The guy was a glutton for punishment. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he was knocked down—he just kept coming back for more, each time with a big, silly grin on his face. But it was the way he was designed—his name was BoBo and he was the inflatable bop-bag clown that my son loved to trounce.
As I struggled through the maze of breast cancer, I could relate to BoBo for it felt like every time I’d manage to get up I’d be knocked off my feet again—first it was the diagnosis; then two surgeries instead of one; then a full, thirty-five day course of radiation instead of the one-week short version; then chemotherapy that nobody initially thought was necessary; then not just one but two rounds of chemo; then my mother’s strokes in the midst of everything else; then my husband’s open heart surgery sandwiched in…
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2 thoughts on “BoBo”
I love the way Barbara writes. Her walk with the Lord is very deep. She is a blessing to those who know her through her ministry work.