Reality Reflection — August 23 2026
People ask me often, “How are you doing?”
Most of the time, I can answer that pretty easily. But today, the most honest answer is complicated.
This week has been difficult.
I can feel the cumulative effects of chemo building in my body. I’m tired. I’m more emotional. There have been moments when I’ve felt almost gray — not necessarily sad, not necessarily depressed, but just worn down. And then there are moments when one song, one person, or one thought can bring the tears almost instantly.
I want to be strong.
But sometimes my body reminds me that strength does not mean I get to decide how all of this feels.
And yet, something else is also true:
I am still functioning and participating in my life.
I finished projects this week. I worked in my yard. I got myself ready and went to church. My creativity is still going. I’m working on books, stickers, songs, bags, and ideas that once lived only in my imagination.
Kids Hope is ahead of me again.
There are things I am excited about.
There are things that still matter deeply to me.
The hard part has not swallowed everything.
This morning, I also realized that my faith is not theoretical right now.
There are moments when I simply do not have anywhere else to put what I am carrying. This morning was one of them.
So I prayed.
I listened to Third Days- “Cry Out to Jesus” and I did exactly that.
I needed somewhere to put what I couldn’t carry, and that is where I went.
My creative work has been tied to that same desire for a long time — that somehow something I make might bring another person hope, courage, or encouragement when they need it.
But I also have unresolved things.
My car needs work.
My work and income have changed.
I’ve signed up for a trip to Israel that means a great deal to me, and I don’t yet know exactly how I’m going toake that happen
And, of course, there is uncertainty surrounding my health.
Emotionally, I have realized something else too:
I want closeness.
There are moments when I don’t want advice or answers. I just want someone I know and trust beside me when I’m exhausted.
That doesn’t necessarily tell me who that person should be.
It tells me something about what I need during a difficult season.
And then there is perhaps the hardest reality of all:
I am here.
There are people I care about who are not.
I am profoundly grateful that I am still here.
But being grateful to be alive does not obligate me to be joyful every minute of what it takes to stay alive.
I can say:
Thank You, God, that I am here.
And I can also say:
I hate what I have to go through to be here.
Both are true.
Maybe that’s what my Progress Mirror looks like today.
If I held it up this morning and looked into it honestly, I wouldn’t tell myself:
Look how strong you are.
I would say:
You’re tired.
You’re emotional.
You’re grateful.
You’re frustrated.
You’re creating.
You’re showing up.
You’re uncertain about some things.
You’re excited about others.
You need people.
You need God.
And none of those truths contradict one another.
Maybe that’s what having both hands open looks like.
In one hand, I can hold gratitude.
In the other, I can hold frustration, exhaustion, uncertainty, and even grief.
I don’t have to close either hand.
I don’t have to pretend one isn’t there in order to acknowledge the other.
Today, I’m holding both.
This isn’t “poor me.”
It isn’t giving up.
And it isn’t a polished testimony from the other side of something difficult.
It’s simply my reality today.
And maybe being honest about where we actually are — while we’re still in the middle of it — is its own kind of faith.