The Juggling Act

When my children were infants and struggling to fall asleep, I’d sing “He’s Got the Whole Word in His Hands,” as I paced with them around their nursery at night. I liked that song because I could add endless verses to it, maintaining the rhythm and sway for hours on end if need be. Sometimes I’d laugh to myself at the image of God holding SO many things in His hands at once (grandparents, barnyard animals, oceans, and mountains just to name a few). How could He possibly juggle it all? I can barely juggle my purse, phone, and coffee cup as I walk to my car each morning.

My sister recently shared a metaphor she’d heard about juggling all the balls of life, each ball representing something we value. Most of us have referred to our lives as a “juggling act,” or likened our busy schedules to “spinning plates,” at some point, but what I loved about this specific metaphor was that each ball was made of a different material. Some balls were made of glass, breakable and delicate. Others were made of rubber, resilient and buoyant. Still, others were made of lead, burdensome, and heavy. Juggling so many balls at once, gauging their weight and fragility, and adjusting for each as they quickly pass through our hands is no easy feat. Yet we do it every day for hours on end, afraid to stop lest we drop the wrong ball at the wrong time. Our arms are so fatigued and our minds don’t stop racing as we watch each ball go up, down, over, and up again. Some days it’s just too much to manage. The glass ball gets treated so harshly that it cracks or even shatters. The rubber ball bounces away beyond our reach. The lead ball drops on our toe and we cry out in pain and frustration. We can’t keep it up anymore. How do we stop the cycle? How do we discern which balls to release and which ones to keep juggling? I think it starts by identifying what each ball represents for us.

The glass ball is the most fragile, and likely the one we are most afraid of breaking. (I can’t tell you how many times I say, “Use two hands!” through gritted teeth as I watch my seven-year-old unload our glassware from the dishwasher.) We’ve probably all broken something of glass at least once in our lives (and if you haven’t, please teach me your cautious, focused ways). I vividly remember the sound of my glass pitcher exploding into a thousand little pieces all over my kitchen when I stupidly poured scalding hot tea into it. I also remember the sound of my dad’s gasp when he opened the freezer to find a bottle of his favorite wine had detonated, leaving nothing but a grotesque-looking mixture of deep red slushy glass. (This was my doing. I loved to organize even as a child, so I voluntarily rearranged the refrigerator and freezer contents. Oops.) Suffice it to say, glass is meant to be treated with the greatest care. For many of us, the glass ball represents our marriage or family. Our relationships with those we love are often the most precious things in our lives. We work hard to keep them intact by spending quality time, speaking encouraging words, giving physical affection, and listening well. When we’re holding those relationships with two hands, they thrive. The cracks begin to form when we take our eyes off the ball. We get distracted by all the other balls we’re juggling and we forget that our glass ball, our family and marriage, requires focus and two steady hands. We neglect those we love. We speak harsh words. We lose patience. We respond before thinking. Cracks in the glass begin to form. If we’re not careful our ball will shatter as it hits the ground, lost to other pressing needs. There’s another way our ball can break; sometimes we hold on too tight. Our relationships can buckle under the pressure of our grip. As parents, we can cling so tightly to our children that we end up pushing them away. In our marriage, the weight of unrealistic expectations on our spouse may be too much. When we clench our glass ball too firmly, it breaks in our hands, harming us as well as the people it represents. I believe the lesson here is that no other balls we juggle are worth risking our relationships for. When that glass ball makes its way into our hands, it’s best to put everything else down and give it our full attention. Fragmented glass is not easily repaired.

My children recently learned the game of four-square at their new school. Every day they come home excited to practice on the patio in our backyard. They’ve been using an old basketball they found in our garage and having loads of fun bouncing it back and forth, making up new rules as they go along. When they play on a flat surface the game is easily controlled. At worst, the ball bounces off the pavement and into the grass where it immediately comes to a standstill. But yesterday they decided to take their game out to the front of the house. Our driveway is on a steep incline and I warned them the ball would be harder to direct. They assured me they could handle it, but sure enough, within minutes my son was chasing the basketball down the street as it rolled away from him. This is the risk you take with rubber balls, but for as hard they are to control, they sure are resilient. What rubber balls are you juggling? For me, my rubber balls are all the day-to-day “stuff” I manage: my undergrad schoolwork, this blog, writing contributions for ministries and magazines, housework, meal planning, errands, social gatherings, kids’ extracurriculars, church events, etc. As long as I’m standing on even ground, I can juggle those balls all day. I can even take my eyes off the balls from time to time and keep a steady pace going. Like most women (moms in particular), I am the queen of multitasking. Each thing that the rubber ball represents is hardy and flexible. If I don’t get it all done, there’s no harm done; it will still be there tomorrow. I can move things around in my schedule, shift priorities as needed, and know that it’s all tough enough to withstand even the most aggressive of bounces. It’s only when the ground shifts beneath me that I begin to feel frazzled. Rubber balls are easy enough to control when we are stable and consistent, but when our rhythm changes, our control over the ball changes too. This is why when something unexpected comes along, my whole day can get thrown off, and that rubber ball I’ve been juggling so well bounces away and rolls out of reach. It can cost me a great amount of time and effort to retrieve it. The trick is deciding if it’s worth it to go after it. It depends on what else is still up in the air.

When my daughter was in the third grade she had to report on an element from the periodic table. She was assigned lead. If you don’t know much about lead, well, you don’t need to. There’s nothing that interesting about it. For the sake of a grade though, I helped her research the various uses for lead. Though it’s very malleable, it’s dense and heavy, used mainly for weights for scuba divers or dumbbells in the gym. Funny isn’t it? Holding lead can submerge you, and drown you under the depths of the ocean even, but it can also be wielded to build muscle and strengthen your body to endure rigorous physical challenges. I think of the lead ball we juggle as representing pain and hardship, past or current. We all know that pain, be it emotional or physical, can weigh us down considerably, and it is often difficult to manage. Hardship, whether mental, financial, or relational, is the heaviest of burdens. Juggling either along with the rest of the balls hardly seems possible, even on our best days. It can take everything we have not to give in to the weight and let it drop on our chest, cut off our breath and bury us. It’s tempting to let ourselves sink under the water and be overtaken by the waves of grief or suffering. Instead, what if we chose to let it strengthen us? What if we cringed and grunted through the pain, knowing we were gaining strength to endure whatever life will throw at us? Yes, it feels heavier with each passing day but our muscles are strengthening each day too. We can keep going. We don’t need to let the weight of our lead ball dictate how well we balance the other balls we’re juggling, we just need to trust God has a purpose and plan for our pain.

Each of our metaphorical juggling acts is unique to us. Our circumstances are so fluid that we are not always required to juggle every ball at once. There will be seasons when my husband or children require everything I have, and my job, my lawn care, and everything in between need to be set down for the sake of my relationships. There will be seasons in which there is no real hardship or pain I need to manage. I will enjoy the lightness of the load. There will be seasons when it’s all I can do to manage the glass and the lead, and I will need to let all the rubber balls bounce away for a time. I will be forced to watch them go, knowing they’ll be waiting for me to pick them up again when I’m ready. It’s a relief to know I don’t need to juggle it all on my own, and you don’t either.

Whatever you’re juggling today, know you have a God whose arms are wide enough to hold you and your balls of all sizes and densities. When our arms tire and our fingers cramp, when our eyes weaken from watching each ball pass through our hands over and over, and our heads ache from such strenuous focus, we can lean into God. His strength is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). His yoke is easy and His burden is light (Matthew 11:28-30). His hands hold the world; surely they can juggle a few more things.