Cancer Journey · Great Lakes Living · Journaling

The Gift of Normalcy

safe harborDay 3: July 9, 2017

Yesterday was Saturday. I officially titled it “chore day.” After the kids being gone for camp and trips with grandparents, followed by a week of chemo, it was time to put things back in order. So, after sleeping in and lazing their way through breakfast, we went to work – picking up, doing laundry, washing dishes and cleaning bathrooms. In between, when my sweet little angels weren’t bickering or trying to sneak back on screens, there was puppy care and trips to the store. We ended the night together, the six (seven, if you count Zeus) of us – Tony and I back from a date cajoling the crew to finally get into bed. It was so normal. And I loved it.

Normalcy has become a gift that we all crave these days. Austin simply wants to be a normal teenage boy. He doesn’t want to worry if wrestling with his little brother could hurt his port or how many germy hands have already been in that party bowl of his chips. His siblings want to be normal, too, to be treated like they are just as special as Austin, even though they don’t have cancer. Tony and I, we want to do normal family things and have normal-people problems. Alas, we are far from normal.

That is why days like these have become such a blessing, an added grace — like a ship coming into a safe harbor after facing perilous waters. Last year, we became boat owners for the first time, and we took the boat out every chance we had with whoever wanted to join us. There were days when we probably should have never left the dock – our little boat just couldn’t handle the rolling waves on a Great Lake. There were other times, whether because we had a mechanical malfunction or we just stayed out too late and were rapidly losing visibility, I would pray all the way back to the marina. What a relief when we arrived! Normalcy is that relief, a chance to catch our breath before heading back out into the storm.

The day wasn’t all normal. Every time I got something out of the mudroom, I noticed the IV pole where they hang Austin’s chemo meds. Casual conversations naturally traced back to something cancer related. It is just how are lives are right now. Saturdays are great, but Monday is just around the corner. We can’t stay here. The battle isn’t over. So, we are grateful for any day we can be normal and rest in a safe harbor!

He stilled the waves to a whisper, and the waves of the sea were hushed. They rejoiced when the waves grew quiet. Then he guided them to the harbor they longed for. Let them give thanks to the Lord for his faithful love.

Psalm 107:29-31a CSB


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