Trimming the tree

The girls asked to put up the Christmas tree earlier than we normally do this year. They have been eager to see the lights, hang the ornaments, and let's be honest, get some presents. 

I wasn't so sure. 

Pulling out all the Christmas boxes wasn't the problem. Neither was putting together the big, heavy tree. What my issue was stemmed from the heart. 

As we began to unwrap each ornament, the excitement increased. I am pretty sure the volume jumped up a few hundred decimals. 

And then, there it was. The very ornament I thought would break me. 

Wrapped in the box was a note from myself that I wrote last year as I packed it away. It says, "It's going to be alright. God hasn't left you. <3" 

Last Christmas, as we decorated, we knew deep inside that it was our last with her. I actually wrote about it here. But you are never quite sure what that day will bring. I'm glad I wrote the note. It was a sweet reminder of how God was holding me in His arms then and I am in the same exact place now. Still 100% dependent on Him.

We finished decorating the tree and as we stood back to admire our masterpiece, Clara smiled and looked at me. "Mom, don't judge me. But I might cry. I'm just so happy it's Christmas." 

Ah, there it is. The delightful though, out of the mouth of babes, that we will have joy this season. We will get through it all. Yes, we will be sad, and if I was honest with myself, I have already shed a bucket full of tears. But that's OK. Because once I pull myself together, I am able to sing a song, tell a joke, and even bake a cookie. 

We will make it. 

RIP Julie

Julie Beth Little, as we once knew her, left this world on June 17, 2014.

Due to an unforeseen illness, a beast of a cancer, her life was taken away as she watched her baby girl slowly fade. 

Once the life of the party, she now dreads social events and really has to pull all her energy out to endure them. She often would feel comfortable talking to people in large crowds, but no longer. Instead, her appeal to social situations in large crowds has left her. She enjoys the quiet, one on one situations of truly getting to know one's soul. It's all she can handle. To focus in on one person and see who they are and where they are at. 

Before, she was blind to the world of pain around her. Oblivious to others suffering, she happily lived in her bubble of  security, assurance, and routine. But now, she no longer is blind. Death has brought to her light. And she can not look away. 

Never one to cry in public, she no longer is who she was. Gone are the days of holding it together. Now, tears freely fall and she doesn't care who sees them. 

Julie was notorious for enjoying the moment and living in the now. She loved to fully enjoy the happiness of it all. No longer. Forever will sorrow be intermingled with happiness. Now, she knows what true joy was, and what it could be again. With that sorrow comes a gift of hope and appreciation. 

Previously, she did not know what true living was. Not until she died, did she understand life. For in death, she sees that life is about Him. Hope, love and mercy are the foundations of all things. 

So even though we mourn the death of Julie, she is in a better place. She knows that even though there is suffering, healing is around the corner. Even though there seems to be hopelessness, it's never forever lost. And even though everything is mingled with pain, there will be one day a time with no more pain. 

Heavenly minded

The conversations around our house have drastically changed since Molly went to heaven.

"What is heaven like? What are they doing in heaven? Do you think there are cockroaches in heaven?"

Never before was my mind so heavenly minded. Singing hymns about heaven and hearing the trumpet blow immediately send tears down my cheeks. I was never like this before. Of course, I felt emotion when singing, but now, it's so much more real to me. 

It extends so much further than this, however. It has spread to my entire family, including the girls. They constantly talk about heaven. How they can not wait to see all that Molly is enjoying. How they wish to be there now with her. 

Clara constantly wants to send things to Molly. From artwork, to pancakes, she is always on her mind. 

What a blessed gift we have received from our Lord. Not only the hope of heaven, but the constant placement of heaven in our hearts.  I of course long to run into the arms of my Savior and bask in His love and grace for eternity, but I would be lying if I didn't say that these days, I am just as excited to run up to Molly and give her a hug. 

When we look back at all she endured and the suffering that she had to go through, I feel somewhat guilty that she had to face that so that I could freely enjoy these amazing lessons. But I remind myself that God has a plan for every soul and I can imagine Molly telling me that she was so happy to serve Jesus however He decided.

So as I go about my day, my head may be in the clouds, but I don't think that's necessarily a bad place to be. 

I wish...

I wish…

…you could have seen today with us. The sun was shining and perfect. The clouds were white and fluffy, just how you like them.

I wish…

… you could have come down the stairs like you always do, excited to see how we decorated for your special day. Bouncy. Hoppy. Giggling. Messy haired.

I wish…

… I could have watched you open your birthday presents with the same twinkle in your eye and gratitude you always possessed.

I wish…

… we could sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you just how you liked it, including smelly monkeys, silly faces, and cha cha chas.

I wish…

… I could hug you, even for a moment, and tell you what an amazing person you are.  If only I could share with you the countless lives you changed because of your strong spirit, determination, toughness, and sweet smile that all who have ever met you immediately fell in love with.

But I know…

… that you are happy.

I know…

… you are where you are supposed to be.

I know…

… that you are somehow involved  with the biggest, beastest, animals in heaven. And you are tenderly taking care of the smallest ones as well.

I know…

… that you always loved us and that is forever sealed.

I know…

…that no amount of time and no number of birthdays that pass will ever, EVER diminish, change, or lessen what you are to me. Because how can anyone forget a piece of their heart?

I wish you a happy “forever six” birthday in heaven. And I know that one day, we will celebrate for an eternity. 

Don't go to Egypt!

Being a military family offers for many adventures, sometimes fun, sometimes not so much fun. I am incredibly thankful for the opportunities Peter's career has supplied our family. I mean, Peter and I were on a 4 year honeymoon in Europe when we got first married! How many people can really say that?! (OK, it wasn't all really honeymoon. The first few years are actually the hardest, but you get my point.)

Recently, Peter was presented with an opportunity to have our family move to Cairo, Egypt. Yes. You read that right. Cairo. Land of the Pharaohs. Home of the pyramids. Long story short, we decided not to go for it. We had a number of reasons, but they are not important. I am getting to that part. 

So here I am, a couple weeks later, reading in Genesis about Abraham. Good ol' Abraham. Following after God. Trusting Him to get him to the promise land. And then famine hits. 

In Genesis 12:10-12, it goes through the story of how Abraham, neglecting to trust God for the basic necessities of life, veered off course and headed to Egypt where he was sure there would be food. 

Throughout God's Word, you can see, that for the Christian, Egypt is a picture of the world. 

"Woe to them that go down to Egypt for help; and stay on horses, and trust in chariots, because they are many; and in horsemen, because they are very strong; but they look not unto the Holy One of Israel, neither seek the Lord!" ~Isa. 31:1

This of course got me thinking back to our predicament from weeks earlier. Are we putting our trust in God? Where He desires us to be, are we willing to go? Where he desires us NOT to be, are willing to listen and trust? 

I can say, for this particular case, we did seek God's will in deciding. But how often have I been so desperate for help that I put my trust in something other than the Lord? I could write book upon book of all the mistakes that could have been avoided if I had only gone to the One that had the real answers. 

"For the Lord giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding." ~Prov. 2:6

In a world FULL of what-ifs, trials, and uncertainty, it is so easy to run to Egypt for my answers. Stressed out with the kids? Zone out on Facebook for ten minutes. That will fix it. Had a fight with the husband? Call your girlfriend to get some sympathy about what a loser he is. Don't know how to handle that conflict with a friend? No worries. Chocolate has got you covered. 

I'm not saying these things are always bad. This year Facebook has been a huge source of encouragement and ministry to me. And I can't tell you how many times a friend has brought me back to my sanity and corrected me, gently mind you, in my error with my husband. And there is scientific proof people, that chocolate is good for you!

My point is, where is my trust truly lying? Proverbs says to trust in the Lord with all my heart. But when I give pieces of my heart to other things, during times of stress, I'm no where near where I am supposed to be. 

Thankfully, as always, we have an awesome long-suffering God who is just waiting for us to learn a new lesson... or revisit said lesson until we finally get it. 

I desire to put my trust in the One who is trustworthy, and not into Egypt. Because, as the story of Abraham shows (read the ten verses!) Egypt has nothing but trouble for you and you'll just end up back where you started. :)

Memories

Perhaps the most difficult of all endeavors in the grieving world is the idea of memories. 

You love them, yet you hate them. You cherish them, yet wish to not remember. You begin to create new ones, but only while looking back. 

Everything in life has a little bit of a bitter taste to it. 

Times that are fun and happy have a twinge of guilt and sadness intertwined with them. Because even though you enjoy the moment, you can't help but think, "I wish they were here."

The days are getting a little easier. Falling into a puddle of mush only happens a few times a week now. We have began school and are developing a routine which is key for everyone's mental health. But mixed in are these intense moments of memories. 

Memories of old that make you wish you could step back in time. Memories of new that you wish you could pause, grab a hold of that piece of your heart that is missing, and incorporate them into the fun. 

Being a military family, we know that a move is inevitable. Change happens all the time in everyone's life. But how can I bear the thought of moving on and making new memories, in new places, that Molly has never been? I can't stand the thought. I'm not ready. 

Today memories, new and old, sweep over me like a bitter cold. I don't like them. They serve no purpose but to bring pain. But I know that is just for right now. I know tomorrow will be better. 

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...

Molly's Eulogy

Dear Molly Dolly,

 It seems like only yesterday I laid eyes on you and fell madly in love. Those big brown eyes captivated the world and our hearts.  I remember holding you and thinking you were perfect in every way. Your quiet, calm, and sweet spirit showed through from day one.

 Never one to cry, you were always content with just the necessities. Full belly. Soft bed. Warm arms. This carried on as you grew.

 You have always been a thinker, observing the world around you quietly. Not asking many questions, but figuring it all out on your own.  But this didn’t mean you were a loner. You have always been up for a good time. Laughing, smiling and silliness have ALWAYS been your favorite.

You have willingly  handed out  smiles. I remember when you were very little, Samantha flipped your car seat over. Instead of crying, you patiently hung upside down, until things were fixed. This is exactly who you are. Tough, strong, calm.

You’ve been the perfect middle sister. Proud that you are the only one who had the job of big sister AND little sister, you were peace keeper, yet instigator when no one is looking. You have the knack for driving your sisters crazy without being obvious. And you always know what will cheer them up when they are down. Your sisters have learned from you how to be a good sharer and master toy manipulator all at the same time.

Your Daddy and I have also learned many things from you as well. One is, you can always smile… all you need is a little bathroom humor. Your laugh is infectious and no matter how bad we are feeling, you have always known how to make it better. You also are a master snuggler. No one could ever top your ability to get right in the nook of Daddy’s arm and stay there for hours without getting one pointy elbow involved.

We are going to miss that one perfect ponytail ringlet bouncing through the house. Your absolutely contagious and sincere belly laugh that could be heard from any room in the house.  Your sense of adventure, whether it’s the request for the highest under dog in the world, sitting in the front row of a roller coaster that even I was scared to go on, or just your constant request for “faster and higher!” I’m not sure if heaven has roller coasters, but if they do, I am sure you are in the front row with your hands up.

I’m going to miss our early mornings together. You would spring downstairs and always join me at the table, quietly eating your cereal. Neither one of us ever had the need to say a word, but we were blissfully happy in the early morning silence.

Your love for animals has always been in the forefront. In fact, the day you told me you wanted to be a farmer’s wife did not shock me one bit. If it was furry, fuzzy, warm, and snuggly, you were first in line to touch it.  I imagine you even now, being that child the Bible speaks of that lies down with the lion.

You’ve always been smart and it showed in your excellence and efficiency in school, especially reading. Cursive was second nature for you. But what you really had a talent for was art. Not a day went by that you didn’t color, cut, glue, or paint. Our house is covered with your beautiful masterpieces. This was truly a God-given talent. Even when you could do nothing else, and you were in pain, you determined to color until you could no longer.

And  that, my dear, is the thing I’m going to miss the most. Your determination and perseverance. The words “I can’t” were never, ever part of your vocabulary. You’ve taught me that if something is hard, that just means I better roll up my sleeves because it’s time to try harder. Samantha and Clara will carry on this lesson with them as well. Along with the lessons of compassion and empathy that only could have come by you. You see Molly,that is just it. You’ve brought so much to the world. You’ve changed it. And it will never again be the same.

Some say you were too young to go from us, but I say you lived the full life God intended you to. And I am so thankful He let me be a part of it. I no longer question “why?” I know why. God has a divine purpose for all of us. You are just so amazing that you accomplished in 6 years what most couldn’t do in 60.

For now, I’ll miss you. I’ll miss hugging you, kissing your cheeks, and making you laugh. I wish I could wrap my arms around you one more time.  But there will be a day when we can hug and never let go. I’m thankful that Jesus gave that hope to us both.

So until then, hug a lion for me, pet a lamb, and climb a tree. I’ll see you soon.

Love Mommy

Her last breath

I'm not sure why. That's usually how I start my thoughts when I begin to write. I don't know why I would share such  intimate things. But as I sat here thinking what I was to write, many things popped in my head. Perhaps that is because my mind has not stopped thinking. In fact, I am positive that it goes in hyper-drive at night because even though I have been sleeping like a log, I wake up exhausted, as if I was up all night. 

But God kept pressing upon my heart to share Molly's last moments with us. Perhaps because even though it was a scene I will never forget, it doesn't mean it was all horrible. It played out the way it was supposed to. And I don't regret a moment. 

On Saturday,  we needed to up Molly's pain medication significantly. In doing so, we knew that this meant she would now sleep and not wake. It was very apparent that her time to meet Jesus was close and our only desire was to make her comfortable and peaceful. 

Sunday morning, when we came to her bed, it was apparent that she was not doing well. We spent the morning around her bed. Holding her hand, talking to her, and Samantha even read a book to her. The girls climbed up to snuggle and even though Molly was not responsive I am 100% sure that she felt her sisters with her. 

As the day went on, the girls began to tire out. Sam went upstairs for a while, but Clara was clearly in a high anxiety state. Even when you know death is coming, it's hard to really prepare for an adult. Even more so for a four year old. 

We sent Clara next door to visit some neighbor friends and separate from it all for a bit. However, within 10 minutes, Molly's breathing drastically changed and we knew this was the moment we had known was coming since June 17, 2014. 

It's hard to explain all the emotion packed into one 5 minute span. There was a quick rush to get the girls to Molly's side. Samantha wanted to be there with her and we thought it best to be together one last time and help usher  Molly to heaven. I had prayed so hard and envisioned us at her side for her last breath. I thought for sure, even though I prayed, that it would not happen. Molly has always been stubborn and her own person. I thought that once she decided to let go, she would do it when no one was around. I think she did it for me. For us. 

We watched her take her last breath and cried like we had never cried before. It has been a year of holding our breath just waiting and at that moment, for me, I felt that I could finally let it go. It was done. 

Clara, not fully understanding, got off the bed and got the stethoscope. She wanted to hear for herself that there was no heartbeat. It was a sweet, yet sad thing to watch. But we let her because she needed to do this. 

Once some time had passed and the girls cleared out, Peter and I just looked at our little girl. She looked so incredibly peaceful. So beautiful. More beautiful than she had in a very long time. The funny part was she had this little smirk on her face as if to say, "Ha! I showed cancer." I will never forget it. 

Death, of course, was not the outcome I wished for. When I prayed for healing, I wanted it on earth. But I will say that if death was what was to come, it came in a beautiful way. Together. Peaceful. Home. That's all we wanted. 

I could write so much more. Like where from here? What is the plan? How are the girls? It will come. For now though, I desire to leave with the thought of Molly, flying through the heavens, opening her eyes and seeing the most beautiful home she will ever have. I can actually feel her smile. Big. Wide. Beautiful. 

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.