13 years

I think I cried myself to sleep that night. How could I possibly imagine four long months, or perhaps even more, without the man I fell in love with. But that was what I was facing. He pulled away with his recruiter, leaving all he knew behind, to start a new adventure and establish a future for both of us. 

Thirteen years later, and here we stand. 

Trust me when I say I am not one of those women that takes credit for my husband's career. It actually riles me up a little when I hear a military wife talk of her husband's career as if she did all the work herself. Yes, as a spouse, there are some sacrifices needed to be made. But it's the same in every other marriage. 

You move for a promotion. Give up time with family because of the long hours at work. Many  jobs put their safety in jeopardy. But in the end, Peter has done all the work to get where he is. And I couldn't be more proud of him. 

He's the one who signed that paper. He's the one that went through basic training, all the lack of sleep, grueling drills, and separation from family.

Peter is the one that had to go overseas without us. He couldn't pick up the phone and call. He couldn't eat home cooked meals. Instead, they came from some kind of bag! (MRE's, we thank you for your deliciousness.) 

I am so very blessed to have this man I call husband. Not because of what he does for an occupation. He could be a lawyer, farmer, librarian, mechanic, or teacher. The point is, he's hard working, self sacrificing, and always willing to give for his family. 

So today, as I remember 13 years ago and the ache in my heart as he drove away, I now also think on how full my heart is in the man he has become. I thank God for forming him into a better person each day. I thank the military for giving him skills and disciplines that carry on to other areas of life. And I thank Peter for  his hard work and dedication in so many areas of his life, all making this thing we call life so much better. 

Purposeful brokenness

Purpose. The life in ones veins. The path to their walk. The table in which they sup at. 

Purpose is so important.

Without purpose, a person will feel unfulfilled, lost, and depressed. 

We are masters at creating a fabricated purpose, one that tries so very hard to pave the way to happiness and contentment, but we fail so many times. Women are especially good at overextending themselves because they think keeping busy equals purposed fulfilled. Alas, that same old feeling of desolation and disappointment still linger, despite how full the calendar is. 

There are some who look for their purpose by comparing and mimicking others. They try their hardest to adapt their lives and skills to fit the mold that another possesses because they feel that their  purpose is looks sparkly, shiny, and worth something. 

Let me share with you my purpose right now. But first, let me warn you. It's nothing sparkly. It's not neat. In fact, it's messy. But it's mine. 

Brokenness. 

Are you asking, "Can that even be someone's purpose and calling?" 

I assure you, I asked the very same question. In fact, sitting at my laptop for the last few days I have a note to myself that says, "Maybe my brokenness IS my purpose?" 

Those feelings of discontentment and loneliness have reared their ugly heads a number of times in the last year. Purpose was a distant and illusive thought in my life. I wanted it. Desired it. But wasn't really understanding where it was. 

Then this thought popped in my mind. What if, in this season, being broken was enough? What if my feelings of sorrow, and sadness were more than just something I needed to get past? Was I forcing out of my life something that God had placed there for a reason? Perhaps. But I still wasn't convinced. 

Then I began to look into God's Word. Were there any people that God used who had the vocation of "the sad guy"? Oh my, yes there were. There are so many people who's ministry, for a season, was to be broken. From this wreck of emotions, the most comforted words were formed. The most amazing plans were revealed. And the most beautiful gifts were given.

David

This guy was really in the trenches. His best friend's Dad is chasing him down to kill him. His own son tried to off him for the throne. And his child died due to his very sin. If this doesn't fill the position of broken one, I don't know what would. Yet, look at the book of Psalms. Chapter upon chapter is full of God's love, mercy, comfort, and glory. Not a single word could have been penned without David understanding his humanity and pain. 

Jeremiah

This prophet knew what it meant to lament. We have a whole book full of his cries out to God because of his heartache over Israel's sin and punishment. Battered and broken, this man was given the Word of God, not shunned and put in a corner because he was torn up with sorrow. 

Hannah

Sweet Hannah, a woman close to my heart. She knew the ache of being without a child to hold in her arms. She was mocked and ridiculed by her husband's other wife who easily had children and was sure to rub it in her face. Yet Hannah willingly took her splitting heart and laid it at the feet of her Lord in prayer. Sweat and tears were mingled together with a hope that God would even just listen to her petition. 

All three of these folks, and dozens more, are pictures of those who went through seasons of being broken and God was right there with them, using it for His purpose. 

I want to be that. I fully embrace now that I am one hot mess from day to day. I thought I was doing OK, but I was fooling myself. The heartbreak in my very soul runs so deep that I can't help but carry it with me every moment. Sure, I smile, laugh, and dance. I thank God that I can do these things. But the heaviness is always there, crushing me, and making me fall constantly to my knees. 

I see that my purpose in this season of life is to be utterly, completely and fully broken. I'm finally embracing it. Kind of because I just can't hide it, some because I'm tired trying to be something I am not, but mostly because God desires me to take hold of my humanity and let him take hold of me. 

We shall see what this season, what this purpose for my life will bring. Maybe like David I will pen words of comfort to share with others in the pit of despair. Maybe like Jeremiah, I will hear from God. Or maybe, just maybe, God will grant me the desires of my heart, like Hannah, that I can not even utter. 

Left behind

When we moved to Tampa, back in 2007, we knew we hit the jackpot. Warm, sunny weather... check. Tons to do... check. Tropical paradise... double check. 

Samantha was only 7 months at the time, so this is all she has ever known. Molly and Clara were both born in the house we live in now. (Well, not literally. I can't handle home birth. I like cable T.V. and 3 meals a day brought to me,including snacks, way too much.)

So when we got the news that we will be moving in June to a new assignment, well, my emotions were mixed. Excitement for my husband, as he has proven that he is a rock star in his career and is ready for a new adventure. Happy for Sam and Clara because they may have their first white Christmas. Ready for some change, as the walls in our home are not so white anymore and the carpet's sanitation is truly questionable. 

But along with these feelings came others. Dread. Complete and utter devastation. Sadness. Anxiety. 

Can I just get real for just a moment? 

Before losing Molly, I was just clueless. I didn't get that there was a world around me that hurt, felt alone, or really were on the verge of losing it all. When I would meet someone who lost a spouse or even a child, I just could not relate to their emotions whatsoever. I hadn't lost either. So my natural response was give my verbal condolences and move on, without a second thought.  Because let's be honest, feeling sad isn't something very popular in America.

The thought of this happening in our new home somewhat cripples me now. Knowing that the majority of people we meet will not really care much about who Molly was, and none of them would have met her, breaks the very framework within me. I can't handle it. 

Sure, there are always going to be those around me who care, who heard her laugh, felt the warmth of her smile, and got to experience a true "Molly-ism". But my everyday people will only know us as a family of four... oh, and they lost a daughter to cancer. 

It's bad enough that she will not be going with us, but that there will be new experiences and memories without her in them is heart breaking. 

Yes, I know life must go on. I want that for us. I want my girls to enjoy life and carry on the many lessons that they have already learned to become the amazing young women I have no doubt in my mind they are supposed to be. 

And my goal in life is not to make each new person I meet feel uncomfortable as I speak about my child that is now in heaven. But I feel I would do the world an disservice if I didn't talk about her. Tell her story. Share her picture. 

What am I getting at? Well, this is going to be one hard change. And I am totally, 100% not ready to do this. But when I said "I do", I meant it. When Peter signed that paper to join the military, he was completely committed. (And I love that about him.) But neither of these things mean it will be easy. In fact, I'm certain it won't be. 

As I sat down thinking about these things, a thought came across my mind. When we are at our most broken, I mean down on the floor lying in a mixture of tears and snot (me the other night, no judging my ugly crying) that is when God becomes so real. Without me acknowledging my utter depravity and brokenness, I am just a confident person, walking around thinking everything is OK, that is until I am back on the floor. It is better for me to know this pain and weakness so that I can fully rely on Him and what He will accomplish. 

My Lord knew a long time ago we would get orders to move... one week after Molly's angelversary... and He is equipped to get us through this. I just need to let it happen. 

So let this be my official announcement: 

I, Julie Little, do hereby acknowledge that I am an utter basket case from now until the time determined by who knows what. Therefore, I will be gracious and kind to myself. I will say "'no" when I need to in order to preserve my energy and sanity. I will participate in life when I can, and when I can't, I will take a nap. I will focus all my efforts and energy on the tasks given to me, mainly raising my kids and loving my husband, nourishing relationships that God has clearly asked me to nourish, and all else will wait until another time. 

So, if you see me, and I don't engage in a full, deep conversation, you know why. And if I do chat it up and have some strength and joy, you can rejoice with me that God  is doing a work. 

My PTSD

It's about 1:00 am. I've been up for 20 hours. So you would think it crazy that I sit here in the dining room, in the still of the night, questioning what we went through nine months ago. And yet here I am. Shaken. Traumatized. Unable to sleep. Tears streaming down my cheek. 

For the heroes of war who come home battered, bruised, and beaten, it's a long hard road. And I do not speak of the wounds you can see. I speak of the wounds of the mind and soul. These courageous few return with scars that are so tender, you are never sure what will set them off in pain. A loud noise. A name, perhaps. Nevertheless, terror, sadness, and fear set in. 

Tonight, I am a soldier who's faced war. I write this hesitantly, having no desire to belittle PTSD. On the contrary. I aim to acknowledge it. 

My war may not have been fought with guns and missiles, but it was fought. My weapons were long hours of sitting, feeling helpless, looking at Molly as she tried to raise her hand to her mouth to eat. The very hand that was drawing chalk on the driveway only months ago. The wounds on the day I had to force my six year old to use diapers again because she could no longer control her bowels. The child that hadn't wet her bed since the day we said "potty trained".

My battle was fought on the forefront, sitting at the window, next to her hospital bed as she lay with very little life left in her. Fingers blue. Grey skin. Beauty gone from her. Because death is so very ugly. 

I try so very hard to not dwell on those last days, but then I snap. A smell, a conversation, a picture... and of these can set me off and then I'm right back there. In the battle. Not sure what is reality and what is not. All I know is the gripping pain and feeling of grasping overtakes me and I can't breath. I can't look away. I must take it in. Sheer trauma and I'm drowning in the midst of it. 

This is my PTSD. This is what I have. I can't help but feel so incredibly cheated from an existence that I made up in my head. A place where my family would be whole and healthy. No one promised that. And I know there are many wonderful promises were made that will never be broken. But I want to hold onto that made up one for just a moment and cling to this fake truth. Just for a minute or two. I'll let it go soon...

Here we are, almost nine months from May 24, and it's being lived all over again, at least in my mind. 

For those of you reading, who have not lost a child, particularly to brain cancer, please know that I haven't gone off the deep end. Or perhaps I have, but I'll get to the shallow end soon. 

But for you parents that have, and know just what I am talking about, all I can say is that I am so sorry. There are no words. 

RIP

So I am starting this particular blog like no other. For it's this morning that I really don't know what to say. I just know that I need to write. 

It's been a very hard few weeks in the DIPG community. And even as I type this, I feel like these words leave my mouth way too often. 

These three beauties have so much in common. They are all girls that loved color, fun, and giggles. They all lived in Florida. And now, they all are healed in the arms of Jesus after a long, treacherous battle with DIPG. 

Really only those who have loved a DIPG child and been by their bedside can know the horrors of the disease. It's very nature is brutal, stealing away all signs of innocence and bringing about merciless madness. 

And yet I find that these little bodies whch must endure such a thing, continue on, fighting hard for every little smile.
We said good bye to Lillian Grace and Emma last week. And now we say good bye to beautiful Keira, all friends, all fighters, and now all together again.
I'll say it, though it needs not to be said: I hate cancer. 

With each loss, the scar that begins to heal is ripped open to expose a bloody wound. The death of Molly is brought up to the very surface and I am reminded how hard those last days were. 

The only good that I can see out of any of it is that because I loved and lost Molly, I can empathize with these families like no other. Not a group I really wish to be a part of, however, I understand. Therefore my hug perhaps, means more. My words maybe won't be wrong. My look is not pity, but understanding. 

Sigh.  

Are you a contradiction?

It's always boggled my mind when I hear stories of great terror, despair, and anguish turn around to ones of peace, hope, and joy. Many know the story of  Jim Elliot, how he was murdered for sharing the Gospel. His wife, Elizabeth, overcame this heartache of loss and went on to lead many to the Lord, whether directly, or because of hearing her testimony years later. 

This brings me to the story of Moses and the burning bush. 

When Moses, really no one but a Shepard at that time, was going about doing his daily tasks, saw from afar a burning bush, he needed to check it out.

Exodus 3:2-3 ~ "And the angel of the LORD appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed. And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt."


 I suppose a bush that is on fire is not the rarest of things to see, but what was truly amazing was that it was not being consumed. Still very much alive and green, it was not dying under the heat of the flames. 

This was truly a contradiction. 

How many times do contradictions in this world get our attention? How often do we see a mother at the grocery story screaming at her child to get some control and behave, and yet, she herself shows no control? (By the way, this refined mother never does this... in the grocery store. In my home, however, that may be another story.) Or how about the very idea of being infuriated by one who breaks the law at our expense, but yet, we don't blink an eye at  driving 70 m.p.h in a 55 m.p.h. zone. Both contradictions. Both get our attention on a normal basis.

But the kind of contradiction I want to focus on and the one that we see here in Exodus is the one that leads to a good thing. The type that gets ones attention and then brings out the good.

If God would not have displayed such a thing in the view of Moses, perhaps he never would have known what God had planned for the people of Israel. Yes, I know. God's plan is always going to come to pass, whether we get involved or not. But even more so my point. Look at what Moses would have missed out on if he wasn't flashed something so unusual, so bizarre.

I'm convinced that God wants US to be contradictions. Walking, talking, breathing contradictions. Not in the negative sense, of course. But in the sense of making heads turn, directions changed, and lives altered because they see what is being done in us. Through us.

What if, like the burning bush, we all did what was not expected of us when under fire.

Maybe your burning bush looks like a smile when really all that person deserved was a slap in the face. (Or at least that would be your initial thought. ) Or perhaps your burning bush looks like a woman, staying in a marriage that doesn't always feel like heaven, in fact, it rarely does. But she does it joyfully and lovingly because she made a commitment.

Or as I have seen in so many this year, maybe, just maybe, your burning bush looks like a thankful heart in the midst of crushing devastation.

I have no idea what you are going through, but I can't help but think that God desires all of us to be a contradiction. Why? So that they that draw closer to you will see the real reason you are not being consumed by fire. God is in the midst of that fire and He's got you. 

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.