give away a few more books, and perhaps add a little light to someone’s darkness.

So even the follow-up appointments have become something I look forward to.

Then Came Saturday

Last Saturday morning, I was heading home after breakfast at a men’s Bible study. On the way, I needed to pick up a case of Eyewitness: The Life of Christ Told in One Story. I already had most of a case, but I needed more. So I stopped at storage, lifted a thirty-pound carton off a half-full skid, and carried it to the back of my car. Then I attempted something that seemed perfectly reasonable at the time: Hold the carton with one hand, open the trunk with the other, and trust gravity to mind its own business.

Gravity had other plans. I fell backward and slammed my head against the concrete.

Dazed, I got up and discovered I was bleeding from both my nose and my right ear. I grabbed a paper towel, wiped off the blood, put the case of books in the car, and drove home. Of course, any sane person would have called 911 immediately. I don’t generally fit that category.

By the time I got home, my ear was still bleeding, and I had lost most of my hearing. Fortunately, my brain wasn’t entirely scrambled. I knew enough to realize this probably required more than a paper towel. ChatGPT knows my medical history fairly well, so I described the fall and the bleeding and asked what I should do. Its advice was wonderfully clear: Call 911. Now. It has told me that before.

So naturally, I came up with what seemed like the perfect compromise. I called my son and asked him to take me to the hospital emergency room. Not exactly what ChatGPT ordered, but at least I was finally headed in the right direction.

What the Hospital Found

Now, anybody who has ever gone to the hospital with an emergency knows there are two doors: the main entrance, where paperwork lives, and the ambulance entrance, where things tend to happen much faster. Naturally, I went through the main door.

But in my defense, I had my son with me, and since I could barely hear, he could answer the questions I couldn’t. In my slightly concussed mind, this made perfect sense. Looking back, I’m not sure that helps my case.

They scanned my spine. No broken bones. Then they scanned my brain. And guess what they found? Nothing. I’ve been told that before, so I suppose the scan simply confirmed what some people have suspected for years. If there is any wisdom up there, I give God full credit for it.

The good news was that my skull wasn’t cracked—apparently it’s every bit as hard as people have always said—and there was no internal bleeding. No emergency brain surgery. No broken vertebrae. I got to go home.

And now I’ll get to see even more doctors, nurses, technicians, and assorted medical people who might enjoy a copy of Eyewitness or Born Blind. Only God knows who may be encouraged through all of this, and I consider that well worth the pain and suffering. Whenever God allows a detour, I’ve learned to look around and see who I’m supposed to meet along the way.

The doctors say I have a severe concussion that may take a couple of weeks to settle down. The bigger short-term challenge is my back. When I’m sitting still, I have very little pain. Standing up, sitting down, and getting into and out of bed are entirely different athletic events. Every movement has to be slow, careful, and deliberate. Groaning is important. It lessens the pain.

I’m using a walker—not so much because I can’t balance, but because weakened muscles and a badly strained back make it much more difficult to set any land-speed records.

But I’m moving.

And for now, that’s enough.

The Hearing Challenge

The fall did some damage to my right ear, which matters more than it might otherwise because my left ear has had reduced hearing for decades. Right now, ordinary conversation is impossible. Phone conversations are somewhere between frustrating and comedy. If you call me, there’s a fair chance I’ll answer a question you didn’t ask.

My hearing may improve as the injury heals. There will be more scans and more tests. Hearing aids will probably be important, at least for the short term. Or God could simply heal the whole thing tomorrow and save everybody the trouble.

I know what he can do. I simply don’t know what he will do. And I’m perfectly fine with that.

After all, I may not be hearing people very well at the moment, but sometimes silence is golden. I can still write. And my direct line to talk to God seems to be working just fine.

Changing Plans

I had been scheduled to teach at WriterCon 2026 in Oklahoma City on the Sunday before Labor Day. The animated PowerPoint presentation on “Writing to Inspire” was looking really good. I planned to give everyone attending the class a free copy of Eyewitness. I also had a thousand new promotional handout cards ready to go. You can view a scripted first-draft video based on that preparation here: https://youtu.be/OxUyX5wTKuw.

Instead, I had to cancel.

That was disappointing because WriterCon has given me wonderful friendships and opportunities through the years. The good news is that I already have an invitation to speak at WriterCon 2027. Apparently, God wasn’t canceling the assignment—just rescheduling it.

I think I can now better appreciate the apostle Paul’s regret when circumstances kept him from being where he desperately wanted to be:

Although we have been kept from your presence for a while, our hearts are with you and we greatly desire to see you. We very much wanted to come see you, but Satan blocked our way. So what is our source of hope and gladness, our greatest reason to rejoice? It is knowing you will live in the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ when he comes, because you are our pride and joy. — 1 Thessalonians 2:17–20

The only difficulty I have with those verses is how easily we might read “Satan blocked our way” and imagine that Satan somehow managed to frustrate God’s plans. The book of Job makes something else quite clear: Satan operates only within whatever limits God allows.

So now I’ve been given another personal-experience story about God’s sovereignty and his often unexplainable purpose in the pain, disappointment, and suffering he either causes or allows.

If we believe the Scriptures when they tell us God sees the end from the beginning, the argument for his sovereignty is difficult to escape. Consider these four passages:

[God said,] “From the beginning, I told you what the end would be. What hasn't happened yet will surely happen, and I will accomplish my purpose.” — Isaiah 46:10

Even before the creation of Earth and people who sinned, God loved us and had the perfect plan in Christ Jesus for us to become like him, wholly without fault in his eyes. — Ephesians 1:4

As a perfect lamb, without spot or blemish, Christ sacrificed himself. This was God’s plan from the beginning, fulfilled in these last days. Your faith and hope in God comes from believing he raised Jesus from the dead and crowned him with glory. — 1 Peter 1:19–21

The people on Earth who worshiped the beast were those whose names were not written in the Book of Life of the Lamb slain since the founding of the world. — Revelation 13:8

Sometimes God changes our schedule without explaining why.

Walking with him has always meant taking the next step without necessarily knowing where the road leads. Sometimes I know where I intend to go. But God reserves the right to change my itinerary.

The Bigger Story Behind the Cancer

About forty years ago, I was sitting in a Christian home fellowship when a group of us—mostly in our thirties and forties—somehow got into a discussion about how we wanted to die. I don’t remember how we arrived at that cheerful topic. After several suggestions, the general consensus was simple: die peacefully in our sleep.

“Not me,” I said. “I hope I get cancer and suffer for twenty years.”

That brought the conversation to a rather abrupt halt. I know. Even by my standards, that was a strange thing to say. But the thought came to mind, so I naturally said it out loud.

Everyone stared at me. “Why would you ever want that?”

“Well,” I said, “I’m not sure people hear my testimony very well when I’m healthy and wealthy. Maybe they would listen more closely if it came out of pain and suffering.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” they said. “It might really happen.” They sounded as if I had just tempted fate and needed to find the nearest piece of wood to knock on.

“I’m not worried,” I said. “Whatever happens will be whatever God wants or allows, and I’m perfectly fine with that.”

I’m still perfectly fine with that.

God With Me Is Enough

A month ago, my primary care physician was elated when he said, “You’re cancer free.”

I did my best to share his excitement, but I also felt a little disappointed. Being cancer free meant I wouldn’t be seeing my oncology doctors, nurses, patients, and assorted new friends nearly as often. Apparently, even good news can have an inconvenient side.

On one recent visit, an accounting clerk met me for the first time and looked thrilled, as if I were some kind of celebrity. “Are you Frank Ball,” she asked, “the one who gives away all these books?” She had found a copy of Eyewitness in one of the waiting rooms and read it. After I paid for the rest of this year’s drug infusions, I gave her a signed copy of Born Blind. I’m not sure that qualifies as a normal accounting transaction, but it worked for me.

There is a biblical reality that many Christians might prefer to delete because it doesn’t fit neatly into what they want to believe. Like Job’s comforters, we can be tempted to assume that sickness must result from (1) lack of faith, (2) sin, (3) an attack of the devil, (4) not enough people praying, or (5) not having the right person doing the praying. None of those explanations seems to fit the apostle Paul when he pleaded with God to remove his thorn in the flesh, a messenger from Satan. God’s answer was, “My grace is sufficient.”

God might as well have said, “You have me with you, and that’s enough.”

The way I see it, I have God with me, and that’s enough.

I’ll take whatever he either causes or allows and enjoy every opportunity to shine a little light in the darkness. Every day, I talk to him about making me more physically capable—not because I need life to be easier, but because I still want to do more than my body sometimes permits.

I still have my thorns in the flesh. I struggle to carry groceries up the stairs, and sometimes I have to take naps. I’m learning that even a Roaring Writer occasionally has to stop roaring and rest for a while.

So How Am I Really Doing?

I think if I were doing any better, I’d need to see another specialist to find out what I’m missing. The truth is, I really don’t know what comes next. And that’s okay. I’ve always loved adventures, discoveries, and puzzles, so apparently God has decided to keep me well supplied.

I’m moving slowly. I’m not hearing much. Getting in and out of bed can still qualify as an adventure. My back lets me know immediately when I make a bad decision, and apparently I’m going to become even better acquainted with the medical profession.

But I’m doing well. Really.

Because none of the things that matter most have changed. I can still think. I can still pray. I can still laugh. I can tell stories better than ever before. And perhaps most importantly for someone who calls himself the Roaring Writer: I can still write.

The roar may be moving a little slower these days, but it’s still there and growing.

One Step at a Time

I would naturally like to know exactly how quickly my back will heal, when my hearing will return, and what I’ll be able to do next week or next month. But that has never really been how God has led me. It has always been one step at a time. One day at a time. Enough light for the next step, but rarely enough to satisfy my curiosity.

And I have plenty of curiosity.

I’m approaching my eighty-first birthday on November 27, and apparently God still has a few things for me to do. At this point, I have no doubt that retirement will never be part of his plan.

So this isn’t the end of the story.

It’s just the latest chapter.

And knowing God, I expect it to be an interesting one. Probably with a few plot twists I wouldn’t have written myself.