Imagine yourself as a juggler. You've got all these objects that you're juggling because there's not enough room in your hands to hold them all at one time. Although they're the same size, some are different colors, different weights, different materials; but you're juggling them all at once, treating them the same.
We spend our lives juggling things. The older we get, or the more motivated we become, the more things we have to juggle. One of the things we juggle is our free time. Another is our jobs. Another could be our spouse and depending on how many children we have, there's an object to juggle for each one. We juggle our friends, our dreams and ambitions, our responsibilities, and we juggle our health and our sanity.
There is so much going on in our lives, it seems we spend all of our time putting out fires. Occasionally we drop the ball. There are some things that we can drop and it's no big deal. Others, and it seems the end of the world. With so much to juggle, how do you decide what to drop and what you need to keep going?
Your job is like a tennis ball. You can drop it and most of the time it will bounce back. It may bounce away and you have to chase it awhile, but for the most part, you can keep a job. But what about a spouse or a child? These aren't made of rubber - they're fragile, like a Christmas ornament. Drop these, and there's no fixing them. They're gone for good. You can drop a habit and never have to pick it up again, but drop the trust someone has bestowed on you and you may never get it back.
We've all got the same number of hours in the day. The way we choose to spend our time and the number of objects that we choose to juggle reflect what's important to us. When we keep making room for something new, something else gets less of our time.
We juggle career and ambition and drop that precious little girl who adores her daddy. By the time we turn our attention back to her, she's hanging out with someone who doesn't care about her, and she accepts it because her dad didn't care either. Or, we juggle things - the latest gadgets that make us look cool, and we ignore our health. Before we're eligible for AARP, we're wearing a pacemaker and taking insulin shots.
What's really important? What do we really need to juggle, and which ones should we drop so that we can better handle the ones that matter most? If dropping something will break it, that's probably the ones we need to keep.
When my second youngest child was battling cancer, I was juggling work, marriage, my other kids, my grandchildren, church, my own spiritual growth, my own dreams, living up to what I thought people expected of me, too much personal debt, growing older, and worried about what sort of future I would have if I dropped any one of these things. As a result, my sick daughter had to be self-dependent at a time when she really needed to be dependent upon me. And when she passed away, all the things I thought I was juggling for all the right reasons were simply not worth what I gave up. A relationship with my daughter was as fragile as a Christmas tree ornament; and its loss is something I'll never replace.
Among the many balls I was juggling was faith and wishful thinking. I believed God could heal my daughter, but I wasn't sure He would - or that He had, for scripture says that Christ was wounded for our transgressions and bruised from our iniquities, but that by His stripes we were healed. Jesus spoke about faith the size of a mustard seed that could move mountains, and I never understood it until I confronted the certainty of mortality and the hope it wasn't my daughter's time. I felt I lacked the faith necessary to bring the healing Christ had already accomplished into a daughter I saw dying in front of me. But by not dropping that ball of faith, I was able to handle her death with the certain knowledge that I'll see her again - as I prayed she would be: well, whole, safe, happy.
My dad was 44 years old when I was born. I knew he loved me and that he did the very best he could to provide for his family, but I don't remember a time when he ever tossed me a baseball or came to one of my track meets. We never went fishing or had a dad-son talk about becoming a man. He was too busy doing what men were expected to do in his time. When he wasn't working at the hardware store, he was working in the garden, mowing the lawn, attending deacon's meetings at church or meetings at the Masonic Lodge or the Shrine. Did I need to play catch or have Daddy hold my hand when we walked down the street? I still wonder 'what if'? Would I have spent more time with my daughter if my dad had spent more time with me?
Perhaps it was the lack of intimacy between my father and me, and the example he had set of working hard to provide for his family as his number one priority, but near the end of his life I felt uncomfortable watching a man of such strength weaken until he needed help pulling up his pants. When Mama could no longer care for him and Daddy had to be put into a nursing home, I would go for weeks at a time without visiting because I didn't want to see my father wither away. Perhaps my mother resisted going into a nursing home when we could no longer care for her because she feared we'd forget about her and she would die alone.
These are regrets I can no longer do anything about. I dropped the ball on opportunities to care for my parents after they'd spent their lives caring for me. Most of the balls I juggled during this period were distractions to keep me from facing the loss of my loved ones.
During my 24 years in the Army, I sold out 100% to my career. I took pride in being the best at what I did. My career decisions dictated my decisions for my family - where we would go, how long we would stay, where we would live. During those 24 years, I was married and divorced three times, and had six children. Now, as I approach 60, there are some things I wish I'd not done and lots of things I wish I had done. The things I regret the most are the things that affected my relationships with the people I love the most. No career is more important than your family. What good does it do to be the best and not have someone to share it with?
Now that I'm approaching the winter of my life, I can appreciate the importance of priorities: God, family, others, and self. In any other order, the results lead to regrets. Another ball we juggle is trying to limit life's regrets; but we must be careful that in trying to avoid pain, we miss out on the joy such pain can bring.
