“Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.”

― William Martin, The Parent’s Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for Modern Parents

It was Halloween season 2010 when I broke down. It wasn’t a big outward shaking of my tiny fist toward the sky. I didn’t scream at strangers who blocked the grocery aisle. It didn’t even include me taking to my bed and huddling under the covers. I just broke inside. One morning I looked out my front door and saw the Halloween cat I had placed by the step lying on its side and thought, “I can’t do this for the rest of my life.”

What couldn’t I do? At that very moment, I couldn’t set that cat upright one more time. Deeper down, I couldn’t spend any more time being ordinary. What was the point of it all? Why get up in the morning? Why do the dishes? Why make the bed? Why be ordinary?

That holiday season went on as usual. We dressed in costumes and went trick-or-treating; we went to Halloween parties; we stuffed ourselves on Thanksgiving; we shopped for Christmas presents, we ate, drank, and were merry… mostly. Still, the existential crisis in my mind lingered. What’s the point?

Then it all changed.

My friends and I ran a 5K one frosty December morning. With cold toes and warm hearts, we stopped by Waffle House for ALL the food. Full of food and friendship, we parted for the day. I drove home to shower and prepare for the rest of my busy Saturday. As I peeled off my sports bra, I noticed something looked different. One of my breasts looked a bit off. This was not ordinary.

I put the image out of my mind, I stayed busy with the usual. Between the usual kid activities for my three children, aged 4, 7, and 15, there were meals to make and household chores to do and a church service to attend. I didn’t have time for worry.

Monday morning rolled around, as it always does, and I knew I needed to see my doctor. First, however, I needed to finish Christmas. So I made a Wednesday appointment with the doctor and set out to shop, wrap, plan, and complete the unfinished business of my life… just in case. And I did. Christmas was ready to go with 10 days left. I was ready for anything.

My anything turned out to be something. They diagnosed me with breast cancer eight days before Christmas. This unexpected diagnosis made me long for the ordinary days of past. I wished for my ordinary brown hair when I had none. I wished for my normal eyelashes when they slowly fell out one by one. I wished to pick up my four-year-old as her ordinary mother. I wished for people’s eyes to glide over me as one of the crowd in the grocery store instead of suddenly stopping for a moment before quickly glancing away. I wished for the extraordinarily ordinary life I once had.

So this is the story of becoming ordinary once again. The story of how the ordinary came alive for me. The story of discovering the marvel of the ordinary life.