Counting it all joy...

 As I sat in a wonderful, inspiring Christian conference today listening to one of my favorite pastors speak on joy, I was reminded once again of how loss affects our every emotion. The session was “The Most Outrageous Joy” by Eric Ludy of Ellerslie. He is a dynamic presenter that has a very engaging way of presenting truth, especially when it pertains to scripture. He spoke on how our trials are the very tools used to bring us to growth and joy, all the while pointing to the glory of GOD. Every word that proceeded from his mouth was truth, while every tear that fell from my eye spoke another truth of my heart.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, when you encounter trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.” James 1:2-3

As Mr. Ludy spoke of counting it all joy, my heart heartily agreed, “yes there have been many things to be thankful for over the last two years”. There are many blessings that have come as we have walked through this fire. We have been loved on by so many. We have developed a deeper walk and dependence on the Lord. We see those that are being changed all from knowing (about) a little girl named Millie. Most people did not know her personally. Her world was a small one as a young child. She knew her family, some friends, and her hospital staff, probably totaling less than 100 people. Yet though the power of the internet thousands have prayed for her and many continue to pray for our family.

As he preached my heart began to ache and my tears began to fall. I began to sob as I thought how hard this trial is to bear. I want to know the joy of a trial drawing me closer to my savior—but a trial of loss is not the one I would have willingly chosen. I want to walk by faith and not by sight, but I prefer to do it firmly leading my child by her hand. I want to develop perseverance and be patient to withstand it, but this loss, oh how big it is. This devastating loss draws my mind to hard places. It reminds me how utterly helpless I am in the face of tragedy. For a self-confessed organized, non-flexible person (I should have said control freak, but ouch!) having absolutely no control over the outcome of this journey does absolutely one thing in my life. It causes me to seek the face of JESUS oh so much harder. It reminds me to look to him as the comforter. It reminds me life is fragile and short. It brings perspective into all the little things that aren’t really so important. It reminds me how the children were babies one day and adults the next. It reminds me time is but a breath until I see my girl again.

While I wait for that day I have some things to attend to. I need to give my children as much of a stable footing as I can. I need to fill their hearts with God’s word, while realizing it is in his timing that they will come to know him. I can’t save them, but I can point the way to the feet of Jesus. I need to walk what I talk, be a light and testimony to other, and seek to honor Christ in all I do. What a huge task! Yet if my eyes are on him, the rest of it fall into place. What a blessed thought… not by my strength but by his alone.

As I seek to point that way, the first step has been to normalize grief with my little children. They know we can talk about Millie any day. Little Man climbed into my bed to snuggle yesterday and as we talked a seriously pained look came across his face. I asked what was wrong and he said, “I want Millie back”. This is a phrase I hear often from him. He misses her so dearly. She was his bossy little sister, yet he adored her. He allowed her to ride his back like a horse. They played together all the time. I will never forget the night we brought her home from the hospital as a newborn. I laid her in the bassinet and left the room for a few moments. When I returned I found him up in the bassinet with her, planning to keep her safe by sleeping with her. At just 2, it was hard for him to understand she was safer with him out of her bed rather than in with her.

Meeting Millie was love at first sight for all of us. She was a precious jewel and I like to think she is one of those jewels in my heavenly crown, though I don’t know if people qualify as that…. Something to think on. ---What adorns your heavenly crown?

Blessings sweet friends…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I still believe in Millie’s Miracle

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ Hebrews 11:1 ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

︵‿︵‿୨☆୧‿︵‿︵

#MilliesMiracle

#Forever3

#Childloss

#WithJesus

#Neuroblastoma

#ChildhoodCancer

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The Empty Swing

 The empty swing...

That swing represents a lot. It shows a time of my life that is finished. The years spent pushing Amelia Joy {Millie} in that swing are no more.

Every year we camp at the same campground, surrounded by the same faces, some strangers only known by sight but many friends if only for the short visits we have each year.

Most years we put up two huge tents meant to contain our family. A large canopy that we eat, play, and relax under. We take time to watch the kids play in the park and often have to push the little ones on the swing. I regret not pushing Millie more in that swing. She came camping with us just 3 times.

Last year the week was cancelled because of Covid, even so she would not have been able to attend. We were avoiding all germs. Then just 367 days ago we were given the news that her treatments were not working. We were desperately searching for ‘another’ answer.

The missing her is never far off, nor the painful reality of a life well lived but now over, being closely tied to my heart. So now I sit in the park and remember a little girl named Millie who filled a big spot in my heart.

Blessings sweet friends…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I still believe in Millie’s Miracle

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ Hebrews 11:1 ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

︵‿︵‿୨☆୧‿︵‿︵

#MilliesMiracle

#Forever3

#WithJesus

#Neuroblastoma

#Childloss

#ChildhoodCancer

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