Be the window

"When God closes a door, He opens a window."

A saying we are all familiar with. Perhaps a little too cliche for my taste, but still, a simple example of an exciting thing that God does for us. 

We all make plans. We plan our days starting with  setting our alarm clock. We plan our route to work. We plan our meals, weekend chore list, and even our futures. 

But life has a funny way of changing our plans. 

Perfect example in my life is marriage and children. They were not in my plans. Very few people actually know this. If you would look at me now, you would never know that I had a different agenda. My plan was to go to nursing school, get my degree, get a one way ticket to Africa and never return. I wanted to do medical missions and do it forever. Marriage did not entice me. I felt like I didn't need it or desire it. And there is no point thinking about kids. I mean, I'm not getting married, so...

But God's plans were different for my life. He put obstacle after obstacle in my way and then, He introduced Peter to me. Well, all plans went out the door and new plans began to form. Plans of marriage. Then children. And here we are, eleven years later with three beautiful little girls. And I can't imagine doing anything else. 

You see, my plans are not always His plans. And when I finally accept that, then happiness comes along and things begin to unfold. 

Sometimes, our plans may be the same as God's but the way those plans are executed, well, that is a whole different story. 

Step in Jeremiah and Baruch. 

Jeremiah was a prophet, preaching a message that not many people liked to hear. He was telling the people of Israel that because of their sins, they would be taken captive by Babylon and their city burned. Well, the King Jehoiakim did not like this. And I think it's safe to say, he didn't like Jeremiah. The prophet had been banned from the temple and was kind of in a semi-hiding. But God's Word continued to come to him. What should he do? The door of preaching had been shut for Jeremiah. 

Enter the window: Baruch.

Jeremiah saw the opportunity of God's Word to still be proclaimed by having Baruch, a good friend, write down the words and read them to the people  for Jeremiah. Baruch was not given the gift of prophecy, but he was willing to be used by God. To be the open window to the great plan. 

How is this even relevant to me? 

God has shut many doors in my life. But through prayer, I knew that His plan was still the same, just the delivery. So I popped open a window, and climbed right out. 

God's plan is for me to raise my children in the admonition of the Lord. To love them, teach them, and equip them for life. It would have been easier going out the door, (AKA, no cancer), but that was not what He wanted. I want to keep doing what He desires, it just may require a little flexibility and maneuvering.

The same is for His purpose in serving outside of my family. I used to do nursery at church, teach children's church, and be involved in many different ways. It's hard now that I can not commit to anything, due to Molly's health.  At times I have felt useless. But then, God's window is opened and I realize I am still serving others, just in a different way. 

I may not be able to teach a Bible lesson to the kids, but I have been able to meet so many new people that I cherish and pray for on a daily basis. I can pray. And that is where my ministry is right now. 

Perhaps this is all discombobulated and makes no sense whatsoever. But I guess what I am trying to say is that God is so good to keep carrying on His plan even when it becomes more difficult. Nothing can stop Him from accomplishing His goals, so why not be the one used to do so? Even if it is difficult to execute.

Slain

"Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him..."

Heartbroken doesn't really quite cut it when trying to describe our hearts some days. More like ripped out, stomped on, and thrown off a cliff. Have I gotten your attention with that one? Watching this thing unfold before our eyes is so difficult. The average person would not be able to understand all that this entails. But today, I was reminded about Job. 

Here is a man who lost EVERYTHING. His home. His possessions. His ten children. And eventually his health. What he had left was a wife who was telling him to curse God and die and friends who were accusing him of sin he did not commit. And yet, he was able to say the words above. 

Despite his tragic and desperate position, He still knew his place. He knew where he came from. He knew who put him there and gave him all his things. 

"...Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD."

I know that at times I forget these things. When I look around, I realize I did not earn a single thing I have. My husband, children, possessions, health... all given by God. 

So if He chooses, for whatever reason, to take them from me, I will still trust in Him. 

I've trusted him through so much more in the past. 

Moving across the world to a foreign country. Losing five babies in less than two years. Multiple surgeries. Small paychecks, (thanks US military ;). Sick babies. Broken cars. Deployments. And more. 

So once again, I stand here with this thing that truly is slaying me on a daily basis. And I am reminded of Job. A man who's perspective was right. He continued trusting.

And just for the record, God blessed Job 10 fold. He went on to have more children, a new home, plenty of riches. But more important, I know that he grew closer to His Father. He learned wisdom, faith, and trust. 

"But he knoweth the way that I take: and when he hath tried (tested) me, I shall come forth as gold."

His very own words spoke of what He had learned. 

Why

In times like these, when a child becomes ill...very ill... the first question that comes up is "Why?" We've heard this many times these last 2 months. "Why would this awful thing happen to such a sweet little girl? Why would a loving God allow this to be? If He is all powerful, then why doesn't He heal?" We ourselves have asked these questions. I think one of the most amazing things about God is that He WANTS us to question. He wants us to think. He gave us this beautiful thing called 'free will' and he gave us a brain.

So here we are... in the midst of all of this and the question is, Why? Upon praying, meditating, crying, talking with God, I have but one conclusion:grace. What on earth do I mean? Let me put it this way...

Think of Christ. He endured this horrific death on the cross. If you don't know the history of crucifixion, let's just say it was one of the WORSE ways to die. So we view this horrific scene of death and what seems chaotic and it's ugly. But then, there is God. He used this awful death, to bring salvation to the entire world. Grace.

The reality is this world if full of sickness, death, violence. And we, as human beings, have made it this way. This was not God's plan. He didn't want death. But we have chosen this. But, instead of allowing us to be consumed by all this death, He swoops in and brings us life through Christ.

Now, back to Molly. When we ask God why.... the answer I see is Grace. God didn't even have to give me my precious girl. He didn't have to give ME life. And I fully trust that He will take this awful experience and make good from it. The only thing I don't know, is what that good will be. But how can I not trust Him? I see throughout history how He has brought mercy to so many when they deserved none. He brought gifts of love when there was only hate. And He will bring us so much more than we could ever imagine. All we have to bring to the table is trust. And that is what I bring this morning

Putting all my eggs in one basket

In the DIPG world, I am a novice. The fact that we had never heard of DIPG, or known of any other child with a brain tumor, we feel, at times, lost. Where to start? What treatment is best? Do I go all natural? Do we do radiation? What about a biopsy? There are essential oils. I've heard about marijuana helping. Chemo is an option..

The list goes on and on. 

There are no right answers for treatment. Each tumor is different and of course, each child diagnosed is different. You do what you think is best as parents and pray that it works. 

The phrase, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket" seems fitting in regards to treatment for this kind of cancer. You dabble a little here... you dabble a little there. Trying different meds, different therapies, in hopes for good results. 

But where does God come into play? Doesn't He have a role in all of this? Some would say "No!" But for our family, we say "Of course." 

Why?

Because of Hebrews 2:13,

"And again, I will put my trust in Him. And again, Behold I and the children WHICH GOD HATH GIVEN ME."

Our eggs are all going into one basket. And that basket is our faith and hope in Him. He's ultimately the decision maker. He designed Molly. He made her just the way she is and He determines the end.

I have been worrying so much lately. So emotional and drained. "When will the end come? What will it be like for her and her last days on earth? Can I handle this?"

 But this doesn't need to be. I NEED to put my trust in Him. If I don't, then I'm helpless. I'm not able to do anything and all my hope is gone. But in him there is hope, comfort, peace. 

Breath. 

That is such a wonderful thought. I do not have to do this alone. We do not have to face the next few months blindly and anticipating the worse. We can rest in Him. He knows the secrets of my heart (Psalms 44:21) and knows what I struggle with. He is there to take away my fears.

For today, I remember these truths. Tomorrow I will need to start all over again and remind myself of what He has told me. But His mercies are new everyday, and I am so glad. 

In sadness, there is hope

We have met so many beautiful people on this journey. We have had the privilege to watch others be used by God while they bless our family in so many ways. We've received meals, gifts, cards, money, special experiences, hugs, smiles, encouraging words and more. At times, it is overwhelming. This Christmas season is no exception. People tend to be extra kind and generous this time of year and we have been on the receiving end of that generosity. 

I have had a few people imply that we are ungrateful for all the things received... and it hurt. People are people. We've all said things we didn't really think before spoken. So I don't harbor bitterness in my heart. But once the words are spoken, they linger. I never want to come off ungrateful for all the things we have received. So please never take it that way. 

With that being said, my heart breaks into a thousand pieces today. When I stand here, looking around my home and think of all the experiences we have had this week, I can't help but wish it all away... just like Molly's tumor. Today it is a reminder of why we have it all. Molly is dying. She will not be with us forever. And I can't bear the thought this morning. I can't think of waking up NOT hearing her voice, seeing her smile, smelling her hair. 

You see, Molly is not a story. She is not a new cause to support and get revved up about for a time and then move on. She is not an article in the paper to make you feel sad about childhood cancer for a moment and then continue on with your day. She is not a picture on card.  This is a real child. This is a real family. These are real sisters. And it hurts and is painful and raw. I know people care. And I know by writing this I risk offending someone. But my heart is whispering these words today and they spill out. I wish for Molly to be more than she appears to be to others at times. I wish for her to be the beautiful light she is in our world. She shines so bright and brings such joy to our hearts. 

Now, I could leave the post at that. But I know that God would not be glorified in my despair and heartache. We do realize that Molly is changing lives. Ours. She is teaching us strength. She is teaching us compassion. She is teaching us to look beyond our own noses. Lessons that will live on past her. God made this possible. How else could you find any good in something so bad? 

So in sadness, we find hope still. We see that there is hope for change. Maybe we can't change others, but we are changing ourselves. Changing into what God wants us to be. That is truly why Molly is in our lives... to help change us. And for that I will be forever grateful. 

6 months

It was the phone call you never wish to get. 4 p.m and the Pediatrician office calls. This is the hour they close, why are they calling now?  This was the question asked 6 months ago, to the day. Molly had had a MRI the day before and we had an inkling something was up since the Radiology Tech asked when we will be seeing the doctor. 

But nothing prepared us for the phone call. They asked us to come in right away to the office. I will say, it was the longest drive ever. Even as I write this, my heart races thinking about it. 

"A large tumor on the brain stem." These words rang in my ears for what seemed like forever. I couldn't hear anything else but these words. But I did see the Pediatrician crying. I didn't feel the hug she gave me. I was numb. 

We were to go immediately to the hospital to meet with the Oncology team and Neurosurgeon.  Seemed like a sick joke. This doesn't happen to us. This happens to other families. Not us. 

The next three days were a blur and exhausting. There were MRIs, meetings, blood work. There was crying, hugging, visits, and disbelief. 

But what I remember most is 3 a.m. on Wednesday morning. Peter and I couldn't sleep. We walked around, I'm sure looking like zombies. We headed to the main waiting room and collapsed into a seat. What now? We did the only thing we knew to do... we prayed. 

We cried out to God and asked Him what to do now. We can't live without Molly, Lord. Don't you know that? She's our little girl. She's our smiley, happy,singing, silly, beautiful big brown eyed girl. Help us. 

We cried. We prayed for what seemed like hours. We hugged. And then the Peace came. A wave of air that I could finally breath. I didn't feel so suffocated with grief and confusion. The fog was lifting.

Peter and I never really prayed together as a couple. Sad to say. But I'll just be honest. But for the rest of my life, I will not forget the bond that He brought to us that night. It can't be broken. It's beauty in the midst of tragedy. 

I suppose I should write about other things: but this is what sticks out in my mind today. The worst day of our lives. The one forever etched in our life stories. Perhaps my writing is disjointed and messy. But that is a perfect picture of how we felt that day.  

Dear Friend

Dear Friend, 

Perhaps one of the hardest letters to write, I write to you. As I sit here remembering all the fun times we have had, secret jokes, private laughs, crying shoulders, shopping trips, hospital visits, and so much more, I am reminded that I miss you. 

Life has been hectic, as you very well know. My days are no longer structured and predictable. They are hectic and ever changing. One moment things seem normal, then the next, my child is throwing up. She has a headache. We are in for the day. 

Just like a newborn in many ways, there is rising in the night at all hours, helping her change her clothes, bathroom visit after bathroom visit, and cleaning up messes that no longer can be cleaned up by herself. 

I do not write this to have you feel bad for me. I desire to take care of her. I need to take care. 

I write this to let you simply know that you are not forgotten. You are still loved. You are very much missed. 

For now, God has called me to this very high calling called Motherhood. He has also called me to care for a very delicate and sometimes difficult family circumstance. I need to be with my family. I need to etch in my mind every smile and heartbeat. I need to see, feel, touch as much as I can, because the day that I can make those phone calls to you again, will be the day that I can no longer kiss those cheeks of hers. 

So know, that I love you. Know that my heart desires to talk to you. But more than anything, my heart yearns to be right here, right now. Living every single moment alert and aware of all that is going on around me so that I don't miss a thing. 

One day we will catch up. One day we can have that meal out that we have been planning for months. One day, we will get to talk on the phone for hours. It's just that, today cannot be that day. 

Love always and forever,

Julie

The gift that keeps on giving

It's not a secret that there are generous people in this world. Through Molly's diagnosis, we have found many. From cards, to meals, to gifts, to lending a helping hand, we have seen the beauty of generosity in others. We are trying our best to teach the girls that God uses all these people to bless our family and so we pray that He blesses them as well.

Today was no exception.

I received a message online from a fellow military wife, let's call her J.L. She too has three daughters about our girl's ages and has been following Molly's journey from the beginning. She requested to stop over to bring the girls a Christmas gift. What I didn't know, is that it would be so much more than that. 

After the girls excitedly received the large package and wandered inside, we had the chance to talk with J.L and get to know her and her family a little more. Having gone through health scares for her own daughter, she knew in some way where we were coming from. It was so refreshing to talk to another Mom... seems like I haven't had much of that interaction lately... and to have similar feelings and dealings in life as she did. She was very sweet and encouraging and we ended the visit with hopes of a future play date for the girls. 

We walked inside and the girls eagerly waited for the green light to rip open the package. Inside was something I never expected. It was a beautiful train set to place under the tree. Now, trust me when I say, the girls would have been excited about any gift. Dolls, coloring books, etc. It's all fun for them. But this one was very special because of Molly's words. 

"Mom, do we get to have this next Christmas too?!"

We will have the train next Christmas, but we don't know if we will have Molly. If we were honest about things, the odds are against us. If we went by statistics, she will not get to turn that train on next year. And as I stood there, staring at the train as it went round and round the tree, I smiled thinking about the gift that would keep on giving. 

Years from now, when Molly is gone, and our hearts ache for her to be with us, we will be able to look at that train and remember two things. One, the smile on her face when she opened the package. Two, the generosity of a stranger that brightened the day of our entire family.

We've already laid on the floor, watching the train, listening to the horn, admiring the craftsmanship. And for years to come, we will do the same, but with the reminder that Molly did the same with us and it was lovely. It was beautiful. It was lasting. 

Measuring my faith

"Our walk with God, our love for God, our faith in God is measured by our first response to something abnormal in our lives." 

These were the words that swirled around in my brain for days after attending my old church on Sunday. Pastor C spoke a message that I felt was clearly for me. Faith and joy have been the theme of the year it seems and I have been wondering where my faith is. How is it even possible to measure?

But as I was meditating on it these last few weeks, I was hit with this whammy. How do I respond when hit with crisis? How is my attitude when the abnormal is upon me? Do I panic? Do I collapse? Or do I go to Him? I've responded a number of ways throughout the years, but I hope that more often than not, I respond with faith and trust. 

This past week we had quite the scare. Molly really had a turn for the worse. All right side strength was pretty much gone, she struggled with swallowing at one point, headaches came in strong waves and the vomiting was eventually uncontrollable, even with Zofran. We were in full on crisis mode and to say that this was an abnormal situation was the understatement of the century. We were certain that the day before Thanksgiving, she would be admitted into the hospital, and honestly, would not come out ever again. We have seen so many children take a turn for the worse so quickly and never recover. 

The words above rolled around in my heart. "What will your response be, Julie? Is your faith real? Will you run to the phone to call a friend? Will you panic and begin to cry? Or will you call upon His name? You know, the one that you have been learning, loving, and listening for." I paused. Phone in hand, I had a choice. I felt this peace in my heart. One that whispered that all this year was a preparation for this very moment. My early mornings of prayer and reading led up to now. 

I prayed. I listened. I stayed calm. And let me tell you, it was not because I am some mega Christian. I am so far from it. I still gossip. I still lie. I still grumble. I still pout. It was truly because God grants so much grace to His own. It's within reach, but He wants us to grab it. 

"By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of glory of God." -Romans 5:2

It humbles me and excites me all at once that God gives us access to His grace 24/7. All we need is to take it. And yet so many times I forget that and panic in the dark. 

I've learned over the years that faith is 3 things:

1. It is clearly understanding the Truth- knowing that even if we can't see it, touch it, or even feel it within, if it says it in His Word, it's true and therefore we must trust it. 

So if God says that all things are going to work together for good, even though I see a suffering child, a hopeless diagnosis, I trust that it will be good. 

2. It is taking that truth and applying it to my life. It's making it personal. 

"Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone." - James 2:17

3.It is simply action. Doing it. Standing in the waiting room, waiting to hear the news that will change your life, and having peace. 

Let me make something perfectly clear. I am not perfect at this at all. And I hope that I never come off bragging, preachy, or something else other than just sharing what God laid on my heart in hopes that it will encourage or help someone else. There were plenty of times I have lost it and phoned a friend, panicked, or lost all hope within. But I have learned some along the way, only because He was willing to teach me. 

So tonight, my prayer is that God will continue to grow my faith and truly help me to put it into action. Because what good is life if you are not continually learning and changing. 

Truth is...

I don't really have anything profound, inspiring or spiritual to say this evening. It's been a very hard few days for me mentally. We have a wonderful DIPG community on Facebook and have gotten to know so many families through this common bond. Although I would never want this for anyone, it's very comforting to know that other families are going through this with us. But this week has been hard. In one week's time, 4 children have died due to DIPG. FOUR. It's so sad to me to think that they suffered as they did and that their family could only sit back and watch... and wait. 

And then there is Molly. She still struggles and all signs of cancer are not gone. There are still headaches, dizziness, wobbles, struggles with stairs, exhaustion, appetite issues, and more. It's a constant reminder that this still lingers and is not going away anytime soon. It's exhausting, frustrating, sad, maddening... and I can't change it. 

Sure, I can continue to seek out a miracle, and I do. I can find comfort in Scripture and see what God has in store for us, and I do. But days like the last few, nothing comes to me. I don't have this great revelation. No big lesson is taught. I don't even necessarily find a peace. This is not God's lack of love for me. It's still there. I know it is. It's not that He has lost interest in me. I know He hasn't because He purchased me with something so precious. It's not His lack of ability to be here for me because He is everywhere. I think at times, it's that we are in the waiting phase. All is quiet before something big happens. Other times, it's lack of communication... on my part. I haven't talked to Him like I should. Listen to Him, like I need to. Gaze upon Him like I know He desires. Instead, I look at what is in front of me and cry. 

I don't think that God is unhappy with me. I know there is a time to laugh and a time to cry. And I know He understands that time is so hard to come by these days. Every ounce of my being is spent on caring for the girls... in particular, Molly. I like to think that He is still pleased with me. And I know He is waiting for me to fall into His arms and cry. Perhaps that is what I need tonight. 

It's all so sad. And even though I don't know what God's plan is for Molly and our family, the statistics are against us. No child has ever survived this tumor. Can Molly be the first? I believe she can be for sure. But I don't know if that is the plan. So am I to put myself out there and fully believe she will be healed and then be crushed if it doesn't happen? Or am I to live like today is our last day with her and prepare for what is to come?

I don't think anyone has the right answer to those questions. I think it's got to be a mixture of both. But my whole being wants it all to disappear. This nightmare. This tragedy. I wish it all away. My entire body aches and my mind is so weary from all this emotion. I love Molly so much. And I love my family. I don't want it to change. I don't want to see her suffer... 

Top Ten Cancer Blessings

So it may seem odd that I would even consider making such a list, but I have a reason behind this. In a world filled with negativity and living in circumstances that would seem justified to complain, I refuse to do so. Not only do I want my girls to see good in everything, I don't want to live in a dark place. Obviously we have our moments, but overall, I can't help but see all the good that has come to us since Molly's diagnosis. So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, here are ten things we are thankful for due to Molly's diagnosis:

10. Firsts...We have experienced more firsts in five months than I think in five years. First time jumping in the leaves, petting a dolphin, riding in a taxi, sitting on Santa's lap...

9. Traveling... We have done so many planes, trains, and automobiles...and we have been able to see so much during those times!

8. New friends...We would never have met so many new and wonderful people if Molly was not diagnosed. Young and old and everywhere between, we've cherished them all.

7. First family vacation... We have never gone away, just as a family, not visiting family before. But through Molly's dream and the help of Children's Dream Fund and Give Kids the World, we were able to do so.

6. Learning to enjoy the little things... this has always been hard for me. I constantly want to go and check the next thing off my list. But now, I fully enjoy full pj days, long games of Monopoly, and silly face contests, just because.

5. Appreciating strength... this one is the hardest to express. But I no longer say, " They can't...I can't."  Now that I have seen what Molly, her sisters, and others have gone through, nothing surprises me. Molly is an amazing girl with the strength of a super hero. She has endured so much and yet still smiles.

4. Smiles: Speaking of smiles, I just simply love them.

3. Generosity: We have had more people than I could ever count step up and give, give, give. We've received cards, gifts, money, meals, clothes, rides, and so much more. If Molly was never diagnosed, I don't think we would ever understand how truly generous people can be.

2. My mindset has changed:  Never again will we see things the same. God has given us the ability to learn from this. Compassion, empathy, grace, love...all things I think we possess more of now. I am not so quick to judge and my patience is so much more now.

1. Who God is: Without such a trial, we would never see the wonders of God. He's long suffering, kind, ever present, loving, and near. Without the last 5 months, we would not know Him as we do now.

Lessons in love

The last few days have been the most intense, emotional, and exhausting  to date. I could fill page upon page with all of the thoughts and emotions that went through my head. But I won't do this. The one thing that keeps rolling around inside my mind is the biggest lesson that I learned. 

I think the reason this lesson sticks with me is because I am an experience learner. I can't just read something and it sticks. No. I need to touch, put together, and live the very thing I am learning. So when I did Anatomy in college, I did very well. Organic Chemistry was much harder for me to grasp. I can't touch, put together, or relate fully to all of these things on the periodic table. But I could feel a bone, build a cell model, and dissect a cat. (I know, gross. ;) 

When Molly woke from her second day of anesthesia, she woke hard. She was coming off of a 24 hour period that was full of surgery of the brain and 3 hours of sleep. She was exhausted. But for some reason, she took this time much harder. She yelled. She screamed. She cried. She hit. I had never heard such awful things come out of her mouth before.

"I hate you."

"You are the worst Mother in the whole world."

"I will never love you."

"You made me go through this."

"Go away. I don't need you anymore."

I would be lying if I said that these words didn't hurt. They did for sure. They crushed me. And even though I knew she had no control over herself.... the slurred speech kind of gave it away... I still couldn't help but feel like they were some how true. But I continued to help her. I continued to stay by her side. I pulled up her socks. I helped her sit up straight. I kissed her forehead. All of these actions were possible because of a Mother's love. I feel that nothing Molly could do would ever pull that love out of me and make it go away. She may hurt me or disappoint, but I will always love her. And I will always want her to be safe and happy. 

Is this not how Jesus felt when He was being ridiculed and mocked? When they nailed Him to the tree, did He not still love those that took the thorny crown and placed it on his head? Christ wanted those scorners and sinners to join His heavenly family despite all words and violence. 

The same is true now. I daily reject my Saviour with my actions and doings. I hurt Him with my unkind words and prideful attitude. And yet, He stays. As hard as I push Him from my presence, He patiently waits for me to call for Him in the darkness and He returns to my side. 

That love, that loyalty, that patience is so beautiful and perfect, it's hard to fully understand. But I got a glimpse of it the other day. Not that I compare anything that I have been through to what my Lord has endured, but I think He uses things throughout our lives as reminders of who He is, and who He wants us to be. 

I hope to never face another day like Friday again. But the reality is, my loved ones will hurt me again. And I just pray I remember my Lord, and His never ending love for me. 

Broken for the better

"Whosoever shall fall upon that stone shall be broken; but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder." Luke 20:18

It was one of those days that brought exhaustion and frustration. One of the girls was having a really rough day getting control over herself. The temper tantrums kept coming and there was no end in sight. As my daughter started in on another huge fit, I decided it was time to take serious measures. I brought her into a quiet area of the house, sat on the floor with her on my lap, and wrapped my arms around her lovingly, but firm. Arms flailing, head wrenching around, legs kicking, it took all my energy to hold her into place. "Mommy, no! Stop!" I knew I wasn't hurting her. I was speaking calmly, explaining that she would not be able to get up until she calmed down and stopped her tantrum. "I know you are having a hard time getting some control and I love you. So I am going to help you get some control. We will do this together." 

Ten minutes went by. Still kicking and screaming. Fifteen minutes, still fighting me, but her body was getting tired. Twenty minutes later, she let out one last scream and her body went limp with exhaustion. She was done. I quickly let her go and turned her around. Reassuring her of my love and giving her many kisses, I went on to tell her that this behavior is not acceptable and that she CAN get control over herself. She has all the ability inside of her. 

This temper tantrum is a perfect picture of a very similar fight I had with the Lord about 6 months ago. I was starting to feel this prick in my heart. Being under conviction, I felt that God was wanting some changes in me. And not just little ones. Big ones. You know, those huge leaps of faith that are terrifying. Like that. I had this strong urge to ask God to really increase my faith. To do a mighty work in me so that I could go from doing the "good Christian girl thing" of going through the motions to really being changed from within. 

Now, I have known from personal experience and from seeing other's lives that God doesn't just increase your faith with a snap of a finger. There is work involved. Hard work. Sweat, blood and tears. And this was the part I was not ready for. I didn't like work. I didn't like pain. But the still small voice kept talking to me every day asking me what I was waiting for. Is not God in control? Don't you want your faith to increase? I fought it for a good month. Every day, I held off asking God to increase my faith because I knew once my heart bled those words out, something big was coming. 

I finally confided in a dear friend. I explained to her what my struggle was and my temper tantrum I was having. How I was fighting God to get things my way, and yet was so miserable. She committed to pray for me. How thankful I am for friends like this. Those faithful few who really do love me enough to help me through these times. It was probably obvious to her what I needed to do, but my faith is not as strong as her. She is a seasoned woman in the Lord and I am not there yet. So she lovingly prayed and waited. 

Then, one day I couldn't take it any longer. I was so tired of kicking and screaming and fighting. I thought, " Anything that is coming has got to be better than this miserable state." I got on my knees, told the Lord I was sorry that I fought Him so long. I know He is the Creator and in full control of every area in my life, heart, and soul. He can help my faith in Him increase, no matter what may come. 

When I rose from my knees, my life was never the same. This flood of peace came over me and even though there was so much unknown, I felt that I could handle it and more exciting was that my faith would change! Who I was in the Lord was going to be different. Then, I waited....

About a month later.... Molly's diagnosis. There it is. There is the water, food, and shelter that will help my faith grow. An ugly, scary, full blown tumor that unless God intercedes will take my Daughter's life. Whoa. Wasn't ready for that one, Lord. Couldn't you have picked something easier? I really think you should have considered taking my own health. Or how about financial problems? A hurricane? Anything but this! 

I'm still in this faith growing process. I have not arrived. I will never arrive until I am dead. But I have seen my faith change. My faith begin to grow. To deepen. I understand things much better in view of His Word than I ever have before. Everything just looks different. 

So the question is, am I glad that I asked God to increase my faith? Absolutely. Why? Because I really think that God was preparing me for what was to come. He already knew Molly would have this cancer. He was preparing my heart for the change that was on it's way. I kind of got a head's up. And I know he is with me every step of the way. I feel Him. I see Him. And if my faith is to grow, I have to go through some ugly to get there. Our whole family does. But we are doing it together, through Him, not alone. 

When fear takes hold

She was 6 lbs. 8 oz. of perfectness. Big brown eyes. Dark hair that covered her entire head. Long "piano fingers", as we like to call them. Clara Esther Little. It was love at first sight. Looking at this sweet baby, you would never know what it took to get her, but we did. It took trust. It took hope. It took a true miracle.

 

When Clara was born, I had a scheduled c-section. I had already been in this type of operating room before... twice. I had an uneasy feeling within which turned to difficulty breathing and in the end vomiting. I knew something wasn't right. But we proceeded forward. In the end, the complications were so great that it was obvious that God's hand was in the whole ordeal. Seven hours later, with 17 new units of blood in my body, I ended up in ICU. God saved my life that day and I can honestly say I do not take that miracle for granted. The doctors and nurses all said they were shocked that I was alive and really should not have made it. I'm not surprised. There were so many praying. And I am in the hands of the One who made me.

But for some reason, I have a hard time always applying this blind faith to my Molly. In two weeks, Molly will be having an experimental, 15 hour surgery that will involve the most important part of her body to survive. And when I allow myself to go there, my whole being is enveloped in this fear that November 6th may be the last day I lay eyes on my precious girl. You see, surgery is just not surgery to our family anymore. For Peter, it's waiting in the waiting room for hours, holding his new baby girl, wondering if her mother will make it out. For me, it's knowing that things are going wrong and with tears in my eyes begging the anesthesiologist to make sure I wake up moments before she puts the mask over my mouth. 

But for God, surgery is another way to show His power. His presence. His glory. I try so desperately to bring myself to that realization when my mind wanders to the other side. But I can't will it on my own. I can't wish away my fears and anxiety. I can only run to truth. And truth tells me, 

"For I the LORD thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee."

He's going to help us get through this. He will help the doctor as he masterfully does this procedure. He will help Peter and I as we wait all day to hear what the outcome is. He will help Molly to breath, heal, awake. He will help others see He is a God that can do all things. 

I can't promise that fear will not creep up again. I'm being realistic in the fact that I am human and this is a natural emotion. But I am so very grateful that we as a family do not have to be alone. What an amazing thing that the God of all things knows every small detail and is working things for good. (Romans 8:28)

So this morning, I breath. I rest in the fact that He's got this. And Molly is in the best care of the Greatest Physician ever... Jesus. 

Weapons of mass destruction

It's amazing how little things can do so much damage. Think of termites. Only milometers long, but packed full of trouble. The amount of destruction that a little insect can make is amazing. Thousands of dollars are spent to get rid of these little critters, to replace ruined goods or to repair what has already been damaged. The same is true with the tongue. At least this is true for me, I really don't know about you.

 The book of James has always been one of my favorite books. Maybe it's the writing style that pulls me in. Maybe it's the flow of words that entice me. Or maybe it's because he speaks so much on the tongue and the need to control it. 

"Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth."

We all know how an unkind word can linger in our hearts for years to come. In fact, I remember when I was six a certain uncle made a comment about me eating too many crackers and to this day I feel the sting. 

I struggle with my tongue. Small it may be, big is the ruination it causes. My words can be used for good to encourage a friend in need, or for bad to tear down my husband in a heated moment.It truly can be like a weapon of mass destruction. When I use my tongue to criticize my husband in front of the kids, not only do I deflate him, I show my girls that he is not worthy of respect and love. 

When I hold back my mouth from speaking a word of encouragement to a friend in need because I simply "don't have time for a phone call", I lose an opportunity to love someone in need of love and the ability to put things into perspective that I am not as busy as I think I am.  

I fully believe God gives us the ability to overcome our tongues, I just haven't submitted fully to the idea yet. It feels good to be mean, yell, snark. But there are two questions to ask myself when I feel the urge: 1. Who am I helping by saying this? 2. Is this truly God honoring? I already know the answer...

I'm not there yet. But I think the fact that I want to be is a start. I prayerfully continue to entreat Him and ask Him to help me. In the mean time, I am so thankful that I have a husband that forgives 70 times 7. And children who see the good in me, despite the bad. 

The Warrior within

"I am woman. Hear me roar!" This expression makes me laugh. It's true that women are tough. Everyone has to be in this life. It's truly a battle. Just fighting against our own bodies is exhausting. The alarm goes off and your eyes just will not open. You finally do arise and your back is tight, your knees creak, and your head is screaming, "GO BACK TO BED!!" You have only been awake for 5 minutes and already you are battling your mind and body.

This battle continues throughout all our days. I don't know about yours, but I know that in our home, it's intense. And so many times, I find myself drowning in the "blood and gore" that I encounter. The constant needs, the demands, the interruptions, it's just too much to bear at times. I flounder. Beginning to feel wronged in some way that I have to deal with all that life throws at me, I take it out on my family. I'm not a screamer. Never was. Never will be. But the snark, the mean looks, the sharp tone all add up to, "Mom is mad. You better watch out."

What I fail to remember is what Ephesians says:

"Finally, brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might." ~Ephesians 6:10

Last year I did a word by word study on Ephesians and this familiar text looked so different to me. When you read the original text, it's really saying to be strengthened with/by the Lord. It's not saying that God will help you find your inner strength. It's not saying that YOUR "roar" will come out. No. It's saying that our Master, the one who owns me forever and always because He purchased me with His blood on the cross, He will be the one to supply the strength. He will fight this battle for me.

"He staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief: but was strong in faith, giving glory to God." ~Romans 4:20

So why won't God just give us our own strength? Better yet, why isn't it just easy? Why does our family have to endure this battle? Why does Molly have to go through all this pain? The answer is right in that verse..."giving God the glory".

It's easy to be a polished up Christian when things are going great. We smile and look all nice at church. But when we have to get down in the trenches, that is when faith is tried. And I so desperately want to come out of this life hearing that God was pleased because all glory went to him. We were not seen. Only He was. His goodness. His grace. His mercy.

So as my day begins and I begin to think how hard this battle is, I am reminded that my strength (very little that it is) is not even needed today. Only His. My only job is to allow His strength to shine through and to let Him be praised for it.

They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy.

Cursive. Samantha's nemesis. It's as if the torture gods concocted up the most painful torment for Sam to endure every day in school. (I think it was meant to torture me as well.) Everyday, we sit down for school and the question pops up. "How many cursive sheets do I have?" I would like to say I cheerfully reply,  but honestly, I usually loudly sigh and then give her the answer. The girl LOATHES cursive. And I am being 100% honest in saying that she cries over her sheet. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

So why continue? Why do I keep teaching it to her? Well, I could use the defense that child education Psychiatrists agree that cursive is good for the brain. Not only will find motor skills improve, but it helps with overall brain development. I could say that there is nothing like receiving a beautiful hand written letter from a friend. I could even throw out there that my pride won't allow me to stop. I want my child to be able to say "I have been writing in cursive since kindergarten." ( Honestly, who really cares...)

The reason I don't stop teaching her is because I know one day those tears will be worth it. Through this "AWFUL" subject, I am teaching Samantha perseverance, that life is hard and you must work hard, that in the end, you will be thankful it was taught to you.

When I sit there, watching her huff and puff over her sheets, my reactions are beginning to change. No longer to a see a whiny girl who hates hard work. I see the Psalm coming to life. "They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy." Those moments when she got it right and she is so proud, she sees it was worth it.

The same is with our family. We are sowing in tears daily. The future unknown. The road dark and unseen. Heartache. Backache. Sweat. But I am so blessed to be able to cling to the truth that at the end of it all, I can reap with joy. I already see glimpses of this.

Before, a bad breathed, crazy haired, demanding 6 year old may have made me cranky at 6am. But now, I am so joyful to see her beautiful little face when she rises. This means we have another day together! We have another morning that she is walking, talking, fighting. I am reaping in joy the fact that God's glorious truths are laid out on a path that I crawl on every day. I grasp that ground work through out my whole day and bask in the Hope that is my Lord. Would I have seen this before? Probably not.

God is so good when He allows us receive joy from what is otherwise full of sorrow. Cancer is bad. But from my tears, from my turmoil, God is bringing joy. A joy I have never had. Is it always apparent? Well, you can ask my husband... no. He sees the worst of me. But it's there so much more than ever before. The joy I am receiving is not fake. It's not forced. It's real. And I am so thankful for that.

As for Samantha and her cursive, all I can say is that we continue forward. And I know that with more hard work ( and tears), she will soon have more joy in her accomplishments. Her work. Her dedication.