Since the fluid was drained last week, Tara has felt like a champ. Today she was dragging a bit, probably because she has been going strong all week. I am so thankful that her attitude stays up. I cannot imagine trying to stay strong if she was bitter about all of this. It is truly a blessing and relief to me.

When I think about it, she has always been that way. When I call to say I am working late, her response is, “Get done what you need. But know we would love to have you home.” When I mess up on something big, her response is typically full of grace. Now don’t get me wrong, she can get frazzled, usually at the little things, but her modus operandi is to handle the big things very well.

I learn from her every day. If you heard our conversation today, you would think I was the sick one and she was the care taker. I whined about some things I am dealing with, and she calmly spoke Godly wisdom to me.

Tomorrow is chemo. She missed last week due to some low levels of something that needed to be higher. How is that for a thorough explanation? We also haven’t heard her CA125 for close to 6 weeks now. We have intentionally not looked on line, so we would focus on things that we can control. So tomorrow will be the day that tells us how much longer will she be getting chemo. We pray it is over soon. But no matter what, we are confident God will sustain us.

Do I stop and pick it up or just keep running? I was going as fast as I could down the back side of the dam; pole in one hand and the tackle box in the other. My legs couldn’t keep up with the momentum of my body on that steep of a slope. Literally head over heels for a few rotations, for which even a fit 15 year old body would feel the next day. The lures, bobbers, hooks, weights, pliers, extra line and everything were scattered everywhere.

But we had to run. We shouldn’t have been on that side of the tracks. The Zimmerman’s pond just wasn’t enough. The temptation got me. The police car scared me. The tackle box taught me. It taught me that there are far more important things than the stuff I have. It was so easy to leave that behind compared to the consequences. I ran and never looked back. I never even went back later to get it.

When our family fell down the hill we dropped a lot of things. Things we may never go back to get. Activities we were involved in. Hobbies we had. Patterns of spending our time. Scattered everywhere. While we miss it, the memories will have to do cause we’re likely not going back. Now we are picking up new things. Things that take little planning and motivation. Things that we can easily do together. Things that don’t take time away from home.

We may wander back at some point to get some of that stuff. But we realized it was not those things that defined us and that was a great lesson. Yet another good thing that cancer has done for us.

Work conflicts with home day after day. The mental battle rages even though it shouldn’t. In light of Tara’s sickness, I have tried to find significance in work, but it is hard. I would love to just not be there as much. What could I let go of? Should I not return my calls? Should I not make it to my appointments? Should not care about and manage the money in the company? Should I not manage and care for the employees? Should I not nurture relationships? Should I only do a half-way job? All these things take so much time.

Work really is a release for me. When there, I am efficient, measurably productive, engaged, and I don’t typically think about home. It feels great to be in that element. But when I get home, I see what I missed, again, and I resent work for what it took from me.

Day after day I feel this tension. But I am realizing that maybe it’s okay. A cell phone tower has support cables in 3 or 4 directions. The cables are under tension and the tower remains upright. If there was 1 side without tension, the tower would fall. So maybe I need this healthy tension; wanting to be home, wanting to be at work, wanting to tend to my wife, wanting to help my children. If I ignore any of these, the tower could fall.

A wise man once told me that I should not prioritize God first, family second, work third, etc. Life is about the lordship of Christ over every aspect of life. So here I go trying to do that. Good luck, right? Good thing I don’t get too bummed out by failure. If I did, I would be a depressed man. Instead, I actually am learning and can see progress.

Immediately past the horse we called Redman (because he once ate an entire pouch of it in one bite and wheezed a continuous 15 seconds) was another place that we would go when we needed to get away. The fence had barbed wire around the top, so after we slid under the unnoticeably loose section on the backside, we knew we were safe.

It took courage to climb the 200 rungs to the top of the tower. It never looked that high driving by, but like a dog that bites, it was always scarier when standing there facing it. No matter how brave you felt outside the fence, when you got to the ladder it was different. We would occasionally take someone new. We would warn them it was scary, but they would talk tough, saying, “I’ll climb it, no problem.” But most didn’t. They would stand at the base of the ladder and look up, considering the consequences, then have some lame excuse why they wouldn’t go up.

But I would go up anyway. Maybe I was too dumb to acknowledge the fear. But maybe that is how I was designed. Just maybe I was created and prepared for this time. And if I stood at the base of the ladder then with a mouthful of excuses, maybe I would be doing the same now.

Tara would also be a climber. I know that now. I think back to the diagnosis, the surgery and the first few rounds of chemo. That was some deep stuff, and hard. She had no choice but to start climbing the ladder; no whining; no excuses. We don’t even recognize the fear anymore. We just know to hold on tight to the ladder and keep moving up the rungs, one foot in front of the other. That is how we make each day.

God is our strength; our help in times of trouble. Whom shall we fear?

You’d think I was a king. I woke today to beautiful girls all around me, bringing me food and drinks, rubbing my back and giving me gifts. Of course my son was involved too. My gifts were mostly homemade, but whether bought or not, they were exceptional.

Typical to most Father’s Days, I start expecting royal treatment; like I deserve it or something. Then sooner or later I ask my wife for something or another of royal nature, as I did again today. Like every other year, I got the same feisty answer. “You ain’t my father.” As if to say, “Your reign is limited buddy, so don’t get too excited.”

That feistiness gives me a sense of where she is at. When there is pain, there is no room for humor, spunk, wittiness, or anything like that. But today there was all of that. It was awesome. She was able to take a walk at a park, sit on the patio and chat, eat meals at the table, and fire off some pretty good remarks to keep me humble on this day that I have a tendency to get out of line.

This was a happy Father’s Day. And my favorite gift is a happy mother; my wife.

Last night I said we were 144 days into our battle. I was wrong. We were 134, now 135. Am I wishing days away? I hope not. There is so much to enjoy each day if I allow myself the joy.

Tara and I are looking outside right now at the dusk of the day. For years we did our daily walk at this time. We held hands and walked around the yard talking about plans for life. It was a time to dream. Sometimes we merely dreamed about the yard or the house. But often we dreamed about kids, trips we would take as a family, or where we would be in 5 or 10 years. We loved that time of the day that would usually commence with one of us asking the other, “Do you want to take a walk?”

What a great question. So simple but so deep. “Do you want to take a walk?” There is much implied in that question for us. It means, “Will you dream with me?” Or, “Can we get away from the chaos together?” Or, “I want you without distraction.” Or, “I want to hold your hand.” It was foreplay of sorts because the talks were always intimate, even on those walks where words were not spoken.

We are really close to getting back to those walks. One of these evenings, I will hear her say, “Do you want to take a walk?” And then I will know things are a little closer to normal.

What a difference a day makes. Tara woke up this morning feeling much better. Where yesterday she had no desire to get out of bed, today she had no desire to be in bed. That is a huge relief to me.

Today is day 144. That could seem like a lot of days. It is the number of square inches in a square foot. And when put like that, it seems like such a small number. It is the height of a 14 story building, which makes it seem like a lot. It is the number of seconds in less than two and a half minutes. That seems like a little again. Give me some perspective here. I am having some trouble grasping it.

How about the perspective of eternity? Then 80 years is a blip. We make such a big deal about suffering over a few years. While God does care about how we view it, He would love for us to be able to view it from His perspective; to see eternity and have perspective on our years on earth. Pain…it is brief. Pleasure…brief. Joy….eternal.

The ups and downs should be more expected than they are to me. I try to level out my feelings about it, but it always catches me off guard. Maybe I’ll learn soon. I have to keep putting it in perspective.

It was a little over 3 weeks ago when Tara had the infected fluid pocket. Over the past 3 weeks she has felt pretty good overall but the fluid in her belly has been growing. Last night it became acutely worse and she could not sleep. It was very uncomfortable with cramping and a swollen left leg. We had to go in to the hospital.

At 10 am we had an ultrasound to make sure there were no blood clots in the leg. All was well there. At 11:30 the draining. Three and a half liters, over seven pounds of fluid was drained. It only took 10 minutes to drain it. I watched her belly shrink. But instead of causing relief, there was additional cramping and eventually vomiting.

Now she rests. She wakes periodically to try to get get fluids in her so she doesn’t get more dehydrated. Once she gets past this night, hopefully she will feel much better and we can start living again.

One day out of the last 3 weeks. That is all it took to drag us down and make us feel like things are not going well. How can that happen so easily? Hope takes so long to build and discouragement comes so quickly. We know God will sustain us. But we also need hope. He can give us that too.

As a third grader I was gifted at calculating angles, and less so at common sense. I aimed directly at the point on the boulder that I thought would give the perfect deflection angle. And I was right. The BB hit my friend square. I was horrified to watch his hand instantly grasp what I thought was his eye. I was relieved to see the huge welt on his forehead, two inches above his right eyebrow.

Skip ahead fifteen years. At 24 years old, I remembered the lesson from third grade. That is why I wore goggles. I also feared the bare skin, thus the swear shirt and pants. The rules were simple; shoot as many times as you can at the person on the rope swing as long as they were swinging. Once off the swing, no more shooting. It was difficult to shoot someone moving.

Tara came out in disgust to see grown men playing this foolish game. I had to help her find the fun in it. So I climbed up in the tree, sat on the rope swing and told her to take the gun. I started swinging. She wouldn’t shoot. So I taunted her, and she caved. With the gun pumped several times, she shot. The BB hit me in the only bare spot that was exposed between my sweat shirt and sweat pants; right on the back of my right love handle. I bled. She and my friends laughed.

Not many women can say they’ve shot their husband. Tara can. My ignorance has allowed her to do many things that most other women have not done. We arrived at Memphis in a moving truck, and had never been there before that day. THEN we started looking for a place to live. Six years later we quit our real jobs, had a baby, moved and started a new business; all within 3 months.

This adventure is one she is taking the lead on. I am following her to a place we have never been before. But this time it is not so exciting. More like the BB gun adventure, where the consequences hurt a little. But not quite as funny.

Tonight we had a date. A quiet meal overlooking the river. Clever flavors on plates we shared. The evening could not have been nicer. When we are out, people stare at Tara. I caught them tonight. Prolonged glances, mostly at her head, some at her stomach which is noticeable now. I catch them staring, then they lock eyes with me as if to say, “I’m sorry man.” I don’t let them off the hook. I keep a firm stare and offer a kind and confident nod with a “Hello.”

The date continued when we got home. We made each other feel special. Even now she is helping me put these thoughts together.

The goodness of God continues to overwhelm us. Today a friend encouraged me. This man and his family have a story like ours. He shared words from the other side. I can see how God was faithful to them and I can start to put more pieces together on how He could possibly help us through the next phase of our battle. It is good to hear how others made it, regardless of the outcome. It gives me hope.

In the beginning of our cancer journey, Psalm 40:1-3 was significant. I often focused on the latter part of the passage, skipping the first words. These are now becoming more significant. “I waited patiently for the Lord……”. This journey is far from over. All I can do is wait. I have very little control over any of it.

So we’ll just keep going on dates and making each other feel special; like we did tonight.