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...