Iceberg

When Peter and I were stationed in Germany, there were a number of times that we were able to visit the Alps. In fact, my favorite story to tell was the particular visit we had where for the small sum of  about  $6.50, we could take a carriage ride up the mountain. How romantic! Did I mention I was 7 months pregnant and the size of a small beached whale? (I'm being kind here.) But my dear,sweet husband opted for the "more scenic" approach of walking up the mountain... with his 7 month pregnant wife... up the mountain... with his PREGNANT WIFE. You get the picture. But I'm not bitter. Moving on...

The Alps were breathtaking. Truly a remarkable creation of our Lord. I felt as if I had stepped into the sound of music and envisioning that I was Maria, I wanted to sing from the peaks, swinging my arms around and around. 

I read recently that grief is like a mountain turned upside down. The higher your love abides, the lower your depths of sorrow. 

My love for Molly was like the Himalayas. You could not see it's end. It just kept rising. It was vast and enormous. Powerful and overwhelming. She was my child and I felt like I had no end to my love for her. And I still don't.  

Now the mountain is turned upside down. 

Like an iceberg, you only see the cap of my pain. But underneath the waters, there is a massive enormity that really knows no end.

Where does it stop? What is it's depth? 

The only answer we know is to the question, where is it? It is here. And it is staying.

Some days we feel like we have just scratched the surface. Then others, something hits and we see into the water. The mass underneath is terrifying to say the least. 

I miss the mountain. I know that my love for Molly is still as tall and grand. My affections for her will never shrink or diminish. But right now, we are like the Titanic. Just crashing into this iceberg of grief and at times, drowning in it. 

But...

"In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears." ~ Ps. 18:6"

"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." ~Ps. 121:1

The love of God, which is the largest of scale mountains, will be my help. His love is so high and so deep I still can't understand it. I can't grasp the immensity of  love He has for me. And it's because of that I will not drown next to this iceberg of grief. 

The waters are deep and the ends are not seen, but neither are the heights of the mountains. I pray we keep our eyes up. 

Silence

Psalm 13:1-3~ " How long wilt thou forget me, O LORD? forever? how long wilt though hide thy face from me? How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily?...Consider and hear me, O LORD my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death."

Silence can be deafening. Silence can almost seem louder than a multitude of noises around you. For it's in the silence that you have to actually hear. Hear what? Hear pain. Hear hurt. Hear loneliness. Hear loss. 

I've been feeling this silence from God for weeks now. I read daily, seeking what He has for me. A desperate scramble, almost, to find a nugget to get me through the day. I pray, I talk to God and pour out my heart. I tell Him how much this ache keeps getting worse when I though it would get better. I tell Him that I only wish to have Molly back for a moment. To hug her. To tell her how much I love her and how incredibly proud I am of the person she is. To whisper to her in her in ear all the little things I love about her and know I will never find in another person again. 

My response from God has been silence. 

What I have to hold on to is past conversations with Him. Past promises He has given. Past strengths He has granted to carry me through. 

I know that I have not been abandoned for His Word says He will NEVER leave me or forsake me. 

So where is He? Why isn't He speaking? 

I don't have an answer. 

I do know that in times past, when I decided to be silent and just listen, God has revealed something amazing to me. Perhaps I am on the brink of something incredible. Perhaps the Mighty Creator, who graciously loves me and has carried this far, is not done with me and wants to share more. 

It's just that the silence is so painful. It's so hard. And I just don't like it. 

But I suppose nothing worth waiting for is really that easy. So I will keep going. Keep listening. Waiting quietly for that still small voice. 

Reboot

I am surrounded by computer nerds. That's right, I said computer NERDS. I say that in the spirit of knowing that nerds rule the world. Peter went to college for computer engineering, as did my brother, Jason. My dear friend, Rebekah, a self proclaimed nerd, knows more about RAM and GIGS and who knows what else. She could run circles around me with all her computer babble. 

So it's safe to say that if I ever have a computer issue, I am covered. 

But the one thing that I DO know about computers is that when things are just not working or they are working VERY slow, a reboot can do wonders. A restart seems to shut down all the things that are making the computer work slow and corrects the problem. 

Life at times needs a reboot. And that is just where I am. My brain, emotions, and heart were all crashing. I even could hear "WARNING! WARNING! OVERLOAD!" ringing in my head. 

I have never been a crier. I prefer not to cry in public and even at home, it has always been a rare occurrence. But these days, the tears flow fast and furious. Like the Sunday I sat in Sunday school and cried through the entire lesson. Or when we were standing in line ordering dinner and Peter had to say it was for four. Even simply driving by myself brings on the waterworks. 

I've heard people say that crying actually shows your strength because you are willing to let out your emotion. But I say, in my case, it doesn't feel like strength because I am not CHOOSING to cry. It just happens. It's as natural as passing gas after a cheesy meal. No control. (Molly would have been proud that I just put that in. ;)

Some days, I just need a reboot. I know our bodies naturally do that when we go to bed. But I feel that my reboot needs to involve pulling out the plug, blowing in the outlet, counting to five and trying again. 

The lesson that I am learning is that this thing called grief is going to take much longer than expected. Not that I will ever be done grieving. I know I will never, ever be done. But I mean these raw, open wounds will take longer to close up and begin to scar at a much later date. And you know what, I am beginning to be OK with that. 

I will continue to reboot when necessary, but unlike my laptop, I can't make this better with the click of a bottom. The real answer, time....

So, if you see me crying in the grocery store or walking down the sidwalk, don't ignore me. But please don't pity me. Just acknowledge me and know you did the right thing. And if you add in a joke involving bathroom humor, you might make it much better. :) Again, Molly would have loved it. 

The emotion of it all...

June 24th.

This is a very important date. Maybe not for you, but for our family, it is a date that will not be forgotten so easily. 

There has been significance to this date for five years now, but this year adds one more important turning point to it. 

Let me back up and explain. 

Five years ago, I lay in the O.R. ready to have Clara. We were excited and nervous. Excited to meet the newest member of the Little family and to prove once and for all I was right about her being covered in hair. (The heart burn was horrid this pregnancy.) Nervous, because I was about to have my third c-section and we knew already that there was possibility of complications. 

Clara Esther Little was born and we could not have been happier. She had that full head of hair that I expected, along with long fingers, petite features, and a perfect, button nose. 

That day was beautiful. God granted us the gift of life that so many dream of and we were so very blessed. 

But God was not done.

My complications were worse than once expected and things began to turn bad pretty quickly. Peter and Clara left the room and the doctor began her work. Seven hours later, I lay in the ICU, sedated, and broken and beaten. But alive. God saved me that day. I should have been dead. All the medical staff that treated me said so. The 19 units of blood I received was proof as well. 

After that day, I had a new outlook on life. Not just the frailty of it, which was very apparent now, but the gift that it truly is. We are never guaranteed another moment, so we are encouraged, no, really we are dumb not to enjoy every moment the Creator has granted us. 

This year, June 24th opens up a new significance to us. It's been one month. One month since my eyes have looked on Molly. One month since I have run my fingers through her hair. One month since I have prayed over her. Once month since I whispered 'Good bye' in her ear. 

June 24th is a day that brings so much joy and immense sadness. Thankfulness for life and sorrow for death. Isn't that how it goes though? Life is full of happiness and sorrow. Perhaps we are not comfortable with that. But without the sad, we can not enjoy the happy. That is human nature. 

But I look forward to the day when all sorrow will be gone. All tears will be wiped from our faces. And we will never part again. 

So June 24th, to me, is Hope Day. Hope in life. Hope in sorrow. Hope in making new memories. Hope in reunions. 

Oh comfort, where are you?

Comfort. We've all needed it. From the time you first scrapped your knee on the driveway, to your first heart break in middle school over that boy that you just KNEW you would marry, to the disappointment of losing a job that you worked so hard at to obtain. 

We all look for that source to bring us relief from all sorts of pain. Many have found temporary repose in short-lived things such as food, sex, busyness, perhaps even anger. But I have found that comfort can not be found when you seek for it. I can't just google comfort and find something or someone that will give an endless supply of it. 

. 

Comfort is found when we seek after truth. 

"My soul melteth for heaviness: strengthen though me according unto thy word. Remove from me the way of lying: and grant me thy law graciously. I have chosen the way of truth: thy judgments have I laid before me." ~ Psalm 119:28:30

 When I read what the Psalmist wrote about his own heavy heart, I see that he was just like me. Weak. Easily persuaded by the lies in his own head. Seeking help, but needing it to be tender. 

So many times I have allowed lies to become my truth. They poison my very being and take over in the form of confusion, anger, despair, and so much more. But truth does not bring these things. Jesus is the Truth. Truth is not a thing but a person. And that very person lives within me. So when I am in need of comfort, I can go to the One called the Great Comforter and receive truth. 

Repeatedly begging God for wisdom (truth) will keep us from the opposite of comfort. So I will bury myself even deeper into His word. 

As a good friend of mine said, now is the time to gorge yourself on the Word. All you can eat is not a bad thing when it comes to the meal of the soul. 

Faith's container

I'm a purger at heart. I love being able to get rid of the old and bring in the new. But with that comes my ability, at times, to be wasteful and not see the value in things. My husband is a master at this. We have gelato containers that I would have thrown out, but he found a way to make them into piggy banks. There are countless times that something has broken and he has been able to fix it with only a stick of gum and paper clip. (OK, perhaps that is an exaggeration, but you know Macgyver could do it!) He even made our TV antennae, which may have been ugly (OK, it was REALLY ugly), but still, the guy is a genius. 

I knew that this past year was a time in my life that God was using to grow my faith. In fact, He prepared me for it weeks before we heard of DIPG. But now that this year in coming to a close, (in two days it will be a year exactly), I find myself making the foolish mistake that He is done with me. He's done growing my faith. I'm used up. 

It's fully realized by myself that this sounds foolish, because we all know that we are never done growing spiritually. But like the gelato containers, I have been struggling, searching what use I have now. Like the container, what I have been doing for so long, (caring for Molly and trusting that God can get us through the next hump of her care) is no longer necessary. 

But this gelato jar that once held yummy goodness (the salted caramel was by far the best), now holds something new. It's job and purpose, however, are still the same. Just slightly altered. 

That's me.

I once had a specific job of growing in my faith through losing my daughter. But that chapter has closed. Nevertheless,God still desires my faith to grow, even if it's through a different venue.

I must look at where my faith lies... DAILY. I've been going through the motions, somewhat numb to the world. But my God desires me to continue forward, growing my faith in the day to day. 

Did you know it requires faith to get out of bed? It does! It requires great faith to believe that my Savior has something special for me in prayer time and reading. My body fights it, because I  would much rather sleep. But when I trust in Him, He never disappoints. 

The same goes for the caring of Sam and Clara. I need great faith in Him to know what my next move must be and to be available to tend to their needs, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual.

You see, faith is not knowledge. It's action in the knowledge you have. Choosing to obey the very thing you know to be true, but may seem impossible to accomplish. 

My impossibles are not the same as they were last year. A year ago, my impossibles were healing for Molly. This year, my impossibles are continuing on without her and being the Mom and Wife that God desires me to be. 

One may seem much more in-feasible than another, but it's really not any different. I need to be at the throne of God every day, asking my Abba Father to get me to the next hour and grant me wisdom for even the most mundane decisions. It's all important. 

I'm reminded again, that ALL things are possible with God. 

New Beginnings

I used get so excited about the first day of school. New outfit. Fresh box of crayons. Sharp pencils. And the possibility of starting over fresh. All mistakes felt in the past. I could create a new me. 

I now find myself in a similar place. A new beginning. However, the feeling is anything  but excitement. Other words come to mind. Lost. Horrified. Sad. Confused. 

For the last year, I have been living this obscure reality that really only we could understand. Since the word "terminal" hit my ear drum, all that I knew vanished and this new creation of life came into existence. 

It started with the bombshell hitting us. But once time went by, our new life was consumed with a "normal" that was anything but. Doctor appointments, trials, pills, temper tantrums, vomiting, and so much more. This was the new routine and in a way we cruised through it. 

Then came hospice. 

This was perhaps the longest part of the journey. The care, exhaustion, and changes were so big and yet so slow, we began to wear out. But this was still our life. Still our normal. 

Then we said 'Good bye'. 

Like a raging hurricane, we were swept away into immense grief, intertwined with family, friends, planning, and decisions. 

It's been two weeks since then and I find myself sitting in the middle of the house not knowing what to do with myself. Everything I knew has suddenly vanished and I am left with nothing and everything all at once. 

No Molly to care for. No hospital bed to look at. No routine of pills to give. No nurses to visit. 

But pieces of devastation are scattered all over this house. In the pictures on the wall, in the laundry still in her laundry basket and in the tears on Clara's cheeks. 

It's so unnatural, this thing we call loss. It's so enfeebling, the emotion of it all. 

They say that time will heal. I can't say I know that is fully true. A part of my heart is forever gone from this world. And I don't wish it to be fully healed, because that means I have forgotten. But I also know there must be a balance between hurt and healed. 

Day by day and with each passing moment, grace we'll find, to meet our trials here. 

God help us to do so...