It hangs iridescent, fragile, tenuous. Like a bubble on the end of a child's wand. A sphere of hope and dreams and hard work threatened by the air, the fingers, too strong a breath. Yet it holds there, swirling, shimmering, limpid with frisson.

It's very beauty is in it's fragility, this day. The colors brighter, sounds sweeter, events more memorable. We've had a string of "last days" in this family in the past year. Days when myths threaten to fall, curtains close on an era. Always that question echoing through every moment of the day: do I just savor this, or do I attempt to prepare myself? Is that worrying, borrowing trouble from tomorrow? Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matt. 6:24) Is the choice to simply savor denial in disguise? Let it not be said of me, her "heart has become calloused; she hardly hears with her ears, and she has closed her eyes." (Matthew 13:15 paraphrased) I would that cancer not be my parable, God's veiled version of Truth clouded for my unseeing eyes. That in the pursuit of joy, I refused to experience suffering. That I laughed unaware while bearing the cross that was to bring me closer to the tears of my Savior as He bore the cross laid on His back by my sin!

I am in seek of balance today, an explorer in a land of myriad dragons and few flowery fields. Chicago is there, lingering in the back of my mind, with potential to collapse hopes for remission and crush trust in a more benign diagnosis. Yet it also holds the potential to offer a lifeline, a plan, an idea of what is to come, reassurance of what's already occurred. And today is just today: packing bags for girls to go to Grandma's; going to the farm for more fresh milk for the baby; cleaning a house wracked by weeks of sick kids and a mom busy "nursing" them many hours of the day. May I walk the fine line today, between pleasure and pensiveness.