I dare say this past month, has been one of the best of my entire life. It wasn’t filled with a glamorous vacation, it wasn’t filled with shopping sprees or girls nights, heck it wasn’t even filled with perfectly behaved daughters of mine.

It was just, normal.

The everyday monotony of life. 6:30 am wake ups, rushing out the door, cooking dinner, doing laundry, cleaning the house.

It was wrestling with my oldest to practice her piano and read her AR books.

It was regulating my three year old’s BIG emotions.

It was sighing at my husband when our daughters complained about the dinner I cooked, and begged to eat treats instead.

It was parking far away in a non handicapped spot.

It was paying bills, cleaning up after my puppy, and being frustrated with my weight gain.

It consisted of NO visits to an oncologist, no chemo, and no lumbar punctures.

It was normal.

It was an absolutely amazing NORMAL month.

But alas, I had to start chemo again yesterday. I had to walk the halls of the most depressing place on earth, the chemo unit.

I had to be in company of people with cancer and view the despair on their caregiver’s faces.

I now get to anticipate the weakness I will feel in the upcoming days, as this life saving poison does it’s job.

It feels unfair. It feels cruel.

I had a touch of normalcy, only for it to be taken from me.

“I don’t deserve this.“

I think to myself.

But who am I to decide what I do or do not “deserve” on this earth?

Do the babies in the Sudan deserve to die of hunger?

Did the Jews deserve to be killed in gas chambers during the Holocaust?

Do people deserve to be r*ped or beaten?

Do the children in my own community deserve to be homeless or live with abusive parents?

No.

So often we (I) forget, this earth, this sinful, painful earth, is not our home.

This is why Jesus came. To take away the sting of death. To conquer the grave.

And not only his grave (the tomb) but ours.

The promise of eternal life in heaven.

Where there will be no more tears, sorrow, or sickness.

Do I deserve that?

No, none of us do.

But Jesus came, and made a way anyway.

Help me, Jesus, to keep my mind fixed on eternity, and not on this earthly life of mine. Where none of the “stuff” matters. All that matters is you. Your presence. Your blood that was shed. You never once promised life would be easy, but you did promise you would be with me. You said your strength would be made perfect in my weakness. Help me to remember the verse I sang as a little girl.

I am weak, but you are strong.