The Eleventh Hour

The Eleventh Hour has come. We stand here, looking at the moment that we really have dreaded since the very night we heard the word "terminal".

I've played different scenarios in my head, but there really was no way of knowing what this would look like. 

When Molly took a turn for the worse a few days ago, we were scared because of how things were going. Anxiety, irritation, and no relief. Peter even said that if this is what the end would look like, how cruel. 

But now all is quiet and calm. She sleeps soundly, looking perfect as she rests. Peaceful, really. 

I don't put too much stock in dreams, but God gave me the most beautiful gift last night by way of dream. I was looking down at Molly sleeping and she was having the most beautiful conversation with Him. It was clear as day. I once again heard her voice. But not the voice we have heard of late, slow speech and slurred.  It was her old self, healthy and happy. She spoke to Jesus about heaven and what it would be like. She was excited and happy. 

Yes, this is sad and hard. But I am also so looking forward to the thought of her being ushered to heaven by angels and taking her first breath at the foot of Jesus. No more cancer. No more pain. No more struggle. Just pure, unadulterated bliss. She's going to be happy forever. 

Maybe, when I meet her in heaven, she'll take me by the hand and show me all the things she's been doing. I know for sure the first stop after meeting our Lord and Saviour will be where the lions are. :)

Perception vs. Precision

Peek-a-boo.

One of my favorite games to play with little babies. It's so simple, yet keeps them (yes, and myself) entertained for hours. 

Hide behind the couch. Pop up! Where'd she go? There she is! 

When I was in college, and in a child Psychology class, we discussed this very game. You see, babies, about 6 months, are not able to process that once Mama ducks down behind the couch, she will return. They just think, "She's gone!" So when she returns, and they have that big surprised look on their face, that is exactly what they are: Surprised. 

The difference between babies and adults is that we are able to rationalize and think through the "Peek-a-boo dilemma". We know, of course, where Mom is and when she will return. 

Isn't it funny though, that these rationalities do not carry into our every day life when it comes to God. We know He's there, but we simply don't see Him. So panic sets in and we begin to worry. 

Exodus 32 tells the story of dear old Moses, heading up Mt. Sinai to receive the law from the Lord. You can not rush these things, so even though Moses told them to wait for his return, they got antsy and worried when he didn't come back right away. 

The people used what they SAW instead of trusted the truth.

Maybe you're the same today. I know I've been. Take my day, for example. 

Being a mom, and being a Thursday (I ALWAYS crash on a Thursday), all I saw around me was weakness, illness, chaos, no way to get it all done.  I was drowning. 

But God has a wonderful way of speaking to us: The Holy Spirit. And I heard him knocking on my heart and say:

"Julie, stop using your eyes. Use the truth. What do you KNOW?"

So I began to list things. 

I know II Corinthians 12:10. "...for when I am weak, then am I strong."

I know Psalm 30:2. " O LORD my God, I cried unto thee, and though hast healed me. 

I know Isaiah 26:3:" Though wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee."

I know Isaiah 40:29: "He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength. 

Before I take matters into my own hands (which would look like me yelling at my kids, crying in the bathroom, forgetting about joy), I just need to focus on WHO God is, where He is working, and what exactly I know to be true. 

I'm glad that I don't have to be like a six month old, spiritually, and I can use more than my eyes to know what is going on. 

Happy Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day. That day when we acknowledge the amazing woman in our life that has sacrificed so much and received so little in return. Caffeine jitters, battle scars (sounds nicer than stretch marks), and a ponytail seems to be the way to spot her out in a crowd. 

I love Moms. I love my Mom. I think women in general are amazing people who deserve so much more than they get. 

But with that being sad, what about THAT Mother? 

I've been on many sides of Mother's Day. I've received the perfect handmade card from the perfect little three year old. I've treasured the burnt toast that they tried to make me for breakfast to show their love. 

I've also sat in the pew at church, after just having lost a baby and held back tears that were breaking through because the pain was too much. 

I've lived the day that as so many were celebrating, I, being pregnant, tip toed around terrified and scared wondering if this baby will breath life in the world so that I truly could celebrate Mother's Day. 

And today, I sit here, knowing that it's my last Mother's Day, in my entire life, that I will be able to have all my girls in my arms. It's my last Mother's Day that I can look on Molly. 

There's one kind of Mother's Day I haven't experienced and it's the one so many of my friends are suffering through this morning. The one that is incomplete because their child is not with them. I have not faced this. 

This Mother's Day is bitter/sweet. Sweet because I have this day to be with all three girls, I am beyond blessed, humbled, and yes, almost feel guilty that I can cherish them. Bitter because of what so many have lost. And really what we have lost too. 

So this Mother's Day, I challenge all the ladies out there that have not had anything but the happy kind of Mother's Days, to reach out to someone that knows too well the loss and sadness that is amplified today. Give them a hug. Tell them you love them. Just do not ignore them. 

And to you that know exactly what I'm talking about, Happy Mother's Day. Because whether you are a Mother or not, this day is for you. It's really a day that represents the heart of a woman that desires to nurture, care, and love a little one, whether their own, or someone elses. You ARE amazing because of that very thing. 

Slow dance

Tonight, when the house was quiet, Sam and I had a moment. It was just her and I, sitting in the dining room, enjoying some quiet reading. Then, a song came on.

There was a twinkle in her eye as I looked up at her. I knew what she wanted. As she reached out her hand, she asked, " May I have this dance? " I couldn't help but smile.

The music played as we began to twirl around the room, smiling, laughing. And then it happened. I thought of Molly.

I pulled Samantha in closer so she wouldn't see my face. So she wouldn't see the tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn't want her moment to be taken away. But oh, how I wished right then and there that I was dancing with Molly.

I'll never be able to do that again. I won't be able to swing her around the room. This moment will never again be hers. And for that, I cried.

I refused to let anything else be taken from Samantha. So we finished our dance and she never noticed my tears. But as I went into the other room, my heart ached so deep.

I know our moments left are few, and there will be time to mourn, but I've already lost. And I can't imagine what life will be like without Molly.

The four of us sat at the table tonight once Molly was in bed. Seemed wrong, and yet, this is our future. We haven't had a meal at the table in forever. And even though I say it's because we should all be with Molly in the living room, I suspected it's equally as much because I can't face it. I can't face figuring out new seating or an empty seat. I can't face the fact that this is what will be.

Molly is a shell of who she was. She's partly already gone. And every day we must face that, but still hold on to what we have. It's unimaginably difficult.

The pain is so great...

Beauty among ashes

Life is funny. I suppose funny is the wrong word. Fascinating may be more accurate. There's first breaths taken and last breaths taken all in one more moment.

 I remember being 10 weeks pregnant with Molly and going home for my Grandfather's funeral. I was hesitant telling family during this sad time. But my Mom knew something was up, so I couldn't keep the secret any longer. Once she knew, she encouraged me to tell the rest of the family. Somehow the news of new life to come would bring joy, even when we say good bye to another life. 

We see similar scenes unfold even now in our days. Being on the cusp of what I would say tragedy and darkness, there is light. As cancer steals away Molly's life, there is beauty among ashes. 

Isaiah 61:3~ " To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified."

 I see faith. Faith in our Savior to provide all we need and more. Faith in others to step up and help us in a time of need. Renewed faith in the cross that is the beginning and the end of it all. 

I feel hope. Hope in a day when all pain will go away. Hope that even though parting from a piece of my heart will be more than I have ever endured, we will one day be reunited again. 

I behold beauty. Beauty in the amazing strength that all three girls possess on a daily basis. Beauty in a new day and what it brings. Beauty in the glimpse of another's heart that has also had to withstand such grief, but has been able to rise another day. 

I see so much now. More than I ever have before. It's almost as if I never truly lived before now. I'm awakened and have heightened senses. 

How can this even be? Shouldn't I be in bed? Curled up and crying? 

Well, I've done that. No lying. 

But God has given me the most beautiful gift ever received. I have sight. I SEE Him as if I am seeing Him for the first time. I SEE others that I never even noticed before. I SEE needs that I never knew existed. 

This IS a gift. I would never have observed the world as it is without having to lose Molly. 

I'm incredibly thankful and humbled that the Lord would even allow me to go through this. It may seem crazy to even say. But I honestly stand in awe of who He is and what He does on  a daily basis. 

I can only say this because as painful as this has all been and will be once Molly takes her last breath, I know, without a doubt, that this is temporal and I will see Molly again. And we, as a family, can rejoice together as we see the great unfolding of it all . 

Why so happy?

I've learned first hand that pediatric cancer is a nasty, miserable business. Not only have we watched our own daughter suffer, but we have encountered so many families on this road, who have their own sweet ones that are fighting the battle. 

It's easy to see why these families tend to ask, Where is the good in this world? If God was a loving God, why is He doing this?

Psalm 4:6-7:"There be many that say, Who will show us any good? LORD, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us. Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more than in the time that their corn and their wine increased."

Remember when Moses spoke with God on the mountain? And when he returned back down to the people they could not look upon his face because it was so bright? In fact, he had to cover it with a veil. 

Only God can bring the light in dark times. Or even in happy times. How many times have you heard of millionaires suffering from depression and even committing suicide. Why? Because even when things are plentiful, if God is not there, there is no light. 

I find more joy  and happiness in this season in my life than in other days. How can that be? What seems like the most hopeless situation, I feel the light of Christ warming my soul. It's because He is present. He is here. 

There have been many other periods of my life where things seemed to be looking up. Bills paid with money to spare, seemingly happy marriage with minimal arguments, healthy and happy children. But within my soul, there was a sadness and sense of feeling lost and alone. 

When we seek Him, He will answer the call. And when your times are desperate and FULL of need, there is much calling going on. 

I'm not saying that I walk around with a permanent smile on my face these days.  I don't. There is still sadness in the fact that we are on our last days with Molly. My dear, sweet baby girl. But I feel His light shining on me constantly throughout the day. I need not worry or feel despair. He's orchestrated everything. And I am not scared. I have a light in an otherwise dark place. 

When enough is enough

I can't tell you how many times Mothering has brought me to my limits. There have been days when Peter has walked in the door, only for me to walk right out so I can catch my breath. Parenting is NOT for the faint of heart. So much blood, sweat, and tears are required. 

But what do you do when there's no more to give?

Your body has been drained of every single ounce of energy. Your emotions have been used up and you are now numb. 

This has been my daily state as of late. By the end of the day, (or sometimes by 9:00 a,m,) I can't imagine going on anymore. The day is too hard. The demands too great. The chaos too high. And the pain too much. 

But God is amazing. 

He's continually showing me that when I am finally drained of myself, He shows up and takes over. His strength truly is made perfect in my weakness. 

"The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry."

Ps. 34:15

He hears me. But better than that, He takes action and rescues me from the miry clay. He reaches down in the pit and picks me up. 

I find that He does this by presenting His Word to me. Promise after promise shows up and I am reminded once again of all the things I had forgotten. 

He will never leave me, nor forsake me. 

He bears me on eagles wings.

He restoreth my soul.

He is good. 

The funny thing about this Christian life is that once a truth is learned, you don't just know it and move on. It's presented again and again because we are notorious for forgetting. The good, perfect, sweet, and lovely are continually being pushed out of our mind by the bad, wicked, hard, and sad. 

I'm thankful for renewal in spirit every day. Otherwise, this would be too hard to bear. 

I still wonder sometimes, why us? I'm nothing. I'm no super person. Why would you ask such a great task of our family? And then I hear Him whisper, It's not why, but WHO.