Dad is maybe not doing well. I know I wrote “It Is Well” a couple of weeks ago but even then I was trying to talk myself into it. I am writing this today not so much to inform but to share where I am.

What does it mean to “fight” cancer? I wish there was something I could do directly to the tumor and to the root cause of the tumor. I mean, if I could just have her leg amputated below the knee I would. But that doesn’t work. That won’t fix it. That won’t make it go away.

So she has to have chemo.

And chemo makes her feel bad.

I don’t want to write another weepy post where I cry to the whole world about my daughter. Let’s talk about having fun in the pediatric oncology ward. Because that’s my fight. That’s where I can make a real difference. I can help my daughter feel better. So we try to have fun. In the hospital.

Sometimes by holding straws under our noses.

And that’s what my job in the hospital is. I bring the fun. A new favorite joke is this:

Two goldfish are in a tank and one says to the other, “Do you know how to drive this thing?”

Hilarious. When I told her that joke she rolled her eyes and laughed but she laughed. Prior to that she was feeling tired and maybe a little cranky. She didn’t want to read or be read to. She didn’t want to play video games. She didn’t want to eat. She just wanted to sit there quietly.

Now I’m all for children sitting quietly under normal conditions. But not now. Now we have to fight.

We have to fight to keep her spirits up and I am ready to fight.

But the battle is not focused entirely on my daughter. All of us are struggling.

Julie didn’t sleep last night. She cried. All night.

I can cheer my youngest up with a blue wig and some lame jokes but what do I do for Julie?

What do I do for my oldest boy who has become somewhat brooding and had a small meltdown yesterday?

What about me?

Someone at church asked penetrating questions about each family member ultimately landing on me. “How is dad doing?”

I guess I hadn’t thought about it.

I am in pain and physically exhausted and have a short fuse. My daughter has cancer. My wife isn’t sleeping. My boy is angry. The sink is full of dirty dishes.

But I can’t allow myself to focus on the bad stuff. My daughter’s cancer is localized. We caught it early. I held Julie close, told her I loved her and rubbed her neck, back and feet with lavender and she is resting now as I type. I treasure every moment with her, crying or otherwise. My son is becoming a man…and struggling with that emergence. It is a privilege to help guide him through it. Dirty dishes are a fact of life.

We practice taking deep breaths. We slow down. We laugh. We cry. We wash dishes.

We pray.

We tell jokes during chemotherapy.

This is how we are learning to fight.

How is dad doing? I am hurting but I know I am loved. We have been blown away by the support we have received from our church, our community and my co-workers.

I am not an island.

I am actually surprisingly weak.

But we are able to fight this together. And it helps to have a few laughs along the way. Naps help too.

Julie and I grew up singing hymns. We go to a church that has a contemporary worship service now so hymns are few and far between. But we love it when somebody takes a hymn and turns it into something contemporary. On Sunday our church sang a contemporary version of “It Is Well with My Soul“. We cried. We listened to it again Sunday night. We cried. I listened to it again in my car over lunch on Monday. I cried again. Here it is so you can cry too.

I want to take a moment to express gratitude to the many, many people who are reaching out to us right now. Complete strangers are sharing stories of their journeys through cancer and encouraging us. And in some ways, we are gaining perspective on our daughter and her illness. Last night she wanted to argue about taking her anti-nausea medicine. She staged a fit, cried, yelled, argued and frustrated her mommy. So I stepped in and said something shocking to get her attention and she instantly changed from fake tears to real dirty looks. It worked. I got through. She asked why she has to keep taking medicine.

“Because you have cancer, honey.”

She took her medicine.

I never imagined having that conversation with my daughter but we are grateful she is old enough that we can discuss this with her. Another nearby couple is also in the same hospital with their two-year-old daughter. How do they reason with her? How do they explain the tubes, shots, wires or the bump under the skin on her chest? The endless medicines? Why are they stuck in that same room for days on end? Why can’t they just go home and play with their toys?

And it’s not just them. The hospital is full of sick kids and desperate parents. The most terrifying words in the world for me are “pediatric oncology”. The bravest people in the world are on that floor.

Our little girl has a tumor on a bone in her leg. It has not spread. Her prognosis is good but we have MONTHS of chemo between now and the finish line and the shadow of some pretty terrible side effects to watch out for. But the tumor is on her leg and we caught it early. And we are within an hour of one of the best hospitals in the whole world. And it is in our insurance network. And my employer could not be more supportive. And our whole community has rallied around us.

So what do I have to complain about? It is well.

Even though there is nothing I can do about it. There is nothing you can directly do either. Julie’s brother shared that he felt helpless living in another country and unable to be here. But he is not helpless. We can’t massage the tumor out. We are relying on the doctors to help us with the mundane. Mundane work is part of any miracle. Moses had to hold up his arms. The widow had to gather jars. Wendy has to have chemo. The miracle comes from the Lord but there is always something we have to do.

So I replied to Julie’s brother that he could do as much there as he can here. He can pray.

We walk around that hospital seeing scared and tired parents who just want their baby to get better so they can go home. It is really troubling. We see these parents and work, in our own way, to embrace the opportunity. It seems like I’m on the elevator 20 times every day. As a consequence I run into people repeatedly. One young man was named Adam. I didn’t know why Adam was visiting the hospital. I knew he was there with his wife(?) walking to and from the parking garage to smoke but I never wanted to ask why they were there. I guess I was afraid. The answers are too painful. Julie asked. Adam was there hoping his 15-day-old son would soon begin to breathe on his own.

It breaks your heart.

Julie and I decided some years ago to never say, “I’ll be praying for you!” when speaking in person. Heck with that. We just ask to pray on the spot. Adam said that was cool and Julie led the way.

Though I rode the elevator frequently, I didn’t see Adam on my next stay four days later. I don’t know what that means. I may never know what that means.

But I do know this: It is well.

Either “Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised” or it’s all our imagination and our weakness. The trouble with that later option is this: I have had multiple encounters with God. Encounters that I didn’t imagine. Encounters that are not coincidence. There is a reason my daughter is ill. But you know what? Even if the worst happens it is well. I, myself, baptized my daughter. It is well. I know it is well. I just don’t always feel it.

This is Julie: I want to share some of my thoughts on those words, “It is well.” It is amazing how so many different thoughts and feelings can flood your mind in the course of one song.

“Far be it from me to not believe, Even when my eyes can’t see. And this mountain that’s in front of me, will be thrown into the midst of the sea.”

I didn’t seek out this mountain. Mountains can be seen from a distance. Mountains don’t usually fall without warning out of no where and land right on top of you. I didn’t seek this route, I don’t want it. But I know He is with me. Even in the pediatricians office when the doctor spoke those first words of, “It is important that we stay in control of our emotions.” I never felt alone. This mountain has fallen, but I am not holding it up. He is. “It is well”

“Through it all, through it all. My eyes are on you. It is well with me.”

I sang those words on Sunday, out of faith because I may not be feeling that right now. My daughter has cancer. That is NOT well with me. I sang those words to proclaim it to myself. Even though I may not be feeling it, the words are true. I also sang those words to praise my Heavenly Father, because I can trust in Him.

-Julie

It is well. Even if I am crying. It is well. And through it all my eyes are on You. So let it go my soul and trust in Him. The waves and wind still know His name.

It is well with me.

Our youngest had a sore ankle and woke up Tuesday crying. For the previous two weeks we believed she had a sprain but the pain convinced us to be more serious about a possible break. We took her to our pediatrician for an x-ray.

About an hour after the appointment, as Julie was driving home, the pediatrician called Julie and asked her to return to the office. His first words to her were,

It is important that we remain in control of our emotions.

We are not certain who he was talking to. He may have been talking to himself. Obviously this was going to be bad. His next words were:

Your daughter has cancer.

Julie texted me:

I need you to come home now.

No explanation. I assumed the cows were out or something. I was in a meeting. I stepped out to call her.

I didn’t go back to the meeting. I lost control of my emotions.

I felt helpless and afraid. My little girl was sick and there was nothing I could do to help her. Maybe there was nothing anybody could do to help her. The internet was certainly no help.

My little girl has cancer in her leg. My healthy, happy, beautiful, laughing daughter has cancer in her leg.

Julie and I cried. A lot.

The next day the specialists confirmed that pediatrician had good cause for concern. We had an MRI. It showed a wad of what looked like cobweb where bone should be. More tears.

Days passed. Friends reached out to us. It was both encouraging and humbling.

On the fourth day we had an early morning appointment to get a CT scan and a biopsy performed. This would tell us what exactly we were dealing with and weather or not it has spread.

The cancer had not spread.

We lost control of our emotions again.

Four days before we were devastated to learn that our little girl had cancer in her leg. Friday we were elated to learn her cancer was just in her leg.

Today is …what day is it? Today is Thursday. How did that happen so fast? We have waited for the biopsy results, met with doctors, met with more doctors, toured the hospital and paid co-pays to all parties involved. Today, Thursday, was a big day for us. Today our little girl had surgery in preparation for chemotherapy.

She slept on the way to the hospital.

She woke up in a lot of pain.

Our emotions were under control.

We don’t want to see our little girl in pain but we accept that this is part of the healing process. We held her. We told her we loved her. We kissed her. We asked the nurses to help her with the pain.

But we didn’t cry.

I don’t mean to imply that we are all cried out. Nor are we callous to the sufferings of our daughter. But the uncertainty is gone. We are afraid. Who wouldn’t be? But we have a plan. We know what is coming up. Today was the first step in the plan.

Usually I try to bring my tangents around to farming in some way but not today. I’ll finish this way instead. We are relying on God to fix our little girl…weather He uses miracles or medicines. Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised. And I will praise Him in this storm.

While I do work to make my blog real, honest and personal I usually leave the really personal stuff out…except for love letters for my bride. What we are wrestling with right now may shut the farm down. I have considered selling the herd of cattle. But I also enjoy having them around…even if I have to chase a cow/calf pair for two hours in the dark and rain once in a while. But the farm really doesn’t matter. My family matters. My little girl matters.

And right now we are focused on her.

Please pray for us. This is scary stuff.

Our youngest likes to tag along and usually wants to hold our hands as we walk. It’s nice.

All of our kids help in one way or another. The youngest is a lousy dish washer. Lousy. But she’s an excellent kitten tamer. The boys are ready to rip the guts out of chickens on butcher day because that job pays the best. The girls prefer not to do that specific job. One spent the first 3 years of chicken processing in the house preparing lunch with grandma. And that’s helpful.

But the key is to find the opportunity for each of them and to appreciate what they each do.

I appreciate anybody who is willing to gut a chicken. I also appreciate anybody who is willing to bake a pie and share it with me.

And I appreciate my little girl taking big steps to keep up with mom and dad so she can hold our hands.

I kissed you for the first time in December of 1993. Do you remember that?  Of course you do. That didn’t end well.

But why didn’t it work then? I don’t really know. You were/are a pretty girl but…I dunno…something wasn’t quite…

The next summer I was busy telling you all about that other girl I was hoping to marry someday. But said girl wasn’t having any of it. Why was I telling you?

Shortly after that I swore off playing kissy face and got more “serious” about work and school. You remember that. I was “tired of wasting my kisses” (ah, the smell of teen drama…). I wouldn’t kiss another girl until I knew I was going to marry her. You were there. I told you about it. Why were you there? My parents had a party to celebrate the new house they had built. We were sitting on the front step talking. I was talking about that other girl. You were rolling your eyes.

How did you know?

I didn’t hold out. Somehow you broke down my barriers. I remember kissing you in November of 1995. Do you remember that? Of course you do. I got you an engagement ring at Christmas but it arrived late. I spent every last dime on that ring and I didn’t have a present for you on Christmas Eve. Not even a card. Oh, the things I would do differently…

What happened in between? How did I go from “something wasn’t quite…” to “let’s get hitched”?

You came home from a trip in the fall of ’94 talking about some dude you met and I felt myself getting angry. Mark. Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark, MARK! Why was I getting angry? I had nothing to be jealous of. We weren’t dating. I was just hanging out at your house playing video games with you and your brothers.

I wasn’t there specifically to be with you. I was watching movies and making potato guns and listening to music…you were just somewhere nearby. We played king of the mountain in the snow, we caught frogs and snakes and stuff…we just played around. You were there too.

Why were you there?

Why did we get engaged? Not because of Mark.

What did you do to me?

Whatever you did seems to be working. Nearly half of my life I’ve been married to you. And Mark hasn’t. Nanny-nanny boo-boo. (I hope I don’t find out someday that Mark is fictional…)

So what is it about you? Is it your hair or your looks? You are certainly a pretty girl. 20 years and four children haven’t changed you at all.

Maybe it’s that you look great standing in the rain and mud after milking the cow and taking a selfie. Or maybe it’s that you stand in the rain and mud after milking the cow and take a selfie. Or maybe that you milk the cow in spite of the rain and mud. Maybe that was the point of the selfie.

I really don’t know.

So what is it about you that I married?

Remember that part about your brothers? Your dad played video games with us too. Heck, your mom played Dr. Mario with us. And your mom made us pizza every week while we watched movies. And your grandpa hired me. And your grandpa fired me. And your grandma hired me. And your aunts and uncles are pretty cool.

Maybe I married your family and you were just a bonus.

Maybe. But I don’t think so.

I think it’s just something about you. Something I can’t quite pin down. And I have no idea how you did it.

Maybe I’ll figure it out in another couple of decades.

I know that I love you. It’s hard to be specific about what I love about you so I’ll just take the whole package and not ask “Why?” questions.

I love you. Happy 18th anniversary Julie Boo.

Addition:

Friday night Julie said, “I know you do a blog post for our anniversary every year. It might be nice for us to work on that together.”

“Um…it’s already written and scheduled.”

This post isn’t old enough for me to regret writing it yet but maybe I should have just scrapped it in favor of the collaborative effort. But she’s reminding me of details that…ugh. What a dork. Why did she marry me? She even said, “You can’t put that in the post…” Nope. I can’t. Ugh.

Our 18th anniversary is in two weeks but this blog post just won’t wait. I don’t know what I can say about Julie that I haven’t already said but I’m going to write it anyway. Similarly, I tell Julie I love her every time we talk on the phone…which is probably 5 or 6 times each day. I tell her I love her when I leave for work. I tell her I love her throughout the evening. I tell her I lover her before we fall asleep.

Does she not know that I love her? Oh, she knows. But she still likes to hear it. And I like to say it. I need to say it. So I’m going to ask you to listen to it.

It’s like I need to remind myself sometimes. I love Julie. I love Julie.

I love Julie.

And I really don’t know why I have to be reminded so frequently.

We are easily fooled into believing silly things. I could easily fool myself into thinking she doesn’t love me. But that’s not true. It’s just my insecurity.

So I battle my insecurity by seeking affirmation from her early and often.

But we are easily fooled. How much do you hate your job? Do you know what happens when you make a concentrated effort to tell yourself how much you love your job? This is dangerous stuff. Get up tomorrow morning and write out 10 things you like about your job. Lie to yourself if you have to. Then for the next two weeks read that list to yourself every morning. Pretty soon you’ll be convinced…for better or for worse.

For better or for worse. Do you focus on the worse of your spouse? Why do you do that?

I believe God spoke the world into creation. Spoke it. I was created in the likeness of God. I guess likeness counts toward my looks but I really think “likeness” means more in terms of ability. I, too, have the power to create with my words. In fact, I believe I can create a wonderful relationship with my wife. But I also have the power to destroy that relationship. Death and life are in the power of the tongue.

God also created marriage. And the enemy comes to steal, kill and destroy. Do we focus on how horrible our spouse is? How ugly? How fat? How old they have gotten these last few years? Why do we do this?

SO, Mr. HeadFarmSteward (if that’s your real name), what the heck does this have to do with your farm?

I want to farm. I don’t want to farm alone.

There is no farm without her.

I have a tendency to stew on things. There are times when Julie and I don’t see eye to eye. Or times when she somehow says the wrong thing to me. Or times when she doesn’t say the right thing to me. Or times when things just aren’t going well and I find myself stuck in a cycle of worry and fear and anger. Stuck in a place where I can only see the failures in my personal relationships.

But that’s a lie. Dirty dishes are not Julie’s not-so-subtle way of asking me for a divorce. Dirty dishes are the result of supper eaten at 9pm because we were too busy to eat earlier in the day and too tired to wash dishes before crashing onto our bed too few hours before we have to get up and do it all again. Julie loves me.

Julie loves me.

Why do I forget that?

What am I creating today?

Let me tell you about a little my wife. Just in case you didn’t know.

Julie is a strong woman. Not just physical strength. Grit. Tenacity. Determination. There are things she wants to do because she wants to do them. So she does them. She just does them…just makes up her mind and gets it done. I admire that in her. My opinion is certainly considered and she offers me respect but let’s be clear, she and I are equal partners in our marriage. I don’t tell her what to wear. She tells me what to wear (lol). The kids were recently talking about “my” new (to us) car, “Mom and dad don’t have their own things. They share everything.” I’m glad they picked up on that. I don’t have a new (to us) car. We have a new (to us) car.

I didn’t tell Julie to stay home and raise our children. She is living the life she has chosen and is doing so with my encouragement. If she wanted to get a job I wouldn’t stand in her way. Thing is, she’s just too darned busy to get a job.

Julie runs the farm.

Read that again.

Julie runs the farm.

My contribution is money. I work to pay for the farm. When I’m not at work I pick up the heavy things that she simply can’t manage on her own. I also advise on where to move the cattle. But Julie does the work.

And teaches the children.

And runs another business.

And she loves me.

I work to enable her to live the life she wants to live. She works to enable me to have the things I want to have. We are a team. United and working toward a common vision.

If you and your spouse are not working toward a common vision you will soon face the realities of division. I started down that road once. It’s a rough road. Almost killed me. I don’t recommend it.

It is interesting to look back to 1993 when I met Julie and track the ways we have changed each other and changed together over time. To look at the things we have gone through together…to look back at our hardships and stand together in the oppressive humidity and swarms of insects, holding hands as we walk through the pasture after finishing our evening chores. There’s an analogy in there somewhere.

That time in the pasture is the time I focus on, not the dirty dishes. I love the few minutes we have together at night. Walking through the tall grass and hearing her yelp of surprise as her wrist buzzes. She is always surprised when her FitBit tells her she has taken 15,000 steps again today.

I love my wife. I love her. Her. And in case you are not understanding me I’ll just say this plainly. Though I like Julie’s body, I love Julie. There is a difference. And it’s important. It’s not enough to be attracted to her. I have to love her. Truly love her. I respect and admire her too but that’s not enough. I love her. So each day I remind myself how much I need her and how much she means to me and I work to align my dreams with hers. It is unfair to her and damaging to our relationship for me to dwell on her failures. And she has failures…but not many. She loves me. And she, too, chooses to overlook my numerous shortcomings. Instead we lean on each other, depending on each other’s strengths. We work to motivate and encourage each other and remember our love for each other as we move forward together.

Because we remain in this relationship voluntarily.

But there’s more.

And this one is a little fuzzy. And maybe it’s not for you. But it’s certainly for me.

I love my wife. But I have to keep my priorities straight. I do not worship a creation. I worship a creator.

All these things I do to train and retrain my thinking to stay married (and happy in my career)…I also do those things to remind myself that I have a purpose. That I was created. That I am not an accident. That God made me because God wanted a Chris Jordan in this place and at this time. In Psalm 103 David said, “Bless the Lord, O my soul and all that is within me bless His holy name!” Why did he say that? Because he needed to hear it. Because he was feeling discouraged and needed to create something within himself. He needed to create a positive relationship with God. Maybe because David was feeling alone and afraid.

What are you creating in your relationships? Even if you don’t have a farm I’m sure you have a vision. Or do you have division? Farms are hard to divide.

And, perhaps even more personal, what are you creating within yourself? Who do you think you are?

You don’t have to tell me. But you ought to tell yourself. Death and life are in the power of the tongue.

Ah, I remember my last blog post like it was yesterday.

But it wasn’t yesterday.

In fact, I really don’t remember my last blog post. Probably lamenting farming or pouring sickeningly sweet words on my wife.

It has been a while. Maybe too long.

Can I still do this? Do I still have readers?

Let’s find out.

Management is very different than…not-management. Let me tell you. Wow. The things I didn’t know. The things I wish I didn’t know.

“Sure, I’ll take that promotion. Thanks.”

Geez. What a n00b.

Farming isn’t quite what you read about in the magazines. It’s not all fluffy bunnies and fresh strawberries. There is a fair portion of blood and manure and sickness and vet bills and sweat, hard work and sometimes the only sleep that can be had is when you are traveling in a car. Hope you’re not driving.

Management is similar. Less blood. Same amount of manure. Replace the vet with a talent recruiter, cull out the non-performers and drink a lot of alcohol and you’ll have the idea.

I’ve been a little stressed.

Not sleeping well. Not coping well.

Mostly this is an adjustment period. I don’t think it’s bad. Just an adjustment period. I have been forced to grow and that growth has come hard.

Look, man, I know you think this is a blog about farming but it’s not. It’s just not. It’s a blog about a farm. And I’m the farmer’s husband. So I’m going to tell you how it is on the farm.

We start our day early, milk the cow, unleash the chickens, check feed and water, shower, shave, get dressed and roll on in to work. Then people throw stuff at me for several hours until I come home to move cows, check water, gather eggs, have dinner, close up birds and fall asleep on the couch. Somebody does the dishes. Somebody cooks. Somebody does laundry. Somebody mows the grass. I don’t know who. I just try to make sure the things we need are where we need them so the work can get done.

And it does.

And along the way I try to reinforce positive relationships with and between the people I depend on.

And that’s management.

I just hope Julie doesn’t quit. I don’t think I could take that right now. I love you Boo. You are my favorite person. I need you!

I’ll try to make this blog thing happen again. I treasure the people who make time to read my nonsense. Much of my writing is more asking than telling. More wondering. Me admitting that I have no idea.

I have no idea.

I enjoy when readers take the time to minister to me or help me to puzzle something out.

Thank you for your patience. I promise to post something tomorrow…even if it’s just kitten pictures.