I’ve spent the better part of my adult life juggling and at times I believe I mastered the art of it. No, I don’t throw balls and other objects in the air all at once, but what I do juggle is my nonstop brain.

It comes as no surprise to me, or probably anyone else, I’ve explored many kinds of careers and taken college courses for several degrees. I also have explored many self owned businesses with the longest running one being photography.  But my unsettled mind still looks constantly at more things to juggle. My life is in constant chaos. So when Jen was diagnosed with leukemia, I had to question my ability to manage the enormity of it and why God would think I am capable of such huge obstacle.

Most days, I finally feel I’ve learned to use cruise control and am able to keep life in balance. I get excited to find a few hours where Jen feels well and we can enjoy life. And I get my hopes up that we are on our way to her being healed.  I think to myself, finally at +71, we are over the hump. I start to plan the hour, the day, the week.  

But then this life I had once juggled so well, comes crashing down and I don’t know if I turn around or push forward  with the plan. Last night, Jen had a great evening. We got dinner together and I enjoyed seeing her be my Jen again. I went to bed with a smile on my face thinking today’s drive back to home will go well. 

About 30 minutes into the drive,  Jen becomes very quiet, 30 minutes later her expression changes and by the time we get to Lima, I wonder if I need to turn back around. But then all the balls I had tossed into the air and placed ever so carefully would need to be repositioned. I start going through all the balls I need to juggle and how I can keep them in the air. Today it went like this….”Randy is on nights, the last paycheck missing hours from missed work. Matt is leaving for his two week summer drill tomorrow. And Jess is giving blood after work and needs to be home to catch up on her housework and life.  I have no options for who will stay with the dogs over night so hopefully this will pass.”

But what if it doesnt. What if we get home and things get worse. What if my choice to continue driving home ends up being the wrong one.  The truth is, I have lost control. The balls I have been trying to juggle has become once again too much. I can only wonder if tomorrow will be better, or next week, or next year.  Some never get better but fight through pain and set backs 90% of the time.  Is this what our life will be? A few hours of peace, followed by a constant cancer dance?  

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