Sometimes I wonder whether I’ve read so much nineteenth-century literature written by women that I’ve started to live out the plot of some of my favorite books.
Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women was a favorite of mine. My uncle bought me a beautiful copy when I turned 10, and I read and re-read that lovely, hard-backed tome. I identified particularly with Jo—her passion for writing, her authenticity, her quest for independence.
Like Jo, it was in pursuing my career that I met and fell in love with my husband. It wasn’t something I was planning, but I married young, just shy of my 22nd birthday. And so, I embarked on juggling family and career—a family of four, with one girl and one boy. Neat and tidy, and we didn’t have to buy a minivan!
Then, smack dab in the middle of the pandemic, my daughter was diagnosed with cancer—a rare childhood sarcoma. We had been hoping to open our household to an international student at the time, but that idea was put on hold for two years during my daughter’s multiple surgeries, radiation treatment, and the start of immunotherapy, which she is currently undergoing.
She’s grown incredibly through this process, and I’ve seen her thrive as she moved to a local college, juggling a double major, theater productions, and meeting beautiful, like-minded friends—incredible gifts that I am so happy to see unfold for her.
There are challenges with being in active treatment, so sometimes she comes home to weather the pain and get some rest. We kept her bedroom intact for her, so it’s easy and seamless.
In the meantime, we did end up opening our home to not one but two teenagers from other countries—China and Korea, including the original student we were supposed to host two years ago. Hosting the Chinese student was a surprise, arising from a need we had heard about, so we quickly converted my husband’s small exercise room to a bedroom. As I pointed out to him, it’s not like it was getting heavy use, anyway!
It occurs to me that I am living out Jo March’s life–someone who pursued her academic career yet also married young when she surprised herself by falling in love. And someone who, like in the sequels Little Men and Jo’s Boys, is raising sons, as well as others’ boys.
Never did I picture myself finding pleasure in cooking around the clock for a household of four guys and an occasional drop-in college student. I had made it to middle age, with an adult daughter, and without having to upgrade to a larger vehicle and now, well, here we are (although we still have successfully resisted the minivan).
But there is something so fun about managing a household of primarily teenage boys. For one thing, they’re fun to cook for because they enjoy eating so much!
I’ve gotten support from friends in this endeavor–mainly some admiring questions and requests for updates, much like a serial newsletter: How I survive with four guys from three different countries as a partial empty-nester.
This is not the American dream.
In many ways, I had been living the American dream—family of four, middle-class house, middle-class life. Cancer disrupted any illusion that this was a “normal” life. I have learned to ask the question, “What is a normal life, anyway?” When something obstructs the path forward, we can mourn the blockage, stubbornly insist on trying to walk forward on that exact path, or we can chart out a new one.
I’m the last person whom I’d predict to intentionally choose a more chaotic path. I like life neat, tidy, and predictable. I’ve put a lot into my career and have been a very hands-on, intentional parent. My husband and I both enjoy peace and quiet and our own independence, including the freedom to travel.
Now it’s much harder to plan a getaway in the new year, and we’ve doubled the number of schedules we manage. We still retain some of our daughter’s as well, between hospital visits and theater performances.
Still, we look around and declare that it is good. I’m embracing a new direction, yet I also see continuity. The same values and themes that drew me to my favorite books—friends and family, hospitality and connectedness, conversations over warm meals, meeting new people from new places—are the same themes I recognize in my own life right now. Opening up to change means I can experience things I love in new ways that resonate deeply with my soul. For that, I am truly thankful.
Stephanie Wilsey is an academic who currently works in online education. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with her husband, two children, and—currently—two international students. Her writing focuses on the intersect between psychology, personal growth, and spirituality. You can find her at www.christianmusingsfortoday.com.
I am so glad your daughter is managing her treatment okay. Sounds like a full, rich life for you and yours! Thanks for writing this.
Claudia, thank you! Yes, she is living her life to the fullest, and it’s lovely to see.
Thank you for writing this timely-for-me reflection, Stephanie! My “little women”—ages 15 and 12–and I saw “Little Women the Musical” this past week at a local Performing Arts Center, and it was a powerful reminder of the costs and dividends of a life lived with open hands, with a commitment to core values that are shaped over decades of intentional living, and with a reliance on God’s good sovereignty even when suffering arises. (Your daughter and family certainly know suffering.) Jo March is a pretty awesome woman to become.
Lacey, how wonderful for your girls to see this performance! I love your description of these themes. So beautifully said and so true. And yes, we know of suffering and the importance of being outward-focused nonetheless, with heavy reliance on Christ indeed.