Childhood Cancer Warrior Spotlight: Meet Tatum

7TH GRADE – BELLVILLE, TEXAS | Written, August, 29, 2026

A new chapter awaited Tatum—leaving elementary school behind and beginning the more grown-up journey of junior high and youth group. it meant new classmates, school dances, football games, and, after Christmas break, becoming part of the first class to walk the halls of the brand-new Bellville Junior High School.

Tatum is a Jesus-first kind of girl who loves volleyball, soccer, the Aggies, and the creative arts. She is an advanced honors student with a heart for serving others and an imagination that rarely rests. Whether she is creating award-winning abstract paintings, sketching, singing, performing in theatre, dancing, experimenting with makeup and nail art, or volunteering at church, her passion shines through.

In Tatum’s own words:

“Being creative is one of my biggest passions. I get to experiment and bring ideas to life. With my paintings, every piece is different and never turns out exactly the way I expect. Once a painting is complete, I give it a title inspired by a Bible verse that reminds me of the story, feeling, or message I see in the finished piece.”

Her days were filled with ordinary moments—the kind you never realize are extraordinary until suddenly…they are gone.

In late January, what began as Tatum feeling unusually off during a volleyball tournament was believed to be a relapse of previously diagnosed mono.

The prescription was simple: rest. But she was not turning a corner. When she became too dehydrated and weak to ride it out at home, we took her to the emergency room.

Then everything escalated.

Within an hour, she was being prepared for emergency surgery to remove a liter of fluid from her right lung and additional fluid from her left.

Suddenly, it was a fight simply to keep her alive—

Septic shock.

Hypovolemic shock.

Kidney failure.

Respiratory failure.

Intubated on a ventilator.

Chest tubes on both sides of her body.

Transferred to Texas Children’s Hospital in the Medical Center for continued dialysis.

And an ICU room where our little girl would spend her 12th birthday.

Then came the words no parent is ever prepared to hear:

Stage 3B Non-Hodgkin Burkitt lymphoma.

Before her doctors could even begin to treat the cancer, they had to save her life.

And then they had to fight to save it again.

Because Burkitt Lymphoma is one of the fastest-growing, most aggressive cancers in the world with cells that can double in size and number in less than 24 hours, everything moved at lightning speed.

Biopsies, bone marrow procedures, lumbar punctures, fertility-preservation measures, and chemotherapy all began before we could even tell our daughter she had cancer.

We did not know what God was going to do.

We did not know how He would answer.

The truth is, we were not sure of anything.

Except this:We knew we were in His hands, and we needed to pray for healing.

He placed an extraordinary medical team around her—surgeons, oncologists, nurses, specialists, and therapists—with the skill to fight for her life before they could fight her cancer.

Then, with the same urgency, precision, and relentless care, her oncology team took on the next battle. Their skill, compassion, vigilance, and refusal to stop fighting became one expression of His mercy.

The medical team at Texas Children’s Hospital became the hands and feet of Jesus to Tatum. God answered so many prayers through their knowledge, judgment, and hands.

They may call it work.

To us, it is a holy gift.

The next three and a half months were spent almost entirely in the Medical Center. Life became a revolving door of physicians, nurses, specialists, therapists, scans, procedures, chemotherapy cycles, and countless conversations. Every day brought new information, new decisions, and new challenges.

The treatment matched the aggressiveness of the disease: high-dose chemotherapy, 11 lumbar punctures, powerful steroids, countless medications, and hormone suppression to help preserve her future fertility.

Something extraordinary began happening outside the walls of that hospital.

The Church. My heavens, the Church showed up!

The Church from every season of our lives—family, friends, classmates, teachers, teammates, coaches, Bible study groups, and people we had never met. From across the country to our hometown of Bellville, people ages four to 99 surrounded us with prayers, handmade quilts, prayer bracelets, messages, meals, errands, donations, and every expression of love imaginable.

Friends called on their resources and connected us with charities. Family and friends sat in waiting rooms during the scariest moments. People drove an hour to spend 10 minutes praying over us. A women’s college basketball team in Oregon wore ribbons on game day.  A couple with a remarkable heart to help, and a community to see it through, hosted a dinner fundraiser.

But the youth…

Nothing made us prouder or moved us more than the youth.

More than 30 letters and posters arrived from classmates. Young athletes dedicated games to Tatum, teams wore ribbons, and friends and youth groups sent videos filled with encouragement and prayer.

Some of her best friends walked into the ICU on her birthday. They saw the machines, tubes, and countless IVs—and did not flinch. They brought the familiar laughter of girls treating it like any other Friday with their best friend. That was medicine, too.

Messages began arriving from parents witnessing faith:

“I have never seen my son pray so hard or so often.”

“My son asked to pray for Tatum—and, for the first time, asked to lead.”

“My daughter added Tatum to our family prayer list.”

“My son told me his fourth- and fifth-grade boys’ youth group prayed for Tatum tonight.”

“My kids prayed for Tatum, but also specifically asked to pray for Dean”

Seventh-grade friends gathered to pray. Sophomore girls did the same.

The eighth-grade National Junior Honor Society organized a schoolwide Coin War. For one week, students competed, collected, and playfully sabotaged one another—raising nearly $5,000 in coins.

Mothers sent photographs of their sons bowed in prayer.

This was more than children being kind.

It was faith taking root— Girls standing in the gap and boys becoming men.

If you are looking for evidence that God is moving in the next generation, do not look only to concerts or college campuses.

We saw it in crayon prayer lists, prayer circles, dugouts, hospital rooms, and youth groups—

Every single one pointing to Jesus.

That is the Church in its fullest and most beautiful definition.

As aggressively as Burkitt entered our lives, the Church answered with greater force.

And while all of that was happening outside her hospital room, God was working on the inside:

The ventilator came out.

Physical therapy began, first helping her stand again.

Then walk.

Wheelchair rides became steps.

Hospital hallways became her track.

And a beach ball became volleyball practice.

Then came the first scan, after only one week of chemotherapy.

Doctors said that if they saw a 20 percent response, it would be good news.

One area had shrunk 20 percent.

Another, 55 percent.

And another, 60 percent.

Dialysis began to ease, and she was finally able to leave the ICU.

Little by little…

Drip after drip…

Scan by scan…

Prayer by prayer…

God carried her forward.

There were still months of chemotherapy.

Eleven lumbar punctures.

Needles.

Hospital stays.

Blood clots and complications.

Days when she fought like a warrior—and days when she had simply had enough.

But God never wavered.

He was faithful on the days we received good news.

And He was faithful before we knew the news would be good.

We know not every family is given the ending they beg God for.

We do not tell this story as though faith guarantees the outcome we ask for.

Had His answer been different from our plea, He still would have been present.

In the heartbreak.

In the hardship.

In the holiness.

Still God.

Still faithful.

The testimony is not that we are standing here with a cancer-free child.

The testimony is that God was with us every single day before we knew we would get here—

Faithful in the ICU.

Faithful in the unknown.

Faithful in the fear.

Faithful in the healing.

Faithful in all of it.

On April 17, 2026, Tatum’s PET scan showed a complete response to treatment—

with one cycle still to go.

In May, she was officially declared in complete remission.

Tatum had, indeed, BTHO Burkitt. Whoop!

And our girl came home.

By the grace of God, cancer-free.

A police escort met us as we turned toward the junior high. Rows of students, coaches, teachers, and staff greeted her with signs and confetti as the school band played the fight song.

And they did not welcome only Tatum home.

They honored Dean, too.

They saw the little brother who had lived out of a suitcase, given up his routines, and walked through it all with almost no complaint.

They told him, “We see you, too.”

And that meant the world.

True to who she is, Tatum came home on the fast-track to return to normal as quickly as possible. Serving at Vacation Bible School, painting again, summer camps – All in.

All while keeping up with physical therapy, follow-up appointments, scans, and end-of-treatment procedures.

This August, she finally walked the school halls again.

And only six months after therapists helped her stand,

she returned to the court to represent her junior high volleyball team.

Cancer changed her life.

But it did not define it.

There was a bell at the hospital she could have rung.

But Tatum did not want to ring it there.

Somewhere along the way, she understood something beautiful:

This journey was bigger than her.

She wanted to ring it with the people who prayed,

and the people God placed around her.

And she wanted to ring the same bell her grandfather had rung not long before.

She celebrated with 350+ family and friends claiming victory.

This is Tatum’s story, and it is still very much unfinished.

But it was never really about Tatum.

Her story is for His glory.

And look at what He has done…

My God…How Great Thou Art!

That is the celebration!

But remission is not the end of the journey.

We are adjusting to a new normal, rebuilding what cancer and treatment took from her, learning how this season affected each of us, and navigating an aftermath that still feels like whiplash. Some days are joyful. Some are difficult. Most are both. It is heartbreaking, and hard and Holy and beautiful all at the same time.

We remain deeply grateful for every person God has placed in our path—from the medical team who fought for her life and the Church that faithfully carried us to the unexpected gift of an entire community of organizations and volunteers who dedicate their lives to walking alongside families facing the unimaginable. They do more than grant experiences or meet practical needs. They give families moments to breathe, laugh, make memories together, and look forward with hope. They step into the space between surviving and truly living again.

Each has become a different expression of His provision. Each holds a permanent place in our hearts, reminding us that God so often provides through the hands and hearts of others.

To Him be the glory.