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.