I've always loved the fall...the month of October in particular. The crispness in the air; the first day you get to wear that favorite hoodie again; Friday night football games; and the glorious colors of the changing leaves. And my absolute favorite thing about fall...driving through falling leaves. We live in a very woodsy area and daily drive under lots of overhanging tree branches. I just love it when the wind is blowing and the leaves are falling like rain and I get to drive through them while they're falling...something about that just makes me feel a little giddy!
This has been an unusually hot, dry fall in Arkansas. I still haven't pulled my Magnet Cove Panther hoodie out of the closet. And in our area of the state, we haven't had a drop of rain in over a month. So this year, instead of the beautiful reds, oranges, and yellows typical of fall, the leaves are just turning brown and falling off the trees. So I'm still getting to drive through them...they just aren't as pretty!
Like the leaves, I've been feeling kind of dry and withered myself. This is the second October since Hannah went to Heaven, and I just haven't felt the same sense of excitement about the change of seasons as I used to. I think part of that is the fact that Hannah's birthday and the holidays are approaching, and the anticipation of those dates weighs heavily at this time of year.
Friday night football games certainly don't have as much draw for me this year. Last year I went to most of the home games, even though it was hard to see Hannah's friends there, knowing she would have been there with them enjoying her senior year. I really thought this year would be easier because her friends would all be gone to college and I wouldn't be seeing them at games anymore. But you know what...most of them went to college nearby and come home for the football games! Somehow the fact that they've been away for awhile and are home for the weekend enjoying time with their families makes it even harder! I find myself thinking about how much their parents are looking forward to seeing them, how they're cooking their favorite meals, how they're planning out every minute they're going to spend together; how they're preparing their bedrooms for them...and I feel so sad (as I sit here writing in what was formerly Hannah's bedroom) knowing that she won't be coming home for the weekend. How I wish she could! What I would give for one more weekend with her.
I watched the rescue of the Chilean miners this week with a mixture of sadness and joy. I was absolutely awed by the fact that they were able to survive for so long in those conditions, and how the world came together in support of their rescue. And I was thrilled that the rescue operation went off without a hitch...It was one of those totally amazing events that you will remember all your life. But now I'm going to give you a glimpse of my fleshly self. As I watched the footage of those miners being reunited one by one with their overjoyed families, I had a really hard time truly celebrating with them. The sight of them hugging their families was almost too much to bear. I was in tears, but it wasn't because I was happy for these people. Instead, I found myself consumed with thoughts of how unfair it was those families got to be together again, complete and whole, when our family is still one less.
And then, it was as if God thumped me upside the head. I could almost hear Him saying, "You think those reunions look good? Just wait until you see what I have in store for you someday." And just that suddenly, my perspective was transformed. The scenes of dirty miners in hard hats and sunglasses hugging their grateful families surrounded by TV cameras and clapping strangers were replaced. Instead, I could see a reunion of Heavenly proportions...so much bigger than coming home for a weekend or being lifted up from half a mile below the earth's surface. And I'm reminded that I just have to wait for my reunion. I'm not very good at waiting. As a matter of fact, I really pretty much stink at it. But I really, truly believe that God is going to make it worth the wait. So...I'm waiting...
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Woooo Pig Sooooie!!
Yes, I'm still calling the Hogs after their victory over Texas A & M yesterday. The old Arkansas/Texas A & M rivalry was revived yesterday at Cowboys Stadium in Arlington, Texas, and we were there to witness it! The trip was a belated birthday present for Brad, and we had a great time. Bethany brought her good friend Stacey along, and she added to the fun. We left bright and early, and stopped at Chili's Restaurant #1,000 (there was a big plaque out front commemorating this remarkable status) somewhere between Dallas and Arlington and had lunch.
Cowboys Stadium is a pretty incredible place. We had the opportunity to tour it over the summer, and it was fun to go back and see it full of people yesterday. The giant screens are just as impressive in person as you hear about on TV (probably even more so). The picure below gives you some idea what the screens are like, but really doesn't do them justice. When you're there, you don't know whether to watch the action on the field, or just watch the big screen. For me, it was easy to forget there was an actual game going on down below, I got so caught up in watching the screen sometimes!
You know, as a non-native Arkansan, I've never been able to call the Hogs without some degree of embarrassed self-consciousness. "Wooooooo Pig Sooooooie," just doesn't roll off my lips effortlessly, and I've never felt the need to wear one of those rubber pig noses. As someone who views sports as entertainment and not as life and death, I've always thought some Arkansas fans were just a little over the top in their enthusiasm for their team. But the Razorback fans have nothing on Texas A & M fans. The hog call is mild compared to all the crazy chants and songs that these people had. They had these cheerleader guys dressed in white who led the crowd in a huge variety of cheers, which contained a mixture of cuss words and what appeared to me to be obscene gestures. And the entire crowd participated. It was actually pretty amazing to look around us and see them going through these elaborate series of motions, chants, and cheers. They did have a very cute mascot (much cuter than Tusk!) who didn't seem to share the crowd's enthusiasm.
My favorite part of a football game is halftime, because I really enjoy watching the bands march. And I was not disappointed. The announcer informed us that this is the largest Razorback band ever, with 375 members, and they pretty much covered the entire field. They were excellent, but since we were on the Aggie side, they marched with their backs to us.
The Aggie fans didn't really appreciate us Razorback fans, especially as we kept standing up and cheering whenever our team did anything good. Bethany and Stacey even got hollered at to sit down one time after the Hogs scored a touchdown, which I thought was a little ridiculous since the people behind us weren't going to miss anything with that giant screen hanging down. But we did try to be considerate, and I thought Brad in particular did a pretty good job of containing himself as the Hogs ended up winning the game 24-17. One Aggie fan behind us even offered to take our picture, which I thought was nice.
You know, it's kind of funny that the biggest Razorback fan in our house (besides Brad, I suppose) was Hannah. Bless her heart, she inherited her athletic ability from me, which means she got none! Oh, she enthusiastically played soccer, basketball, and softball when she was younger, just never very well. As she got older, she realized that academics were her forte, but she remained an avid sports fan. She loved watching Darren McFadden and Felix Jones when they were playing for Arkansas, and of course, she was Bethany's biggest fan as she was playing basketball. She would have loved being at that game yesterday.
Cowboys Stadium is a pretty incredible place. We had the opportunity to tour it over the summer, and it was fun to go back and see it full of people yesterday. The giant screens are just as impressive in person as you hear about on TV (probably even more so). The picure below gives you some idea what the screens are like, but really doesn't do them justice. When you're there, you don't know whether to watch the action on the field, or just watch the big screen. For me, it was easy to forget there was an actual game going on down below, I got so caught up in watching the screen sometimes!It took us a few minutes to locate our seats, and we were a little surprised to find that we were the only Razorback fans in our section. As we looked around a little more, we discovered that we pretty much the only Hog fans in that entire half of the stadium. There we were, all decked out in our Razorback gear, sitting in the middle of Aggie territory. Across the way, we could see all the Arkansans calling the Hogs.
Here are Bethany and Stacey at halftime. Who cares if we're sitting on the wrong side...We're having fun anyway!
You know, as a non-native Arkansan, I've never been able to call the Hogs without some degree of embarrassed self-consciousness. "Wooooooo Pig Sooooooie," just doesn't roll off my lips effortlessly, and I've never felt the need to wear one of those rubber pig noses. As someone who views sports as entertainment and not as life and death, I've always thought some Arkansas fans were just a little over the top in their enthusiasm for their team. But the Razorback fans have nothing on Texas A & M fans. The hog call is mild compared to all the crazy chants and songs that these people had. They had these cheerleader guys dressed in white who led the crowd in a huge variety of cheers, which contained a mixture of cuss words and what appeared to me to be obscene gestures. And the entire crowd participated. It was actually pretty amazing to look around us and see them going through these elaborate series of motions, chants, and cheers. They did have a very cute mascot (much cuter than Tusk!) who didn't seem to share the crowd's enthusiasm.My favorite part of a football game is halftime, because I really enjoy watching the bands march. And I was not disappointed. The announcer informed us that this is the largest Razorback band ever, with 375 members, and they pretty much covered the entire field. They were excellent, but since we were on the Aggie side, they marched with their backs to us.The Aggie band was also outstanding. They wear military-style uniforms and marched with true military precision. I don't think they ever stopped marching during their entire performance. Here they are as they were leaving the field.
The Aggie fans didn't really appreciate us Razorback fans, especially as we kept standing up and cheering whenever our team did anything good. Bethany and Stacey even got hollered at to sit down one time after the Hogs scored a touchdown, which I thought was a little ridiculous since the people behind us weren't going to miss anything with that giant screen hanging down. But we did try to be considerate, and I thought Brad in particular did a pretty good job of containing himself as the Hogs ended up winning the game 24-17. One Aggie fan behind us even offered to take our picture, which I thought was nice. 
You know, it's kind of funny that the biggest Razorback fan in our house (besides Brad, I suppose) was Hannah. Bless her heart, she inherited her athletic ability from me, which means she got none! Oh, she enthusiastically played soccer, basketball, and softball when she was younger, just never very well. As she got older, she realized that academics were her forte, but she remained an avid sports fan. She loved watching Darren McFadden and Felix Jones when they were playing for Arkansas, and of course, she was Bethany's biggest fan as she was playing basketball. She would have loved being at that game yesterday.But just like we found ourselves sitting rather awkwardly in the middle of all those Aggie fans yesterday, as Christians, we find ourselves out of place every day here on this earth. We couldn't really get too comfortable where we were yesterday, and I don't think God wants any of us to get too comfortable with where we are in our lives either. Hannah wasn't at the game with us yesterday, and we definitely missed her....but she is where she was created to be. She'll never have another awkward, out-of-place type experience. What an incredible thought! And until I'm reunited with her in Heaven someday, I know that I'll never be completely comfortable here again. And for that, I'm actually thankful.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Epic Faith
Tonight we had the awesome...though very emotional...opportunity to share with the youth group at Hot Springs Baptist Church. This is our home church, and the youth group that Hannah was a member of throughout her journey with cancer. Our youth has been doing a series called "Epic Faith" (I love that name!) and each week they have had different church members share their story of faith. We considered it an honor to be asked to speak, and have been looking forward to it.
It wasn't until we arrived tonight that it hit me how very difficult this was going to be. We've shared with lots of different groups in a variety of venues, but this was different. While we were still in the parking lot, I saw two girls walking in, both of them friends of Hannah's. My breath kind of caught in my throat for a minute, but I squared my shoulders and we walked on in. Hannah actually would have graduated out of the youth group last year, so I guess I was kind of thinking that most of her friends would be gone by now. But they were there...they were all there!
We were early, so Brad and I spent some time in one of the Sunday School classrooms, preparing and praying. We came out and took our seats right before the worship band started playing. Our youth has an awesome worship band, made up of some very talented students. And I noticed how close the stage was to the kids. We were literally going to be about five feet away from these students! I really didn't think I could do it. Over the last year and a half, I've become pretty comfortable sharing our story...but tonight, in front of THESE kids...I just didn't know if I could. At this point I was pleading with God, "Please, just get me through this!"
Finally, the band wrapped up and it was our turn to speak. And, praise God, just like always, He showed up. These kids knew Hannah's story...many of them had walked through it with us...so we really had a unique opportunity to share what God has taught us over the last couple of years. And He enabled us to share these things with clarity and with our emotions under control. Thank You, Lord! After we sat down, the emotions came. It was amazing and humbling to see a number of students coming forward and praying at the altar.
We would never, ever have chosen this path that God has placed us on. However, this is where we find ourselves, and we are determined to make the most of every opportunity we have to bring Him glory through sharing Hannah's story. There is an emotional cost every time we share, yet the blessing we receive in return is immense.
A couple of weeks ago, I shared in my "Happy Birthday, Anchor of Hope" post that a reporter from the Arkansas Baptist News Service attended one of our Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry meetings. She had come to our meeting with the intention of writing a story about the cancer ministry. As she interviewed us about the Anchor of Hope, we shared a lot of Hannah's story, as it was such an integral part of the formation of the ministry. What was originally intended to be one story turned into two, and those stories appeared in the Arkansas Baptist Newsmagazine today. I had thought the Anchor of Hope story was going to be the featured article, with just a little side story about Hannah. I was surprised to find that Hannah's story was the featured article, with a side story about the cancer ministry. They can be read online, for at least the next two weeks, at http://www.arkansasbaptist.org/. I continue to be awed by the way God has multiplied the ripples from Hannah's storm!
It wasn't until we arrived tonight that it hit me how very difficult this was going to be. We've shared with lots of different groups in a variety of venues, but this was different. While we were still in the parking lot, I saw two girls walking in, both of them friends of Hannah's. My breath kind of caught in my throat for a minute, but I squared my shoulders and we walked on in. Hannah actually would have graduated out of the youth group last year, so I guess I was kind of thinking that most of her friends would be gone by now. But they were there...they were all there!
We were early, so Brad and I spent some time in one of the Sunday School classrooms, preparing and praying. We came out and took our seats right before the worship band started playing. Our youth has an awesome worship band, made up of some very talented students. And I noticed how close the stage was to the kids. We were literally going to be about five feet away from these students! I really didn't think I could do it. Over the last year and a half, I've become pretty comfortable sharing our story...but tonight, in front of THESE kids...I just didn't know if I could. At this point I was pleading with God, "Please, just get me through this!"
Finally, the band wrapped up and it was our turn to speak. And, praise God, just like always, He showed up. These kids knew Hannah's story...many of them had walked through it with us...so we really had a unique opportunity to share what God has taught us over the last couple of years. And He enabled us to share these things with clarity and with our emotions under control. Thank You, Lord! After we sat down, the emotions came. It was amazing and humbling to see a number of students coming forward and praying at the altar.
We would never, ever have chosen this path that God has placed us on. However, this is where we find ourselves, and we are determined to make the most of every opportunity we have to bring Him glory through sharing Hannah's story. There is an emotional cost every time we share, yet the blessing we receive in return is immense.
A couple of weeks ago, I shared in my "Happy Birthday, Anchor of Hope" post that a reporter from the Arkansas Baptist News Service attended one of our Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry meetings. She had come to our meeting with the intention of writing a story about the cancer ministry. As she interviewed us about the Anchor of Hope, we shared a lot of Hannah's story, as it was such an integral part of the formation of the ministry. What was originally intended to be one story turned into two, and those stories appeared in the Arkansas Baptist Newsmagazine today. I had thought the Anchor of Hope story was going to be the featured article, with just a little side story about Hannah. I was surprised to find that Hannah's story was the featured article, with a side story about the cancer ministry. They can be read online, for at least the next two weeks, at http://www.arkansasbaptist.org/. I continue to be awed by the way God has multiplied the ripples from Hannah's storm!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
I Love My Kindle App!!
I've been a voracious reader my entire life...literally for as long as I can remember. When I was 3 1/2 years old, my brother started Kindergarten and he began bringing home those little beginning reading books. I picked one up, opened it, and discovered I could read it! From that day on, I was hooked. I read everything I could get my hands on.
A few weeks before my birthday last December, I began dropping some not-so-subtle hints to Bethany and Brad about the gift I wanted. I wanted a Kindle. Never one to leave things to chance, I ordered myself a Kindle from Amazon.com about a week before my birthday. It actually came in a couple days early, but I didn't let myself open it until the big day. When I finally got to open the box, I was soooo excited. My first book I read on my Kindle was "Same Kind of Different as Me" by Ron Hall. What a great book! I had some idea what it was about, but didn't realize the storyline included a cancer journey, so it really hit close to home. I'm a "chain reader", so as soon as I finished that book, I started another one..."The Christmas Sweater" by Glenn Beck and Jason Wright. Another good one.
I carried my Kindle with me everywhere, and proudly showed it off to my family at Christmas time. When I showed it to my sister-in-law, she said, "Oh yeah, I got the free Kindle app on my iPhone." Talk about bursting my bubble! She got it for free?? Hmmmmm. I did a little research and discovered I could still return my Kindle to Amazon (I had had it less than 30 days), and get an iPod Touch for about the same price. And with an iPod Touch, I could not only download the free Kindle app, I could use our home Wifi signal and surf the internet, check my email, look at Facebook, etc. So I lovingly boxed up my Kindle and sent it back to Amazon.
A few days later, I got my iPod Touch, downloaded the FREE Kindle app, and was back in business. I just and counted them up this evening, and since that time, I've read 97 books! I do most of my reading as I'm walking on a treadmill in the morning...and believe me, electronic books are MUCH easier to read on a treadmill than real books. I also take advantage of every time I'm sitting in the car waiting for Bethany to come out of basketball practice, and usually read a little bit in bed at night. The Kindle app is backlit, unlike a regular Kindle, so it's easy to read in bed without bothering anyone else. I've been blessed with the ability to read really fast, so it doesn't take me long to blow through a book.
My most recent book was "Choosing to SEE: A Journey of Struggle and Hope" by Mary Beth Chapman. It's the story of her life as the wife of recording artist Steven Curtis Chapman and the journey their family has been on since the death of their youngest daughter Maria. Maria was tragically killed in their driveway when she was struck by a car driven by her older brother. Mary Beth shares their struggles and victories with remarkable openness and honesty. I could relate to her story on so many levels. Once I started reading it, I could hardly put it down. It was truly a blessing to read, and I would highly recommend it to anyone who has lost a loved one, particularly a child.
I also recently read The Hunter Games trilogy. I don't often read secular books, because I prefer to read from a Christian worldview, but this series had been recommended to me, and the concept intrigued me. Wow! Once I got started on this series, I had a hard time thinking about anything else. I'm not normally much of a fantasy fan, but I was completedly sucked into Panem, and the arena, and the lives of Katniss, Peeta, and Gale. It was an amazing read; but I did find the view of life and death somewhat depressing. Death (and there was lots of it) was just the end...there was nothing else. How incredibly tragic that would be!
I've kind of gotten into watching Dancing With the Stars this year, so when I saw Kurt Warner's book "First Things First" as a free Kindle download, of course I had to get it. I started it this morning on the treadmill, and I think it's going to be a good one, too.
If you're a reader, I'd love to hear from you. Tell me what you're reading now, or what you've read that's good. I've started a list over in the right hand column so you can see what I'm reading (or what I've just finished). Whenever I run across something particularly good, I'll let you know!
A few weeks before my birthday last December, I began dropping some not-so-subtle hints to Bethany and Brad about the gift I wanted. I wanted a Kindle. Never one to leave things to chance, I ordered myself a Kindle from Amazon.com about a week before my birthday. It actually came in a couple days early, but I didn't let myself open it until the big day. When I finally got to open the box, I was soooo excited. My first book I read on my Kindle was "Same Kind of Different as Me" by Ron Hall. What a great book! I had some idea what it was about, but didn't realize the storyline included a cancer journey, so it really hit close to home. I'm a "chain reader", so as soon as I finished that book, I started another one..."The Christmas Sweater" by Glenn Beck and Jason Wright. Another good one.
I carried my Kindle with me everywhere, and proudly showed it off to my family at Christmas time. When I showed it to my sister-in-law, she said, "Oh yeah, I got the free Kindle app on my iPhone." Talk about bursting my bubble! She got it for free?? Hmmmmm. I did a little research and discovered I could still return my Kindle to Amazon (I had had it less than 30 days), and get an iPod Touch for about the same price. And with an iPod Touch, I could not only download the free Kindle app, I could use our home Wifi signal and surf the internet, check my email, look at Facebook, etc. So I lovingly boxed up my Kindle and sent it back to Amazon.
A few days later, I got my iPod Touch, downloaded the FREE Kindle app, and was back in business. I just and counted them up this evening, and since that time, I've read 97 books! I do most of my reading as I'm walking on a treadmill in the morning...and believe me, electronic books are MUCH easier to read on a treadmill than real books. I also take advantage of every time I'm sitting in the car waiting for Bethany to come out of basketball practice, and usually read a little bit in bed at night. The Kindle app is backlit, unlike a regular Kindle, so it's easy to read in bed without bothering anyone else. I've been blessed with the ability to read really fast, so it doesn't take me long to blow through a book.
My most recent book was "Choosing to SEE: A Journey of Struggle and Hope" by Mary Beth Chapman. It's the story of her life as the wife of recording artist Steven Curtis Chapman and the journey their family has been on since the death of their youngest daughter Maria. Maria was tragically killed in their driveway when she was struck by a car driven by her older brother. Mary Beth shares their struggles and victories with remarkable openness and honesty. I could relate to her story on so many levels. Once I started reading it, I could hardly put it down. It was truly a blessing to read, and I would highly recommend it to anyone who has lost a loved one, particularly a child.
I also recently read The Hunter Games trilogy. I don't often read secular books, because I prefer to read from a Christian worldview, but this series had been recommended to me, and the concept intrigued me. Wow! Once I got started on this series, I had a hard time thinking about anything else. I'm not normally much of a fantasy fan, but I was completedly sucked into Panem, and the arena, and the lives of Katniss, Peeta, and Gale. It was an amazing read; but I did find the view of life and death somewhat depressing. Death (and there was lots of it) was just the end...there was nothing else. How incredibly tragic that would be!
I've kind of gotten into watching Dancing With the Stars this year, so when I saw Kurt Warner's book "First Things First" as a free Kindle download, of course I had to get it. I started it this morning on the treadmill, and I think it's going to be a good one, too.
If you're a reader, I'd love to hear from you. Tell me what you're reading now, or what you've read that's good. I've started a list over in the right hand column so you can see what I'm reading (or what I've just finished). Whenever I run across something particularly good, I'll let you know!
Friday, October 1, 2010
Bethany's Memoir
With her permission, I'd like to share the memoir Bethany wrote this week for her tenth grade Pre-AP English class:
My whole life was completely turned upside down February 26, 2009. This was the day that my best friend and sister went to an amazing place with the name of Heaven. This memoir is a story of hope, strength, and life-changing heartache. Through this difficult journey I have had to grow up immensely. Even though there will always be a hole inside of my heart, I wouldn’t change the journey I had with my sister Hannah for the world.
Before my sister got sick, my whole family was happy all the time. I have two outstanding parents named Jill and Brad who care for me very much. My sister Hannah and I were not only sisters, we were best friends. I told her everything about me and she did the same. She was the oldest, being 3 years old when I was born; welcoming me with a stuffed animal bear. We were meant to be sisters. When we got older we were still very close. Every time we were able to hang out together, we always did. Hannah and I used to get into trouble at the dinner table, usually it was laughing during a prayer or something and, we would be sent to our rooms every single time. What our parents didn’t know (but later found out) was that there was an air vent in each of our rooms so we could talk to each other and laugh about how dumb it was that we got in trouble! I remember when I was probably 6 or 7 Hannah always would pay me to crawl in bed with her at night and we would talk about how each other’s day went. She used to yell at me through those little air vents to get in her room. As I grew up a little I realized that I actually wanted to sleep with her and talk nonstop all night, so she gladly quit paying me. When I was finally about to be in high school with my big sister she got sick with an incredibly deadly cancer in her brain. No one saw it coming.
While she was sick we were still always there for each other. I was 13 through the whole illness so it impacted me remarkably with school, sports, and my friend life. Even through this devastating year, Hannah and I still had some awesome times sharing good old memories in bed together. I struggled seeing my sister deal with pain and slowly getting worse over time. Hannah was a very strong girl and I strive to be like her every day. Even when Hannah was really sick and hurting she never complained or asked “why me.” Hannah was a very strong Christian; she was saved when she was eight years old, she presented strong faith each day of her illness. The great God we love and so dearly need was there with my family and me along this unwanted path. I went through many difficult experiences that I believe no one should have to encounter, but the hardest thing for me was to lie there with my sister in my arms as she died without being able to do anything about it.
We were in the hospital for practically a year. When Hannah let go to spend eternity with her Father in Heaven is when she handed me the torch to be strong and courageous just as she was. I will never forget the last thing she said to me, or to anyone. I was sitting beside her hospice bed crying, when she opened her beautiful eyes and looked up to me and with her weak voice she whispered “I love you.” It is a constant struggle for me to walk through life without seeing her bright smile throughout the day, but with God by my side and with the memories we shared I get through life’s toughest situations. When she took her last breath, I took my first, starting a new life without my big sister by my side.
My whole life was completely turned upside down February 26, 2009. This was the day that my best friend and sister went to an amazing place with the name of Heaven. This memoir is a story of hope, strength, and life-changing heartache. Through this difficult journey I have had to grow up immensely. Even though there will always be a hole inside of my heart, I wouldn’t change the journey I had with my sister Hannah for the world.
Before my sister got sick, my whole family was happy all the time. I have two outstanding parents named Jill and Brad who care for me very much. My sister Hannah and I were not only sisters, we were best friends. I told her everything about me and she did the same. She was the oldest, being 3 years old when I was born; welcoming me with a stuffed animal bear. We were meant to be sisters. When we got older we were still very close. Every time we were able to hang out together, we always did. Hannah and I used to get into trouble at the dinner table, usually it was laughing during a prayer or something and, we would be sent to our rooms every single time. What our parents didn’t know (but later found out) was that there was an air vent in each of our rooms so we could talk to each other and laugh about how dumb it was that we got in trouble! I remember when I was probably 6 or 7 Hannah always would pay me to crawl in bed with her at night and we would talk about how each other’s day went. She used to yell at me through those little air vents to get in her room. As I grew up a little I realized that I actually wanted to sleep with her and talk nonstop all night, so she gladly quit paying me. When I was finally about to be in high school with my big sister she got sick with an incredibly deadly cancer in her brain. No one saw it coming.
While she was sick we were still always there for each other. I was 13 through the whole illness so it impacted me remarkably with school, sports, and my friend life. Even through this devastating year, Hannah and I still had some awesome times sharing good old memories in bed together. I struggled seeing my sister deal with pain and slowly getting worse over time. Hannah was a very strong girl and I strive to be like her every day. Even when Hannah was really sick and hurting she never complained or asked “why me.” Hannah was a very strong Christian; she was saved when she was eight years old, she presented strong faith each day of her illness. The great God we love and so dearly need was there with my family and me along this unwanted path. I went through many difficult experiences that I believe no one should have to encounter, but the hardest thing for me was to lie there with my sister in my arms as she died without being able to do anything about it.
We were in the hospital for practically a year. When Hannah let go to spend eternity with her Father in Heaven is when she handed me the torch to be strong and courageous just as she was. I will never forget the last thing she said to me, or to anyone. I was sitting beside her hospice bed crying, when she opened her beautiful eyes and looked up to me and with her weak voice she whispered “I love you.” It is a constant struggle for me to walk through life without seeing her bright smile throughout the day, but with God by my side and with the memories we shared I get through life’s toughest situations. When she took her last breath, I took my first, starting a new life without my big sister by my side.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Hello. My name is Jill Sullivan and I'm a Facebook addict.
Well...maybe I'm more of a Facebook stalker. I find myself checking Facebook several times a day. I rarely post anything myself, but I love reading about what everybody else is up to. I guess basically that just means I'm nosy. But you know what, if I didn't keep up with Facebook, I wouldn't have any idea what was going on in the world. I mean, how would I know when my friends' kids have the stomach virus, or what the best Sonic drink is, or who's having a baby (or a grandbaby), or who everybody thinks should go home on Dancing With the Stars? How could I possibly get by in life without knowing these crucial things?
I spent some time this afternoon perusing Hannah's Facebook page. She started her Facebook membership in April of 2007, when she was 15, and a sophomore in high school. I went all the way back to that point and read through all the entries. I've done this before, but it's been a long time. And once again, I was amazed at my own daughter. The majority of her statuses revolve around doing things with her family...celebrating holidays and birthdays, shopping, hunting, and watching the Razorback football on TV. The rest of her statuses are school-related...homework, test grades, Panther sporting events.
After her cancer diagnosis, she posts frequently about her treatments, but almost always in a positive light. Things like, "Hannah Sullivan is doing good. Thanks for the prayers...I can really feel it!"; "Hannah Sullivan is a much stronger person"; "Hannah Sullivan is happy I have no side effects from treatment so far" and "Hannah Sullivan is amazed by people these days". Sometimes you can see the sick child coming through: "Hannah Sullivan is drained"; "Hannah Sullivan thinks the radiation is killing my throat...but my spirits are up. I'm just so tired"; "Hannah Sullivan is enjoying being home after the annoying day of getting another platelet transfusion". Her last post was on November 22, 2008: "Hannah Sullivan is happy because I don't have to be isolated anymore!" After that, she accepted some friend requests and joined some groups, but she never posted again. Her close-up vision was deteriorating rapidly, and it was just too difficult for her to type. Many, many wonderful people posted messages of encouragement on her wall over the months of her illness, and those messages will always be treasured by our family.
Hannah actually set up my Facebook page for me, and I am her "friend", so I can access anything on her page; however, I don't have her password, so I can't change anything. After she went to Heaven, I wanted to update her status, and I tried every password that I had ever known her to use...none of them worked. So her Facebook page has remained just like she left it, except for the messages her sweet friends and family still write on there from time to time. Those messages are so special to me, as well. It's always nice to know that she's being remembered and thought about.
What really amused me today, as I scrolled through her Facebook info, were the groups she joined along the way. Hannah was very politically aware (I can't imagine how that happened, since FOX news is the only channel we watch in our house!) and she was a member of the following groups:
--Stop Hillary Clinton (One Million Strong Against Hillary)
--Stop Barack Obama (One Million Strong and Counting)
--Mitt Romney Will Bring America Back
--Mike Huckabee for President 2012
--The Clinton Presidential Library Looks Like a Trailer House
In the "Likes & Interests" section on her Info page (where most teenagers put things like hanging out with friends, playing sports, cheerleading, etc.) she instead has three people listed: John McCain, Mike Huckabee, and Sarah Palin. I promise you, we did not brainwash this child!
I thought these were some funny groups for her to join:
--I've Been Called Hannah Banana Several Times
--My Name is a Palindrome and I'm Awesome
--Hair Straightening Appreciation Society
--I Will Go Out of My Way to Step on a Leaf that Looks Particularly Crunchy
--Dora the Explorer is Sooooo an Illegal Immigrant
She was a member of two groups that were set up in her honor:
--We Love Hannah Sullivan
--Our Prayer for Hannah Sullivan
There was also a third group, which she never got to join:
--Hannah Sullivan Is My Hero and Inspiration
Her membership in this group made me sad:
--Class of 2010
And her membership in this group made me smile:
--I Will Always Love My Momma
But what makes me smile the biggest is what she has listed under her Bio on her Info page:
"I love Jesus, and I try to live for Him every day!"
Well...maybe I'm more of a Facebook stalker. I find myself checking Facebook several times a day. I rarely post anything myself, but I love reading about what everybody else is up to. I guess basically that just means I'm nosy. But you know what, if I didn't keep up with Facebook, I wouldn't have any idea what was going on in the world. I mean, how would I know when my friends' kids have the stomach virus, or what the best Sonic drink is, or who's having a baby (or a grandbaby), or who everybody thinks should go home on Dancing With the Stars? How could I possibly get by in life without knowing these crucial things?
I spent some time this afternoon perusing Hannah's Facebook page. She started her Facebook membership in April of 2007, when she was 15, and a sophomore in high school. I went all the way back to that point and read through all the entries. I've done this before, but it's been a long time. And once again, I was amazed at my own daughter. The majority of her statuses revolve around doing things with her family...celebrating holidays and birthdays, shopping, hunting, and watching the Razorback football on TV. The rest of her statuses are school-related...homework, test grades, Panther sporting events.
After her cancer diagnosis, she posts frequently about her treatments, but almost always in a positive light. Things like, "Hannah Sullivan is doing good. Thanks for the prayers...I can really feel it!"; "Hannah Sullivan is a much stronger person"; "Hannah Sullivan is happy I have no side effects from treatment so far" and "Hannah Sullivan is amazed by people these days". Sometimes you can see the sick child coming through: "Hannah Sullivan is drained"; "Hannah Sullivan thinks the radiation is killing my throat...but my spirits are up. I'm just so tired"; "Hannah Sullivan is enjoying being home after the annoying day of getting another platelet transfusion". Her last post was on November 22, 2008: "Hannah Sullivan is happy because I don't have to be isolated anymore!" After that, she accepted some friend requests and joined some groups, but she never posted again. Her close-up vision was deteriorating rapidly, and it was just too difficult for her to type. Many, many wonderful people posted messages of encouragement on her wall over the months of her illness, and those messages will always be treasured by our family.
Hannah actually set up my Facebook page for me, and I am her "friend", so I can access anything on her page; however, I don't have her password, so I can't change anything. After she went to Heaven, I wanted to update her status, and I tried every password that I had ever known her to use...none of them worked. So her Facebook page has remained just like she left it, except for the messages her sweet friends and family still write on there from time to time. Those messages are so special to me, as well. It's always nice to know that she's being remembered and thought about.
What really amused me today, as I scrolled through her Facebook info, were the groups she joined along the way. Hannah was very politically aware (I can't imagine how that happened, since FOX news is the only channel we watch in our house!) and she was a member of the following groups:
--Stop Hillary Clinton (One Million Strong Against Hillary)
--Stop Barack Obama (One Million Strong and Counting)
--Mitt Romney Will Bring America Back
--Mike Huckabee for President 2012
--The Clinton Presidential Library Looks Like a Trailer House
In the "Likes & Interests" section on her Info page (where most teenagers put things like hanging out with friends, playing sports, cheerleading, etc.) she instead has three people listed: John McCain, Mike Huckabee, and Sarah Palin. I promise you, we did not brainwash this child!
I thought these were some funny groups for her to join:
--I've Been Called Hannah Banana Several Times
--My Name is a Palindrome and I'm Awesome
--Hair Straightening Appreciation Society
--I Will Go Out of My Way to Step on a Leaf that Looks Particularly Crunchy
--Dora the Explorer is Sooooo an Illegal Immigrant
She was a member of two groups that were set up in her honor:
--We Love Hannah Sullivan
--Our Prayer for Hannah Sullivan
There was also a third group, which she never got to join:
--Hannah Sullivan Is My Hero and Inspiration
Her membership in this group made me sad:
--Class of 2010
And her membership in this group made me smile:
--I Will Always Love My Momma
But what makes me smile the biggest is what she has listed under her Bio on her Info page:
"I love Jesus, and I try to live for Him every day!"
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Two Years Ago... (continued)
Picking up the story from yesterday....
After a mostly sleepless night, Brad and I got up the next morning, steeling ourselves for what we might hear from Children's Hospital that day. We put on our brave faces for the girls, and woke them up as usual for school. Hannah woke up feeling good that day, and was excited about going to school, because she was going to be ordering her senior ring that day. She had already picked it out from a school ring catalog, and knew exactly what she wanted. So, Brad went to work (as principal at Hannah's high school) and I dropped the girls off at school. I was supposed to go to work that day too, but I just couldn't. I called our school secretary and told her that I wouldn't be in, without any further explanation. Of course, by this time, they were used to me missing work with Hannah, so she didn't question it.
At 8:00, I called our oncology nurse at Children's and asked her if the scan results were in yet. Of course, they weren't. I explained to her how what had started as a simple brain scan had turned into a lengthy brain and spine scan and she was surprised to hear that. She assured me that as soon as she received the results, she would call me. I waited around the house for about an hour, trying to find things that needed doing, but I couldn't focus on anything and was too restless to just sit and wait. Finally, I just got in my car and began driving. I didn't have any destination in mind, I just knew I had to keep moving. I'm not sure what that says about my psychological state at that point!
I drove around aimlessly for quite awhile until finally, the phone rang. The caller ID showed Children's Hospital, so I parked the car and answered it. The nurse told me that the results were in, and I clearly remember the first thing she said..."It's bad." She patiently explained to me (twice) that the scans showed multiple tumors on Hannah's brainstem and all up and down her spine. She then said (twice) that we were to report to Children's the next day, prepared to spend the night, and that we were going to begin a new chemotherapy regimen. I hung up, shaken to the core, but without tears at that point. I don't remember the drive to the school, but I do remember walking into the building and praying that Brad would be in his office so I wouldn't have to wandering the school looking for him. He wasn't. I found him in an upstairs hallway talking to a teacher, and I didn't approach him or speak...I just gestured to him to come. I hurried back to his office, with him following behind me. He shut the door, and I told him the news...and then finally the tears came, for both of us.
I'm not sure how much time passed while we processed this news, but we knew that we needed to tell Hannah. She had made me promise when she went to school that morning that we would get word to her as soon as we got the results of the MRI. So Brad went, got her out of class, and brought her come to his office. She could immediately tell by the stricken look on our faces that the news wasn't good. We told her what the nurse had said, and then spent some time crying together. About that time, we realized that Bethany would be in the cafeteria eating lunch, so Brad asked the counselor to get her and bring her to his office. So she joined us in his office, and we shared the news with her. And the waves of emotion began yet again. At last, we began to pull ourselves together and decided we would just leave school together, head home, and just spend the rest of the day regrouping.
Just as we were about to leave, the school ring salesman walked into Brad's office. The poor man had no idea what he was walking into! As soon as he came in, he started excusing himself and backing out. But, you know what? Hannah wanted to order her ring! That's what she had come to school for that day! And that's what she did. She sat down with him, calmly explaining the style she wanted, the color stone she wanted, how she wanted her name engraved on the side. After they got all the paperwork filled out, she was ready to go home. So we all got in the car and headed out. But as we were driving past the gym, she said that she had heard that the letter jackets were in, and she wanted to stop by and get hers before we left. So we stopped outside of the gym, and Brad ran in and got her jacket for her.
I don't remember much about the rest of that day, but I do remember the sense of irony I felt about Hannah ordering her class ring and getting her letter jacket within minutes of hearing the news that her cancer had returned with a vengeance. At the time, we honestly didn't even know if she'd live long enough to actually receive her class ring she'd just ordered, much less be a part of the Class of 2010, like her jacket said. I do know that that day really shook us. But again, at some point during that terrible day, the four of us sat down together and re-committed Hannah's life into God's hands.
You might notice that it seems like we had to continually stop and make a conscious decisions to trust God with Hannah's life. That's because we did! Even though we had made a commitment to trust God with our situation back on February 20th, when Hannah's first tumor was found, that decision had to be re-visited time and time again as circumstances changed and faith waned. And every time we did that, we would feel renewed peace and even a deep, indescribable joy as we knew He could be trusted to do what was best for Hannah and for our family.
That Heavenly peace continued to carry us through the rest of September...through the appointment with our oncologist the next day, in which he tearfully shared with us that Hannah had less than a 5% chance of survival; through the days of radiation and hair loss; through the chemo infusions; through the countless blood product infusions; and eventually through Hannah's homegoing exactly five months later. And we are so thankful that that peace is still with us today, as we look back at where we were two years ago, where we are today, and where God may choose to take us in the future!
After a mostly sleepless night, Brad and I got up the next morning, steeling ourselves for what we might hear from Children's Hospital that day. We put on our brave faces for the girls, and woke them up as usual for school. Hannah woke up feeling good that day, and was excited about going to school, because she was going to be ordering her senior ring that day. She had already picked it out from a school ring catalog, and knew exactly what she wanted. So, Brad went to work (as principal at Hannah's high school) and I dropped the girls off at school. I was supposed to go to work that day too, but I just couldn't. I called our school secretary and told her that I wouldn't be in, without any further explanation. Of course, by this time, they were used to me missing work with Hannah, so she didn't question it.
At 8:00, I called our oncology nurse at Children's and asked her if the scan results were in yet. Of course, they weren't. I explained to her how what had started as a simple brain scan had turned into a lengthy brain and spine scan and she was surprised to hear that. She assured me that as soon as she received the results, she would call me. I waited around the house for about an hour, trying to find things that needed doing, but I couldn't focus on anything and was too restless to just sit and wait. Finally, I just got in my car and began driving. I didn't have any destination in mind, I just knew I had to keep moving. I'm not sure what that says about my psychological state at that point!
I drove around aimlessly for quite awhile until finally, the phone rang. The caller ID showed Children's Hospital, so I parked the car and answered it. The nurse told me that the results were in, and I clearly remember the first thing she said..."It's bad." She patiently explained to me (twice) that the scans showed multiple tumors on Hannah's brainstem and all up and down her spine. She then said (twice) that we were to report to Children's the next day, prepared to spend the night, and that we were going to begin a new chemotherapy regimen. I hung up, shaken to the core, but without tears at that point. I don't remember the drive to the school, but I do remember walking into the building and praying that Brad would be in his office so I wouldn't have to wandering the school looking for him. He wasn't. I found him in an upstairs hallway talking to a teacher, and I didn't approach him or speak...I just gestured to him to come. I hurried back to his office, with him following behind me. He shut the door, and I told him the news...and then finally the tears came, for both of us.
I'm not sure how much time passed while we processed this news, but we knew that we needed to tell Hannah. She had made me promise when she went to school that morning that we would get word to her as soon as we got the results of the MRI. So Brad went, got her out of class, and brought her come to his office. She could immediately tell by the stricken look on our faces that the news wasn't good. We told her what the nurse had said, and then spent some time crying together. About that time, we realized that Bethany would be in the cafeteria eating lunch, so Brad asked the counselor to get her and bring her to his office. So she joined us in his office, and we shared the news with her. And the waves of emotion began yet again. At last, we began to pull ourselves together and decided we would just leave school together, head home, and just spend the rest of the day regrouping.
Just as we were about to leave, the school ring salesman walked into Brad's office. The poor man had no idea what he was walking into! As soon as he came in, he started excusing himself and backing out. But, you know what? Hannah wanted to order her ring! That's what she had come to school for that day! And that's what she did. She sat down with him, calmly explaining the style she wanted, the color stone she wanted, how she wanted her name engraved on the side. After they got all the paperwork filled out, she was ready to go home. So we all got in the car and headed out. But as we were driving past the gym, she said that she had heard that the letter jackets were in, and she wanted to stop by and get hers before we left. So we stopped outside of the gym, and Brad ran in and got her jacket for her.
I don't remember much about the rest of that day, but I do remember the sense of irony I felt about Hannah ordering her class ring and getting her letter jacket within minutes of hearing the news that her cancer had returned with a vengeance. At the time, we honestly didn't even know if she'd live long enough to actually receive her class ring she'd just ordered, much less be a part of the Class of 2010, like her jacket said. I do know that that day really shook us. But again, at some point during that terrible day, the four of us sat down together and re-committed Hannah's life into God's hands.
You might notice that it seems like we had to continually stop and make a conscious decisions to trust God with Hannah's life. That's because we did! Even though we had made a commitment to trust God with our situation back on February 20th, when Hannah's first tumor was found, that decision had to be re-visited time and time again as circumstances changed and faith waned. And every time we did that, we would feel renewed peace and even a deep, indescribable joy as we knew He could be trusted to do what was best for Hannah and for our family.
That Heavenly peace continued to carry us through the rest of September...through the appointment with our oncologist the next day, in which he tearfully shared with us that Hannah had less than a 5% chance of survival; through the days of radiation and hair loss; through the chemo infusions; through the countless blood product infusions; and eventually through Hannah's homegoing exactly five months later. And we are so thankful that that peace is still with us today, as we look back at where we were two years ago, where we are today, and where God may choose to take us in the future!
Two Years Ago...
September of 2008 started off as a really good month. Hannah had completed her radiation treatments. She had started her junior year of high school and was making straight A's, as she always had. She was into her fourth month of an oral chemotherapy drug that we believed she would be finished taking after a year. She had had three "all-clear" brain scans. I had not yet "googled glioblastoma" (see post from 9-18-10). And, best of all, we were living in the heightened awareness that an experience with cancer can bring...filled with appreciation for every moment we had together as a family, truly realizing for the first time how fragile life can be. We were enjoying our closer relationship with each other and with God.
But, as we turned the calendar to September, I began to detect almost imperceptible signs that something was not quite right with Hannah. I can't even explain what I was seeing...I really don't even know what it was specifically. But I remember crying to Brad one night (actually several nights) that I felt like she was leaving us, bit by tiny bit. Then, as September neared its end, Hannah began to experience waves of nausea. She had experienced queasiness and nausea on and off since prior to diagnosis in February of that year, but this was different. We waited for a few days, thinking it would pass...thinking it was due to the chemo drug she was taking five days out of every month (she was in the middle of those five days when it started). We also thought it could be a stomach virus, because there was a vicious one being passed around in our community at that time. But when it didn't pass, I called our oncology nurse at Arkansas Children's Hospital. She talked to our doctor, and they decided to move up her MRI appointment. Hannah had just had a clean MRI about seven weeks earlier, and she wasn't scheduled for another until September 29th, but five days before that, on September 24th, we found ourselves in the basement at ACH, getting ready for Hannah's turn in the tube.
There were lots of kids getting MRIs that day, and Hannah's turn did not come until 5:00. At ACH, parents are able to sit in the MRI room while their children are being scanned. Because of the strongly magnetized tube, you have to leave your watch, keys, cellphone, etc. in a locker, and then you sit in an uncomfortable plastic lawn chair (you know, the ones you can get a Dollar General for five bucks) near the door. They hand you a set of earplugs and then close that big door. The temperature in the room is freezing because it apparently gets very warm inside the MRI tube during the scan. After the first MRI, I learned to always wear a hoodie, no matter what the temperature was outside. Bethany came with us that night, and no one under 18 is allowed in the MRI room, so she and Brad had to wait outside in the waiting room, while I sat alone in my cheap plastic chair.
There is nothing like seeing your child being prepped for a medical procedure and feeling like a helpless observer. Whether it's a surgery, a scan, a chemo infusion, a radiation treatment, or even routine bloodwork...it's hard to watch. I stood beside Hannah that night and watched as they meticulously got her positioned on the table, strapped her in, put headphones over her ears, and placed a folded washcloth over her eyes (she always asked for that...it helped her keep her eyes shut). Then I sat in my chair by the door as the table slid into the tube and the jackhammer sounds of the MRI began pounding in my head. All I could see now were Hannah's feet. And I wondered...not for the first time...how she could lie in that tube, unmoving, uncomplaining, without apparent fear, knowing that the results of this scan could indicate whether she would live or die. How does anyone do that, much less a 16-year-old girl?
I was thankful that night that we were only scheduled for a brain MRI, which takes about 45 minutes, more or less. Those 45 minutes seemed to take forever, but finally the clacking of the MRI machine stopped. I waited for the team to come into the room, push the button, slide Hannah out of there and set us free, but they didn't come in right away like they usually did. In fact, it was several minutes later before they finally came in, and they told me that they had decided to scan Hannah's spine, too..."just to make sure". They slid her out of the tube, explained to her that it was going to take a little longer, asked her if she needed to go to the bathroom. Of course, she did...she always needed to go to the bathroom when she got MRIs...and while she was in the bathroom, I found Brad in the waiting room and told him what was going on. And we knew...we knew...that this was not good.
After the trip to the restroom, Hannah got back up on the table, I watched them prep her again, and the incessant jackhammer sound started back up. I remember sitting there frozen (and not because of the temperature now), unable to think, unable to read, unable to pray. Just breathing was an effort. An interminable hour and fifteen minutes crawled by, and finally we were done. The team came in, all smiles, and set Hannah free so she could go get dressed. We peppered them with questions while she was gone...Why the sudden spine scan? Why did it take so long? What was going on? Of course, they could tell us nothing. They did tell us that they had talked to her doctor during the scans and that he had decided to have them to scan everything, "just to make sure".
It was about 7:30 p.m. before we started the trip home. We were all nervous, knowing that things had not gone the way we expected them to that day. We managed to convince ourselves that the doctor was just being cautious, and discussed how fortunate we were to have a doctor that was willing to go the extra mile "just to make sure". We spent some time in prayer together as a family that night, again determinedly placing Hannah in God's hands, knowing that we could trust Him with her future. Sleep was evasive that night, though, knowing that we would most likely be getting results the next day. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that the results would not be good.
I think that's enough for this particular post...I know that sometimes a blog post gets too long and it can become almost oppressive to read. More of the story tomorrow...
But, as we turned the calendar to September, I began to detect almost imperceptible signs that something was not quite right with Hannah. I can't even explain what I was seeing...I really don't even know what it was specifically. But I remember crying to Brad one night (actually several nights) that I felt like she was leaving us, bit by tiny bit. Then, as September neared its end, Hannah began to experience waves of nausea. She had experienced queasiness and nausea on and off since prior to diagnosis in February of that year, but this was different. We waited for a few days, thinking it would pass...thinking it was due to the chemo drug she was taking five days out of every month (she was in the middle of those five days when it started). We also thought it could be a stomach virus, because there was a vicious one being passed around in our community at that time. But when it didn't pass, I called our oncology nurse at Arkansas Children's Hospital. She talked to our doctor, and they decided to move up her MRI appointment. Hannah had just had a clean MRI about seven weeks earlier, and she wasn't scheduled for another until September 29th, but five days before that, on September 24th, we found ourselves in the basement at ACH, getting ready for Hannah's turn in the tube.
There were lots of kids getting MRIs that day, and Hannah's turn did not come until 5:00. At ACH, parents are able to sit in the MRI room while their children are being scanned. Because of the strongly magnetized tube, you have to leave your watch, keys, cellphone, etc. in a locker, and then you sit in an uncomfortable plastic lawn chair (you know, the ones you can get a Dollar General for five bucks) near the door. They hand you a set of earplugs and then close that big door. The temperature in the room is freezing because it apparently gets very warm inside the MRI tube during the scan. After the first MRI, I learned to always wear a hoodie, no matter what the temperature was outside. Bethany came with us that night, and no one under 18 is allowed in the MRI room, so she and Brad had to wait outside in the waiting room, while I sat alone in my cheap plastic chair.
There is nothing like seeing your child being prepped for a medical procedure and feeling like a helpless observer. Whether it's a surgery, a scan, a chemo infusion, a radiation treatment, or even routine bloodwork...it's hard to watch. I stood beside Hannah that night and watched as they meticulously got her positioned on the table, strapped her in, put headphones over her ears, and placed a folded washcloth over her eyes (she always asked for that...it helped her keep her eyes shut). Then I sat in my chair by the door as the table slid into the tube and the jackhammer sounds of the MRI began pounding in my head. All I could see now were Hannah's feet. And I wondered...not for the first time...how she could lie in that tube, unmoving, uncomplaining, without apparent fear, knowing that the results of this scan could indicate whether she would live or die. How does anyone do that, much less a 16-year-old girl?
I was thankful that night that we were only scheduled for a brain MRI, which takes about 45 minutes, more or less. Those 45 minutes seemed to take forever, but finally the clacking of the MRI machine stopped. I waited for the team to come into the room, push the button, slide Hannah out of there and set us free, but they didn't come in right away like they usually did. In fact, it was several minutes later before they finally came in, and they told me that they had decided to scan Hannah's spine, too..."just to make sure". They slid her out of the tube, explained to her that it was going to take a little longer, asked her if she needed to go to the bathroom. Of course, she did...she always needed to go to the bathroom when she got MRIs...and while she was in the bathroom, I found Brad in the waiting room and told him what was going on. And we knew...we knew...that this was not good.
After the trip to the restroom, Hannah got back up on the table, I watched them prep her again, and the incessant jackhammer sound started back up. I remember sitting there frozen (and not because of the temperature now), unable to think, unable to read, unable to pray. Just breathing was an effort. An interminable hour and fifteen minutes crawled by, and finally we were done. The team came in, all smiles, and set Hannah free so she could go get dressed. We peppered them with questions while she was gone...Why the sudden spine scan? Why did it take so long? What was going on? Of course, they could tell us nothing. They did tell us that they had talked to her doctor during the scans and that he had decided to have them to scan everything, "just to make sure".
It was about 7:30 p.m. before we started the trip home. We were all nervous, knowing that things had not gone the way we expected them to that day. We managed to convince ourselves that the doctor was just being cautious, and discussed how fortunate we were to have a doctor that was willing to go the extra mile "just to make sure". We spent some time in prayer together as a family that night, again determinedly placing Hannah in God's hands, knowing that we could trust Him with her future. Sleep was evasive that night, though, knowing that we would most likely be getting results the next day. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that the results would not be good.
I think that's enough for this particular post...I know that sometimes a blog post gets too long and it can become almost oppressive to read. More of the story tomorrow...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Happy Birthday, Anchor of Hope!
Last night, the Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry celebrated its first birthday! I can't tell you what a blessing this group has been in the life of our family! God led us to form this ministry in response to the cancer journey we ourselves had experienced with our daughter, Hannah. The stated purpose of this ministry is to "make a difference in the lives of people in our church and community by offering God's hope and love through encouragement, practical support, education, and prayer for cancer patients and their families." Well, guess who's gotten the most encouragement through this group? I believe that Brad and I have!
The people who participate in the Anchor of Hope ministry, either by attending the support group meetings or by working behind the scenes as encouragers (or both!), are some of the most amazing people I've ever known. I feel so privileged to be a part of this group! You would think that a meeting where people just sit around and talk about cancer would be so discouraging, wouldn't you? We've found this group to be just the opposite. We leave uplifted and encouraged every time. To find out more about the Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry and support group, click here. We would love to have you come and visit us sometime!
We also had a special visitor at our Anchor of Hope support group meeting last night. She was a reporter from Arkansas Baptist News. Brad and I visited with her for about an hour first, and then she stayed for our support group meeting, even celebrating our birthday with us. If you receive the Arkansas Baptist newspaper, watch for the story in the edition that will come out during the first or second week of October. If you don't get the Arkansas Baptist newspaper in the mail, I will post a link to the online edition as soon as it's available.
God has truly blessed the Anchor of Hope Cancer Ministry in its first year...I can't wait to see what He has in store for the future!!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Googling Glioblastoma
The day we returned to Arkansas Children's Hospital to have the sutures removed after Hannah's brain surgery, we were told that her tumor was a Grade IV Glioblastoma Multiforme. My brain immediately started whirring; mentally spelling out g-l-i-o-b-l-a-s-t-o-m-a, fully intending to google it the second we got home. Then the doctor's voice brought me back to that little treatment room...he was saying, "Now, don't go home and google glioblastoma. You won't like what you read about it...and besides, what you read won't apply to Hannah anyway. Most people who get glioblastomas are older and the prognosis is not good. She's young and healthy, and with treatment, I think she's got a good chance of cure." After hearing what all that treatment would involve, we left there that day, and went to eat at Firehouse Subs in Little Rock...one of Hannah's favorite places.
We ate in kind of a daze, not even tasting our food, discussing what we had just heard. The three of us made several decisions that day, the biggest of which was that we were going to place Hannah in God's hands and fully trust Him in this situation. One small part of that larger commitment was to follow the doctor's advice and not google glioblastoma. I studiously avoided any information about glioblastoma cancer. When Ted Kennedy was diagnosed with glioblastoma about a month later, I put my fingers in my ears and sang, "La la la la la la la" every time they talked about it on the news. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean! I did listen to the Ted Kennedy stuff enough to know that he was on the exact same treatment protocol (surgery, radiation, Temodar) as Hannah was...and I figured, if Ted Kennedy is getting it, it must be the best treatment available. So I felt good about the treatment she was getting.
Over time, it almost became a source of pride for me. I had so much faith that God had everything under control, I didn't need to know anything about glioblastoma. And things were going so well. Hannah had completed her radiation treatments, she'd had several clear MRIs, she was dealing well with the oral chemo drug. Actually, I was kind of afraid that if I did google it, what I saw might shake my faith...so I resolutely continued my glioblastoma google fast.
Then, in September of 2008, seven months after our first meeting with that doctor, we met with him again. This time, he gave us the news that Hannah's cancer had returned, in the form of multiple tumors on her brainstem and spine. With tears in his eyes, he explained that Hannah had less than a five percent chance of survival at this point. After absorbing that devastating news for a few minutes, we left his office and headed home. As we drove home, I decided it was time to google, and shortly after we arrived, I sat down at my computer.
Here's what I read on Wikipedia:
"Glioblastoma Multiforme (GBM) is the most common and most aggressive type of primary brain tumor in humans. Despite being the most prevalent form of primary brain tumor, GBM's occur in only 2-3 cases per 100,000 people in Europe and North America.
Glioblastoma has a very poor prognosis, despite treatment consisting of craniotomy with surgical resection (removal) of as much of the tumor as possible, followed by concurrent or sequential chemo therapy, radiation therapy, and symptomatic care with corticosteroids. Other than the brainstem gliomas, it has the worst prognosis of any CNS (Central Nervous System) malignancy.
It is very difficult to treat glioblastoma due to several complicating factors:
* The tumor cells are very resistant to conventional therapies
* The brain is susceptible to damage due to conventional therapy.
* Many drugs cannot cross the blood-brain barrier to act on the tumor.
Common symptoms of the disease include seizure, nausea, headache; the single most prevalent symptom is progressive memory loss, personality changes & neurological deficit.
Symptomatic therapy:
Supportive treatment focuses on relieving symptoms and improving the patient's neurological function. The primary supportive agents are anticonvulsants and corticosteroids.
* Historically, around 90% of patients with glioblastoma underwent anticonvulsant treatment, although only about 40% of the patients required this treatment. Recently, it has been recommended that neurosurgeons not administer anticonvulsants until a seizure occurs.
* Corticosteroids, usually dexamethasone given 4 to 10 mg every 4 to six hours, can reduce edema (swelling), diminishing mass effect and lowering intracranial pressure, with a decrease in headache or drowsiness.
Prognosis:
The median survival time from the time of diagnosis without treatment is 3 months, but with treatment survival of 12-24 months is common. Death is usually due to cerebral edema (brain swelling) or increased cranial pressure."
"Well," I thought, "Everybody knows Wikipedia is not a dependable source of information"....so I searched and searched and searched for something else, something positive about glioblastoma multiforme. You know what? There is nothing positive about glioblastoma multiforme! So I searched for treatment options and treatment centers. Almost all of the major cancer treatment centers were using the same protocol our doctor had recommended for recurrence...additional radiation treatments (tomotherapy this time) and an Avastin/Irinotecan combination, along with steroids to keep brain swelling under control. Then I looked at the cure rates for these centers, and I found that there were no cures. Treatment generally extended patient's lives, but no one survived long term.
Eventually I found a site called "Young Adults Surviving Glioblastoma", and I thought, "Finally...Something encouraging!" And it was encouraging, at first. The home page was full of pictures of vibrant, smiling young people in a variety of settings...riding bikes, climbing mountains, or surrounded by friends and family. I read their stories and rejoiced in how well they were all doing. And I thought, "That will be Hannah. We can put her on this website someday." Then I clicked on another page on that same site, and my hopes came crashing down. This page was full of obituaries...for all of those healthy-looking young people I had just been reading about.
When I finally got up from the computer, my world had been completely rocked. For several days, I was shaken to the core. For the first time, I understood that Hannah had been diagnosed with what is basically a terminal cancer. What does a mom do with this kind of information?
Gradually, I came to the realization that nothing had really changed. Sure, I had more knowledge about what we were dealing with, and it wasn't good, but that didn't change the fact that God was in control. It didn't matter what the research showed; it didn't matter what the cure rates were; it didn't matter that there were so many obituaries on that website...Hannah's life was securely in God's hands, and He knew the number of days He had planned for her. And no matter what her future might be, my job as her mom was to trust Him...the One who loved her even more than I did. And when I released her back into His hands, the peace returned. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't a one-time deal. I had to consciously choose to trust Him, often many times a day, with what was happening in our lives. And He was faithful...giving a peace that passed all understanding even in the midst of excruciatingly difficult circumstances. He's pretty awesome like that!
I'm not sure why I felt prompted to share all of this tonight. It's definitely back in the "heavy post" category. But maybe God can use it to help someone who's going through a life-threatening illness with a loved one. It's not easy...in fact, it's very, very hard...but God will be faithful to see you through it. Trust Him.
We ate in kind of a daze, not even tasting our food, discussing what we had just heard. The three of us made several decisions that day, the biggest of which was that we were going to place Hannah in God's hands and fully trust Him in this situation. One small part of that larger commitment was to follow the doctor's advice and not google glioblastoma. I studiously avoided any information about glioblastoma cancer. When Ted Kennedy was diagnosed with glioblastoma about a month later, I put my fingers in my ears and sang, "La la la la la la la" every time they talked about it on the news. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean! I did listen to the Ted Kennedy stuff enough to know that he was on the exact same treatment protocol (surgery, radiation, Temodar) as Hannah was...and I figured, if Ted Kennedy is getting it, it must be the best treatment available. So I felt good about the treatment she was getting.
Over time, it almost became a source of pride for me. I had so much faith that God had everything under control, I didn't need to know anything about glioblastoma. And things were going so well. Hannah had completed her radiation treatments, she'd had several clear MRIs, she was dealing well with the oral chemo drug. Actually, I was kind of afraid that if I did google it, what I saw might shake my faith...so I resolutely continued my glioblastoma google fast.
Then, in September of 2008, seven months after our first meeting with that doctor, we met with him again. This time, he gave us the news that Hannah's cancer had returned, in the form of multiple tumors on her brainstem and spine. With tears in his eyes, he explained that Hannah had less than a five percent chance of survival at this point. After absorbing that devastating news for a few minutes, we left his office and headed home. As we drove home, I decided it was time to google, and shortly after we arrived, I sat down at my computer.
Here's what I read on Wikipedia:
"Glioblastoma Multiforme (GBM) is the most common and most aggressive type of primary brain tumor in humans. Despite being the most prevalent form of primary brain tumor, GBM's occur in only 2-3 cases per 100,000 people in Europe and North America.
Glioblastoma has a very poor prognosis, despite treatment consisting of craniotomy with surgical resection (removal) of as much of the tumor as possible, followed by concurrent or sequential chemo therapy, radiation therapy, and symptomatic care with corticosteroids. Other than the brainstem gliomas, it has the worst prognosis of any CNS (Central Nervous System) malignancy.
It is very difficult to treat glioblastoma due to several complicating factors:
* The tumor cells are very resistant to conventional therapies
* The brain is susceptible to damage due to conventional therapy.
* Many drugs cannot cross the blood-brain barrier to act on the tumor.
Common symptoms of the disease include seizure, nausea, headache; the single most prevalent symptom is progressive memory loss, personality changes & neurological deficit.
Symptomatic therapy:
Supportive treatment focuses on relieving symptoms and improving the patient's neurological function. The primary supportive agents are anticonvulsants and corticosteroids.
* Historically, around 90% of patients with glioblastoma underwent anticonvulsant treatment, although only about 40% of the patients required this treatment. Recently, it has been recommended that neurosurgeons not administer anticonvulsants until a seizure occurs.
* Corticosteroids, usually dexamethasone given 4 to 10 mg every 4 to six hours, can reduce edema (swelling), diminishing mass effect and lowering intracranial pressure, with a decrease in headache or drowsiness.
Prognosis:
The median survival time from the time of diagnosis without treatment is 3 months, but with treatment survival of 12-24 months is common. Death is usually due to cerebral edema (brain swelling) or increased cranial pressure."
"Well," I thought, "Everybody knows Wikipedia is not a dependable source of information"....so I searched and searched and searched for something else, something positive about glioblastoma multiforme. You know what? There is nothing positive about glioblastoma multiforme! So I searched for treatment options and treatment centers. Almost all of the major cancer treatment centers were using the same protocol our doctor had recommended for recurrence...additional radiation treatments (tomotherapy this time) and an Avastin/Irinotecan combination, along with steroids to keep brain swelling under control. Then I looked at the cure rates for these centers, and I found that there were no cures. Treatment generally extended patient's lives, but no one survived long term.
Eventually I found a site called "Young Adults Surviving Glioblastoma", and I thought, "Finally...Something encouraging!" And it was encouraging, at first. The home page was full of pictures of vibrant, smiling young people in a variety of settings...riding bikes, climbing mountains, or surrounded by friends and family. I read their stories and rejoiced in how well they were all doing. And I thought, "That will be Hannah. We can put her on this website someday." Then I clicked on another page on that same site, and my hopes came crashing down. This page was full of obituaries...for all of those healthy-looking young people I had just been reading about.
When I finally got up from the computer, my world had been completely rocked. For several days, I was shaken to the core. For the first time, I understood that Hannah had been diagnosed with what is basically a terminal cancer. What does a mom do with this kind of information?
Gradually, I came to the realization that nothing had really changed. Sure, I had more knowledge about what we were dealing with, and it wasn't good, but that didn't change the fact that God was in control. It didn't matter what the research showed; it didn't matter what the cure rates were; it didn't matter that there were so many obituaries on that website...Hannah's life was securely in God's hands, and He knew the number of days He had planned for her. And no matter what her future might be, my job as her mom was to trust Him...the One who loved her even more than I did. And when I released her back into His hands, the peace returned. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't a one-time deal. I had to consciously choose to trust Him, often many times a day, with what was happening in our lives. And He was faithful...giving a peace that passed all understanding even in the midst of excruciatingly difficult circumstances. He's pretty awesome like that!
I'm not sure why I felt prompted to share all of this tonight. It's definitely back in the "heavy post" category. But maybe God can use it to help someone who's going through a life-threatening illness with a loved one. It's not easy...in fact, it's very, very hard...but God will be faithful to see you through it. Trust Him.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
UNCOOL!
Seems like I've been writing a lot of heavy posts lately. Well, here's something to lighten up the mood a little bit! Bethany's youth group at church has been doing a series lately about how it's okay (actually preferable!) to be "uncool" in today's culture. They capped it off last Wednesday night with Nerd Night. Here are some pictures from the evening, starting with our awesome youth leaders...
Doesn't it make you want to be "uncool", too?!
Doesn't it make you want to be "uncool", too?!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Respite Retreat (continued...)
About seventeen years ago, I was attending one of those infamous Southern Baptist committee meetings at our church in Fort Smith, Arkansas. We were engaging in some informal conversation around the table before the meeting actually began, and the pastor asked one attendee a question. She was an older lady, who had been a member of the church for a long time...the pastor knew her quite well. He said, "As a pastor, there's something I've always wondered...What is the most painful type of loss someone can endure? I know that in your lifetime, you have lost your parents, your husband, some of your brothers and sisters, and a daughter. Which loss was the most difficult for you?" The dear woman replied with shining eyes, "Oh, Pastor...the loss of my daughter was by far the greatest loss I ever experienced. The others were painful, but I still grieve the loss of my daughter every day in my heart." And our pastor answered, "That is exactly what I've heard over and over again in all the years of my ministry...that the loss of a child is the most painful loss there is."
I was about 27 years old at that time, with one young daughter and another on the way, and as I heard her response, I thought to myself, "Wow...I hope I never have to face that!" For some reason, that conversation has stuck with me all these years. And from time to time, it comes to my mind, and I wonder about it. Since I haven't experienced any of those other types of losses, I've wondered if what I heard that day is really true.
Last weekend, we spent hours listening to bereaved parents pour out their hearts, both in group meetings, and with us privately. We did our own share of pouring, as well! As I shared in my previous post, we twelve couples came from ten different states and Canada, and our stories of loss were, for the most part, very different. But here are some things that, over the course of the weekend, we discovered we had in common:
--The pain we share is deep, and it is very real. There were parents there whose son lived for only two heartbeats after birth, and parents whose daughter lived to be an adult with a child of her own. There were parents whose child had suffered months or years of illness, and parents whose child's life was gone in one earth-shattering moment. Two couples had lost two children. I still don't know if the conversation I overheard 17 years ago was completely accurate...I really think there are things that could be worse than death when it comes to your children...but the pain and grief I heard and felt last weekend was immense. It didn't matter how old our children were or how we lost them...the pain was deep, and it was real.
--Most of us who were there had come to terms with God's sovereignty in taking our children to Heaven sooner than we would have liked, but as one dad put it, "We reserve the right to protest." While we all agreed that our faith has gotten us through our experiences, nearly all of us have experienced some real spiritual struggles.
--All of us have struggled with feeling "different" or "out of place" like I mentioned a couple of posts back. Our thoughts are different, our outlook is different, our conversation is different. One mom said, "Everyone around us is talking about kindergarten and we want to talk about calculus!" Who has time for small talk and chit-chat, when there are issues of such great importance to discuss? I think that's one reason we enjoyed visiting so much...we spent all our time talking about issues and experiences we felt so passionately about.
--All of us have struggled with getting back into "real life" after the death of our children. People usually don't know what to say to us, or if they should say anything at all. And we're no help...sometimes we want them to talk to us and sometimes we don't! One mom said that they felt like they carried death with them everywhere they went, and it had deeply affected their relationships with others. Oddly enough, the place we all agreed was the most difficult to go back to was church! I think part of that is just the emotion inherent in attending a worship service, but I suspect some of it may be that we seem to feel it necessary to keep up a "front" in church...so that others will think we are just as perfect inside as we appear to be on the outside. I don't know...I'm still pondering that one.
--Strange as it may sound, we've all experienced some degree of memory loss or "brain fog" related to our child's death and the time that's past since then. I thought it was just me, or the fact that I'll be turning 45 in a couple of months, but I guess not. Maybe it's because our thoughts are so consumed with "calculus" all the time...I don't know. I'm just glad to know that I'm not the only one!
--All of the moms felt like they had aged rapidly since the death of their child. All of us described the experience of looking in the mirror and wondering what had happened to us! And not just in appearance...it seems that that extra weight of grief has taken a toll on our bodies as well.
--This may be surprising, but when one dad described their experience of losing their 3 month old baby as 100% terrible and 100% wonderful at the same time, we all murmured in agreement. We all agreed that as awful as losing our children has been, so much good has come from our experiences as well.
--All of us had a strong desire for our children to not be forgotten. Every one of us, in different ways, have sought ways to memorialize our children. I had never thought this would be a big deal for us...we truly believe Hannah's storm was more about God than it ever was about Hannah...but as time goes by, I do find myself wanting to make sure that Hannah's life is not forgotten.
--Finally, we all agreed that we could never survive these experiences without our faith in God. I often heard people at the retreat wondering aloud how people got through things like this without Him. I've said that many, many times myself. And as difficult emotionally as last weekend was, we all left there uplifted, because we all knew we would be seeing our children again. Best of all, we all left knowing that the time we've spent without them here will be redeemed in Heaven someday...every minute will be made up for. And how amazing is that?
I was about 27 years old at that time, with one young daughter and another on the way, and as I heard her response, I thought to myself, "Wow...I hope I never have to face that!" For some reason, that conversation has stuck with me all these years. And from time to time, it comes to my mind, and I wonder about it. Since I haven't experienced any of those other types of losses, I've wondered if what I heard that day is really true.
Last weekend, we spent hours listening to bereaved parents pour out their hearts, both in group meetings, and with us privately. We did our own share of pouring, as well! As I shared in my previous post, we twelve couples came from ten different states and Canada, and our stories of loss were, for the most part, very different. But here are some things that, over the course of the weekend, we discovered we had in common:
--The pain we share is deep, and it is very real. There were parents there whose son lived for only two heartbeats after birth, and parents whose daughter lived to be an adult with a child of her own. There were parents whose child had suffered months or years of illness, and parents whose child's life was gone in one earth-shattering moment. Two couples had lost two children. I still don't know if the conversation I overheard 17 years ago was completely accurate...I really think there are things that could be worse than death when it comes to your children...but the pain and grief I heard and felt last weekend was immense. It didn't matter how old our children were or how we lost them...the pain was deep, and it was real.
--Most of us who were there had come to terms with God's sovereignty in taking our children to Heaven sooner than we would have liked, but as one dad put it, "We reserve the right to protest." While we all agreed that our faith has gotten us through our experiences, nearly all of us have experienced some real spiritual struggles.
--All of us have struggled with feeling "different" or "out of place" like I mentioned a couple of posts back. Our thoughts are different, our outlook is different, our conversation is different. One mom said, "Everyone around us is talking about kindergarten and we want to talk about calculus!" Who has time for small talk and chit-chat, when there are issues of such great importance to discuss? I think that's one reason we enjoyed visiting so much...we spent all our time talking about issues and experiences we felt so passionately about.
--All of us have struggled with getting back into "real life" after the death of our children. People usually don't know what to say to us, or if they should say anything at all. And we're no help...sometimes we want them to talk to us and sometimes we don't! One mom said that they felt like they carried death with them everywhere they went, and it had deeply affected their relationships with others. Oddly enough, the place we all agreed was the most difficult to go back to was church! I think part of that is just the emotion inherent in attending a worship service, but I suspect some of it may be that we seem to feel it necessary to keep up a "front" in church...so that others will think we are just as perfect inside as we appear to be on the outside. I don't know...I'm still pondering that one.
--Strange as it may sound, we've all experienced some degree of memory loss or "brain fog" related to our child's death and the time that's past since then. I thought it was just me, or the fact that I'll be turning 45 in a couple of months, but I guess not. Maybe it's because our thoughts are so consumed with "calculus" all the time...I don't know. I'm just glad to know that I'm not the only one!
--All of the moms felt like they had aged rapidly since the death of their child. All of us described the experience of looking in the mirror and wondering what had happened to us! And not just in appearance...it seems that that extra weight of grief has taken a toll on our bodies as well.
--This may be surprising, but when one dad described their experience of losing their 3 month old baby as 100% terrible and 100% wonderful at the same time, we all murmured in agreement. We all agreed that as awful as losing our children has been, so much good has come from our experiences as well.
--All of us had a strong desire for our children to not be forgotten. Every one of us, in different ways, have sought ways to memorialize our children. I had never thought this would be a big deal for us...we truly believe Hannah's storm was more about God than it ever was about Hannah...but as time goes by, I do find myself wanting to make sure that Hannah's life is not forgotten.
--Finally, we all agreed that we could never survive these experiences without our faith in God. I often heard people at the retreat wondering aloud how people got through things like this without Him. I've said that many, many times myself. And as difficult emotionally as last weekend was, we all left there uplifted, because we all knew we would be seeing our children again. Best of all, we all left knowing that the time we've spent without them here will be redeemed in Heaven someday...every minute will be made up for. And how amazing is that?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Respite Retreat
All I can say is ... Wow! What an amazing Labor Day weekend we had! On Friday morning, we dropped Bethany off at school and headed out to Henrietta, Tennessee, just outside of Nashville. We were excited, but nervous...not really knowing what to expect at a retreat for bereaved parents. We arrived about 4:00, and were immediately struck by the beauty of the Hiding Place lodge and its surroundings. We carried our stuff inside, found our room, and began meeting the people with whom we would be sharing the weekend. There were twelve couples there, including our hosts, David & Nancy Guthrie, and we were from ten different states and Canada. We were of all ages and backgrounds, and by all outward appearances, had nothing in common.
We had dinner together at 5:30, and talked about our hometowns, our jobs, our travel that day, etc., but did not discuss what we all most wanted to talk about...our children in Heaven. We all knew that later that evening, we would each have the opportunity to tell our story. And after dinner, that's what we did. Or at least we started to. The lodge had a large living room area with comfortable couches and chairs, and we sat in a large circle and shared. We actually only got through three stories that evening, and we continued into the next morning. It was both heart-wrenching and heart-warming to sit and listen to each couple as they shared the most difficult experience(s) of their lives. Our experiences were all very different, yet we were immediately bonded together by our common heartbreak.
After we finished sharing our stories, we spent time discussing various aspects of grief. Topics included how husbands and wives often handle their grief differently, dealing with people who don't understand, issues related to holidays and other special days, cleaning out your child's room, etc. On Saturday night, we had a little comic relief when we played "The Trulywed Game". Brad and I were contestants...we didn't win, but we had fun playing. (And I discovered that he has no idea how many pairs of shoes I own!) Then, on Sunday morning, we had an incredible worship service, in which Nancy reminded us of all the ways that Jesus speaks into our sorrow...
"My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and watch with me." Matthew 26:38
"Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life."
John 9:3
"My grace is sufficient for you; for my power is made perfect in weakness."
II Corinthians 12:9
"Don't be afraid!...I hold the keys of death and the grave."
Revelation 1:17-18
"Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens and I will give you rest."
Matthew 11:28
...All much-needed reminders as we walk this road. And after this weekend, I think we're both a little more prepared to keep putting one foot in front of the other until we finally step off this earthly road and onto the Heavenly one.
I plan to share more about the Respite Retreat in a future post, but I need to close for now. I do want to ask you to be praying for Jedidiah Harper and his family as he will be undergoing extensive scans and tests tomorrow. He has completed his chemotherapy treatments and these tests are to ensure that his cancer is gone for good! I know so well what a scary time this is for him and his family, though, and I ask that you will hold them up in your prayers tonight and tomorrow. Thank you!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Strangers & Aliens
Last night, I went to the first meeting of a new Beth Moore study at our church. There were not too many of us there...maybe about 7 or 8 women. About half were people I knew from our church, and the others were visitors. And I knew it was going to happen...it's inevitable at any "first meeting"...we had to go around the room, introduce ourselves, and tell a little bit about ourselves. Have you ever noticed that when women are asked to tell a little bit about themselves, they always talk about their children? They might mention their husband, they might briefly touch on their job, but they ALWAYS tell about their children.
I never know quite what to do in this situation. Do I just say that I have a 15-year-old daughter named Bethany, and leave it at that? Or do I risk the gasps of shock and murmurs of sympathy and say that I have two daughters...one of them in Heaven? I hate making people uncomfortable or drawing undue attention to myself, but at the same time, it just doesn't feel honest to tell people that I have only have one child.
I didn't have very long to think about it last night. I was the second one in the circle. About half of the group knew my story anyway. So, I took a deep breath (I've learned that it's easier not to cry when I do that) and said my name, that my husband was a high school principal, that I was a speech pathologist, that I had a 15-year-old daughter named Bethany, and that I had a daughter in Heaven. I was so relieved that I managed to get it all out without choking into awkward silence, that I almost forgot to inhale. It actually took me a couple of minutes to get my breath back. The introductions continued around the circle, with all the ladies sharing about their children and families.
With that task accomplished, the leader spoke a few words to introduce the series, which is about the book of Esther, and for the next hour, we sat in semi-darkness watching the video. For awhile, I had some difficulty focusing on what Beth Moore was saying, because as I sat there in there in that room surrounded by all those very friendly women, I suddenly felt like I was a stranger and an alien. I realized for the first time--well, not really for the first time; I've been aware of it before, but this was the first time I've put words to it--that everything, absolutely everything about me is colored by the fact that I'm a mother who has lost a child. Everything I see, hear, say, and think passes through that filter. I can never take that veil off...it is a part of my very being. I suddenly felt so "different" from all of the other women there, and I felt very alone. Not lonely, mind you, but alone. There's a difference.
But here's the cool thing. That was last night. At this time tomorrow night, I will be in another group. And in this group, I will not be alone. I will be surrounded by people who understand me...and I will understand them. Tomorrow morning, Brad and I are leaving bright and early for Nashville, Tennessee, where we will spend the weekend at a Respite Retreat for bereaved parents, hosted by Nancy & David Guthrie. I've posted a lot about Nancy Guthrie in the past. She and her husband have lost two young children, and she's written several wonderful books about their experiences. There will be 10 or 12 couples there, including the Guthries, and we will be spending the weekend together, sharing our stories and growing together in our faith. I think it's going to be an absolutely amazing experience, and we are so looking forward to it!
You know, there's another very good (actually much more accurate) reason I felt like a stranger and an alien in that room last night. It's because I really am one, and so are you, if you are a child of God. This world is not our home...we're just traveling through it on our way to Heaven. I recently read that Heaven shouldn't be called the "afterlife"...instead, this world should be called the "beforelife." I love that!
In Hebrews 11, the author lists Abel and Enoch and Noah and Abraham, and then says this in verses 13-16:
I never know quite what to do in this situation. Do I just say that I have a 15-year-old daughter named Bethany, and leave it at that? Or do I risk the gasps of shock and murmurs of sympathy and say that I have two daughters...one of them in Heaven? I hate making people uncomfortable or drawing undue attention to myself, but at the same time, it just doesn't feel honest to tell people that I have only have one child.
I didn't have very long to think about it last night. I was the second one in the circle. About half of the group knew my story anyway. So, I took a deep breath (I've learned that it's easier not to cry when I do that) and said my name, that my husband was a high school principal, that I was a speech pathologist, that I had a 15-year-old daughter named Bethany, and that I had a daughter in Heaven. I was so relieved that I managed to get it all out without choking into awkward silence, that I almost forgot to inhale. It actually took me a couple of minutes to get my breath back. The introductions continued around the circle, with all the ladies sharing about their children and families.
With that task accomplished, the leader spoke a few words to introduce the series, which is about the book of Esther, and for the next hour, we sat in semi-darkness watching the video. For awhile, I had some difficulty focusing on what Beth Moore was saying, because as I sat there in there in that room surrounded by all those very friendly women, I suddenly felt like I was a stranger and an alien. I realized for the first time--well, not really for the first time; I've been aware of it before, but this was the first time I've put words to it--that everything, absolutely everything about me is colored by the fact that I'm a mother who has lost a child. Everything I see, hear, say, and think passes through that filter. I can never take that veil off...it is a part of my very being. I suddenly felt so "different" from all of the other women there, and I felt very alone. Not lonely, mind you, but alone. There's a difference.
But here's the cool thing. That was last night. At this time tomorrow night, I will be in another group. And in this group, I will not be alone. I will be surrounded by people who understand me...and I will understand them. Tomorrow morning, Brad and I are leaving bright and early for Nashville, Tennessee, where we will spend the weekend at a Respite Retreat for bereaved parents, hosted by Nancy & David Guthrie. I've posted a lot about Nancy Guthrie in the past. She and her husband have lost two young children, and she's written several wonderful books about their experiences. There will be 10 or 12 couples there, including the Guthries, and we will be spending the weekend together, sharing our stories and growing together in our faith. I think it's going to be an absolutely amazing experience, and we are so looking forward to it!
You know, there's another very good (actually much more accurate) reason I felt like a stranger and an alien in that room last night. It's because I really am one, and so are you, if you are a child of God. This world is not our home...we're just traveling through it on our way to Heaven. I recently read that Heaven shouldn't be called the "afterlife"...instead, this world should be called the "beforelife." I love that!
In Hebrews 11, the author lists Abel and Enoch and Noah and Abraham, and then says this in verses 13-16:
"All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country--a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them."
How cool is that? He has prepared a city for us...where we will finally, truly be "at home." What an incredible day that will be!!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
A Year and A Half...
Today marks 18 months since Hannah left this world for Heaven. Sometimes, it seems like forever since I last saw her face; sometimes, it seems like it was just a few minutes ago. Tonight, it feels like forever.
Before Hannah's homegoing, I was completely unacquainted with grief. I had never lost anyone close to me before, other than grandparents, who were "supposed" to die. I assumed that when you lost a loved one, you were sad for awhile...maybe three or four months or so...and then you "got over it". I'm almost embarrassed to admit that now...how completely ignorant I was! I had no idea that that sadness lasts, and lasts, and lasts.
Early on in our grief, we were told the following: "The hole will always be there, but the edges will become less sharp." I have found that to be very true. The intensity of the grief has diminished, but the hole is definitely still there. And I guess I would have to say that I don't want the hole to go away, and I don't want to fill it with anything else either. That hole is what makes me yearn for Heaven, and for the time when God will set all things right.
I've been surprised at how, even after 18 months, Hannah never seems to leave my thoughts. It's not like I just sit around thinking about her, but as I go about my daily activities, she's always there in my mind. And they're not really sad thoughts (at least most of the time), it's more just wondering what she'd think about something, or what she's doing right now.
And I wonder what it will feel like in another 18 months...or in 18 years, for that matter. I no longer expect to be "over it" by then. All I do know is that eternity is a loooooong time, and these 18 months or 18 years will be like the blink of an eye in retrospect! In the meantime, I'm going to keep gathering manna! (See previous post.)
Good news tonight...Jed Harper had his last chemo treatment yesterday! You can click on the "Praying for Jedidiah" link in the right hand column to get caught up on his story. He's been such a courageous and faithful little fighter. He'll be having his next scans on September 8...please join me in praying for complete healing from cancer with no recurrence!
Also, we've launched our "Sovereign in the Storm" website at www.thesullivan4.com. You can click (here) if you'd like to find out more about how you can have our family come share our testimony with your church, Sunday School class, youth group, or organization. We're excited about how God may choose to use Hannah's story to advance His kingdom!
Before Hannah's homegoing, I was completely unacquainted with grief. I had never lost anyone close to me before, other than grandparents, who were "supposed" to die. I assumed that when you lost a loved one, you were sad for awhile...maybe three or four months or so...and then you "got over it". I'm almost embarrassed to admit that now...how completely ignorant I was! I had no idea that that sadness lasts, and lasts, and lasts.
Early on in our grief, we were told the following: "The hole will always be there, but the edges will become less sharp." I have found that to be very true. The intensity of the grief has diminished, but the hole is definitely still there. And I guess I would have to say that I don't want the hole to go away, and I don't want to fill it with anything else either. That hole is what makes me yearn for Heaven, and for the time when God will set all things right.
I've been surprised at how, even after 18 months, Hannah never seems to leave my thoughts. It's not like I just sit around thinking about her, but as I go about my daily activities, she's always there in my mind. And they're not really sad thoughts (at least most of the time), it's more just wondering what she'd think about something, or what she's doing right now.
And I wonder what it will feel like in another 18 months...or in 18 years, for that matter. I no longer expect to be "over it" by then. All I do know is that eternity is a loooooong time, and these 18 months or 18 years will be like the blink of an eye in retrospect! In the meantime, I'm going to keep gathering manna! (See previous post.)
Good news tonight...Jed Harper had his last chemo treatment yesterday! You can click on the "Praying for Jedidiah" link in the right hand column to get caught up on his story. He's been such a courageous and faithful little fighter. He'll be having his next scans on September 8...please join me in praying for complete healing from cancer with no recurrence!
Also, we've launched our "Sovereign in the Storm" website at www.thesullivan4.com. You can click (here) if you'd like to find out more about how you can have our family come share our testimony with your church, Sunday School class, youth group, or organization. We're excited about how God may choose to use Hannah's story to advance His kingdom!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Manna
I've always loved honey. There are not too many things better than a hot biscuit with butter and honey on it. Unless it's a peanut butter and honey sandwich...my favorite kind of sandwich ever since I was a little girl. And the other night, Bethany and I tried something new. We were inspired by a sopapilla she ordered at our favorite Mexican restaurant (El Parian in Malvern!). This phenomenal-looking sopapilla had a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, and then was doused with honey and cinnamon sugar. She grudgingly let me have a couple of bites, and it was as good as it looked. So the next night, we decided to try to duplicate it at home. Well, sort of, anyway...I'm not enough of a culinary genius to make sopapillas, so we just fixed ourselves each a bowl of vanilla ice cream, drizzled honey all over it, sprinkled it with cinnamon sugar, and put a couple of maraschino cherries on top for good measure. It was actually quite good, I must say. You'll have to try it sometime!
When I was a little girl, sitting in my Sunday School class in the basement of First Baptist Church of Phillips, Wisconsin, I learned all about the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for forty years, and how God gave them manna to eat. Our teacher described manna as little wafers that tasted like honey. And I can actually remember wishing I could taste manna, because I knew I would like it. Anything that tasted like honey had to be good. I remember thinking that the Israelites were really lucky that they got to eat that stuff every day. Little did I know that someday I would be eating manna every day myself. Let me explain.
When Hannah's brain tumor was found, my mind was flooded with "What If's". What if it's cancer? What if she's never the same after brain surgery? What if she dies during surgery? Then, once she had survived the surgery with basically no after-effects, and we found out it was cancer, a whole new set of "What Ifs" took over. What if she loses her hair? What if the chemo makes her really sick? What if her brain is damaged from the radiation? What if she doesn't survive this?
If you had asked me at the beginning of this journey if I could handle...
When I was a little girl, sitting in my Sunday School class in the basement of First Baptist Church of Phillips, Wisconsin, I learned all about the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for forty years, and how God gave them manna to eat. Our teacher described manna as little wafers that tasted like honey. And I can actually remember wishing I could taste manna, because I knew I would like it. Anything that tasted like honey had to be good. I remember thinking that the Israelites were really lucky that they got to eat that stuff every day. Little did I know that someday I would be eating manna every day myself. Let me explain.
When Hannah's brain tumor was found, my mind was flooded with "What If's". What if it's cancer? What if she's never the same after brain surgery? What if she dies during surgery? Then, once she had survived the surgery with basically no after-effects, and we found out it was cancer, a whole new set of "What Ifs" took over. What if she loses her hair? What if the chemo makes her really sick? What if her brain is damaged from the radiation? What if she doesn't survive this?
If you had asked me at the beginning of this journey if I could handle...
shaving my daughter's head for her...
watching her gradually lose her vision...
pushing her in a wheelchair when she could no longer walk on her own...
listening to her struggle to talk because she could no longer find the words...
feeding her when she could no longer feed herself...
holding her hand as took her last breath...
...I would have said, "No way. There is no way I could ever, EVER do any of those things! I am not strong enough to do all of that." And I would have been right...There is no way I could have done any of those things on my own. But God gave me manna in the form of His strength every day.
Do you remember what God told Moses to tell the Israelites about the manna? They were only to gather enough for each day. Did you catch that...only enough for each day! Some of them tried to save themselves a little work and gathered some extra for the next day. Do you remember what happened to that manna? According to the ESV, "it bred worms and stank." (Exodus 16:20)
In the same way, God gave our family manna for each day....just enough for each day. We couldn't look ahead into the future and worry about "What Ifs". We just had to trust God for our manna each day. If we did try to look too far ahead and let the worries and what ifs take over...well, it just got wormy and stank!
The other thing the Israelites had to do was go out and gather the manna (Exodus 16:16). It didn't just fall into baskets for them...they had to go out and get it. In the same way, I think we have to seek God's strength, and then be willing to receive it when He gives it. There were plenty of times when it would have been easier just to curl up into a fetal position and be angry about, or at least question God's plan. We had to be willing to open our hands and receive God's gift of manna.
Finally, the manna was sweet like honey (Exodus 16:31). When I look back on it now, there was a lot of sweetness during Hannah's illness. Even though there were some really, really difficult times, there are some sweet, precious memories that we wouldn't have otherwise, if not for her storm. Just the awareness of and appreciation of "good days" is a priceless gift.
Can you tell that I'm really excited about manna? I think I'll go fix myself a peanut butter and honey sandwich...or maybe a bowl of honey & cinnamon covered ice cream!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Back to School...
I love school supplies. There's something about brand new, never-written-in notebooks, clean loose leaf paper wrapped in plastic, binders with tabbed dividers, "bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils" (one of my favorite lines from "You've Got Mail"), and neat stacks of pristine pocket folders that I just like. Every new school year is a blank slate; a fresh start. There are no crayons or safety scissors on our list this year...there haven't been for many years now...instead, we have things like protractors and compasses. And if I can't help Bethany with her geometry homework this year (which is highly likely)...no worries; her teacher does podcasts explaining the difficult problems! Hopefully, she can figure out how to watch them, because I probably won't be able to help her with that either.
Hannah shared my affinity for school supplies. She always wanted to shop for them as early as possible for the best selection, and the second we got home with them, she would get busy. She'd separate them all by class, then painstakingly label each item with her name, her teacher's name, the class title, etc. The loose leaf paper would go into the binders, and dividers would be put into place. Then she'd place everything in a neat stack, largest items on the bottom, smallest on the top. She would have her schedule, locker number, and combination all memorized within five minutes of receiving it. The girl just loved school! On the other hand, I won't even comment about what Bethany's heap of school supplies looks like on the kitchen table right now!
This summer, instead of buying school supplies for Hannah, we would have been buying items to furnish her college dorm room. We would have been moving her into her dorm at Ouachita Baptist University this Saturday. It's hard for me to even imagine what that would be like. I think she would have been really nervous...before she got sick, she was easily freaked out by change...but she would have been excited, too. And I wonder how I would feel.
I see lots of moms on Facebook lamenting the fact that their kids are starting college this fall, and talking about how sad they are going to be that they won't be living at home. I suppose I might feel that way too, if we had not the experience we had. But now, I really want to comment on all those posts, "Don't be sad! Be happy...be thrilled...that your child is moving on to the next step in life. You can talk to them every day on the phone. They will come home to visit on the weekends. Don't waste a moment of precious time being sad that your child is growing up. Enjoy every second of it!!"
Last night, I brought Bethany to open house at her school. I barely even remember open house last year...I was just trying to survive the night. The emotion was still so raw at that point, and it was excruciatingly difficult to be there among all of Hannah's classmates as they were starting their senior year. This year was better, but still difficult, just in a different way. Hannah was diagnosed with cancer during her sophomore year of high school...and Bethany will be starting her sophomore year tomorrow. She has the exact same slate of teachers that Hannah had in the tenth grade. So, as we went around from room to room last night, visiting with all of those teachers, it was just kind of surreal. They are wonderful teachers, and I'm so glad they will all be teaching Bethany this year, but I'm sure that it will feel kind of strange to them as well.
I'm so thankful for Heaven. I'm so thankful that there is so much more to look forward to than a dorm room at OBU. And I'm so thankful for John 16:22..."Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy." No one will take away your joy...I love that!!
Hannah shared my affinity for school supplies. She always wanted to shop for them as early as possible for the best selection, and the second we got home with them, she would get busy. She'd separate them all by class, then painstakingly label each item with her name, her teacher's name, the class title, etc. The loose leaf paper would go into the binders, and dividers would be put into place. Then she'd place everything in a neat stack, largest items on the bottom, smallest on the top. She would have her schedule, locker number, and combination all memorized within five minutes of receiving it. The girl just loved school! On the other hand, I won't even comment about what Bethany's heap of school supplies looks like on the kitchen table right now!
This summer, instead of buying school supplies for Hannah, we would have been buying items to furnish her college dorm room. We would have been moving her into her dorm at Ouachita Baptist University this Saturday. It's hard for me to even imagine what that would be like. I think she would have been really nervous...before she got sick, she was easily freaked out by change...but she would have been excited, too. And I wonder how I would feel.
I see lots of moms on Facebook lamenting the fact that their kids are starting college this fall, and talking about how sad they are going to be that they won't be living at home. I suppose I might feel that way too, if we had not the experience we had. But now, I really want to comment on all those posts, "Don't be sad! Be happy...be thrilled...that your child is moving on to the next step in life. You can talk to them every day on the phone. They will come home to visit on the weekends. Don't waste a moment of precious time being sad that your child is growing up. Enjoy every second of it!!"
Last night, I brought Bethany to open house at her school. I barely even remember open house last year...I was just trying to survive the night. The emotion was still so raw at that point, and it was excruciatingly difficult to be there among all of Hannah's classmates as they were starting their senior year. This year was better, but still difficult, just in a different way. Hannah was diagnosed with cancer during her sophomore year of high school...and Bethany will be starting her sophomore year tomorrow. She has the exact same slate of teachers that Hannah had in the tenth grade. So, as we went around from room to room last night, visiting with all of those teachers, it was just kind of surreal. They are wonderful teachers, and I'm so glad they will all be teaching Bethany this year, but I'm sure that it will feel kind of strange to them as well.
I'm so thankful for Heaven. I'm so thankful that there is so much more to look forward to than a dorm room at OBU. And I'm so thankful for John 16:22..."Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy." No one will take away your joy...I love that!!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
How Great Shall Be Your Joy!
I just wanted to share a couple of pictures tonight. We are still gradually working on Hannah's room, which is now our Bible study/prayer/writing room, and this is our latest addition. No, I didn't stencil it...unlike many of my other blogging friends, I am not the creative-crafty type...it's basically a big, vinyl wall sticker. Even I can put a sticker on the wall!
I love the message here. There's just really nothing more I can add.
I love the message here. There's just really nothing more I can add.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Life Is Good...?
Have you ever seen those T-shirts that say "Life is good"? They always have some kind of relaxation-inducing picture along with those words...like a lawn chair and a glass of lemonade, or a pair of flip-flops and a beach umbrella or something. They're nice T-shirts...they come in all different colors in sort of a weathered-looking fabric. Seems like I usually see them in sporting-good stores. I always look at them because I like them, but I've never bought one...partly because I think they're very pricey for T-shirts, but mostly because I'm not sold on the "Life is Good" sentiment. Oh, there was a time when I wouldn't have thought twice about that slogan...life was good, and always had been for me. My eyes had not yet been opened to the world of childhood cancer. Sure, I knew it existed. I had seen those St. Jude fundraisers on TV...you know the ones. Of course, I always changed the channel really fast so I didn't have to look at those steroid-swollen children with no hair or eyebrows...I felt bad for those kids, but I didn't know any of them. They weren't my kids, or my neighbor's kids, or my friend's kids, so it was easy to change the channel and blithely go on my way.
When we were in Gulf Shores, Alabama, earlier this summer, we went in one of those tourist traps stores. This one is called Souvenir City, and the door is shaped like an enormous shark's mouth. If you've ever been there, you've seen it...You can't miss it! After taking the obligatory picture...
When we were in Gulf Shores, Alabama, earlier this summer, we went in one of those tourist traps stores. This one is called Souvenir City, and the door is shaped like an enormous shark's mouth. If you've ever been there, you've seen it...You can't miss it! After taking the obligatory picture...
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...we went in and looked around. As I wandered through the T-shirt section, I spotted a group of shirts that looked just like the "Life is Good" shirts from a distance. I walked up to them, and found that these were a little different. These shirts actually said, "Life is Crap" and had pictures like a tree falling on someone's car, or a guy hitting his thumb with a hammer. Some were kind of funny...like one that had a picture of a men's restroom and a ladies' restroom. The ladies' room had a line of about five women waiting to use it, and of course the men's room had no line. Anyway, these shirts gave me a chuckle, and then got me thinking.
Life isn't always good...but God is. Sometimes life is crap...but God is always good. In his wisdom and sovereignty, He has allowed our family to see and experience some of the more crappy parts of life. He has taken us beyond seeing young strangers with cancer on TV, to learning the names and faces and families and stories of so many cancer battlers right here in Arkansas and beyond. It is such a privilege to be able to lift these families up in prayer, and to keep up with their journeys through the storms.
In John 9:1-3, the disciples questioned Jesus about why a man was born blind, trying to determine whether it was caused by sinfulness. Jesus replied, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned," and then He goes on to explain the purpose of the man's disability: "This happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life." Did you catch the "so that"? The "so that" rules out bad luck, haphazardness, and neglect. God had a specific, divine purpose for the man's handicap. And today, some 2000 years later, I believe that is still true. In His sovereignty, I believe that God allows...might I even say ordains...the difficult times in our lives. But He will always, if we choose to allow Him, display His goodness through them.
So which shirt had the right message? For me, it's a combination of the two. Life is sometimes crap...but God is always good!
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Family Portraits & Some Special People
In my last post, I shared about how I was dreading getting our family portrait made for the church directory this week. My friend Wendy left a comment, suggesting that we bring a photograph of Hannah and include it in our portrait. That was actually something we had already considered doing. The promotional literature we'd received from the church encouraged people to bring family pets or other special items to include in their portraits, so we figured that if it was okay for someone to bring their cat, we could surely bring a photograph. So that's what we did. The photographer took a few pictures of just the three of us, and then took several of more of the three of us holding Hannah's picture. We liked those pictures so well, we chose one of them to include in the church directory. Our church was such an incredible support to us when Hannah was sick (and even since then), walking every step of the journey with us, it only seemed natural to use one of those pictures for the directory. So, overall, the photo session ended up being a positive experience.
But that was not the end of our photo sessions for the week. For some time, we've been wanting to take a new "middle of the road" picture. The one above has been such a vivid symbol of our journey down the road of cancer and the loss of our daughter. It was taken by my sister-in-law, Maria, in Briggsville, Arkansas, just about two miles down the road from the cemetery where Hannah is now buried. The day after this picture was taken in October of 2008, Hannah lost all of her beautiful, curly hair. The land on both sides of the road is owned by members of the Sullivan family. This is a very rural area, and not a single car passed by the whole time we were taking pictures. We took a lot of pictures that day in a variety of different settings...but the "in the road" pictures were our favorites because of the inherent symbolism.
Well, this weekend, we finally had the opportunity to do some updated pictures. There was only one problem...instead of a nice, cool day in mid October, it was a 100 degree day at the end of July. We waited until about 6:00 in the evening, when the temperature had plummeted to about 98.5 degrees, to sit down on the steaming asphalt. Needless to say, we didn't sit there very long, but we ended up with some nice pictures. Thanks, Maria!
This morning, we had the opportunity to share our testimony in at Mount Carmel Baptist Church in Cabot. We were invited by one of Hannah's nurses from the Hematology/Oncology clinic at Children's Hospital. We had not seen her since leaving Children's Hospital for the last time in February of 2009, until we ran into her and her husband at a Chris Tomlin/TobyMac concert in Little Rock about six weeks ago. We got reacquainted that evening, and they invited us to come and share with their Sunday School class. When we arrived today, we were so pleased to see three more of Hannah's nurses there. We had a Hem/Onc clinic reunion right there in the fellowship hall!
These four nurses, and the other nurses who work in the Arkansas Children's Hospital Hem/Onc clinic and the Gold floor are truly amazing people. They go to work every day and freely give their hearts to children with life-threatening cancers, and have their hearts broken again and again. I know that for me, personally, during the year that we spent so much time at Children's Hospital with Hannah, these nurses became a lifeline. Even as Hannah's health deteriorated and I know it had to be shocking for them to see her decline from visit to visit, they always greeted us with smiles and encouraging words. I remember one of our last visits to the clinic...Hannah was so ill that it was hard for her to sit up in a chair in the waiting room, and there were no beds available in the chemo infusion room. One of these nurses took us to a conference room which contained one of those pull-out sleep chairs that you find in hospital rooms, and fixed it so Hannah could lay on it while we were waiting for an available bed so she could get her chemo. That's the kind of kindness that a parent never forgets.
When we left Children's for the last time, on our way to the hospice center, one of the hardest things we did was say good-bye to these nurses. Actually, I shouldn't say "we", because I didn't do it. If you've read this blog for awhile, you know I'm a self-confessed avoider of emotional situations...I let Brad say our good-byes. These people had become such an important part of our lives, and when we left that day, we didn't know when or if we'd ever see them again. Several of them did come to Hannah's visitation, and that was such a huge blessing to us. But, until today, I'd never thought about it from their perspective...they told me today that they experience the same thing. They become involved in these children's lives, and many of them are healed and they are able to rejoice with those families as they return for follow-up visits. But, some of these children go to Heaven, and when they do, their contact with these families comes to an abrupt end. Most of the time, they never see the family again, and never know how they are faring in the aftermath of their cancer journeys. So it was a blessing for us to see them, and a blessing for them to see us. It was pretty cool how God worked that out this morning. As God brings it to your mind, please pray for these special people...that God would give them what they need to continue to minister to these kids and families each day like they do!
But that was not the end of our photo sessions for the week. For some time, we've been wanting to take a new "middle of the road" picture. The one above has been such a vivid symbol of our journey down the road of cancer and the loss of our daughter. It was taken by my sister-in-law, Maria, in Briggsville, Arkansas, just about two miles down the road from the cemetery where Hannah is now buried. The day after this picture was taken in October of 2008, Hannah lost all of her beautiful, curly hair. The land on both sides of the road is owned by members of the Sullivan family. This is a very rural area, and not a single car passed by the whole time we were taking pictures. We took a lot of pictures that day in a variety of different settings...but the "in the road" pictures were our favorites because of the inherent symbolism.
Well, this weekend, we finally had the opportunity to do some updated pictures. There was only one problem...instead of a nice, cool day in mid October, it was a 100 degree day at the end of July. We waited until about 6:00 in the evening, when the temperature had plummeted to about 98.5 degrees, to sit down on the steaming asphalt. Needless to say, we didn't sit there very long, but we ended up with some nice pictures. Thanks, Maria!
This morning, we had the opportunity to share our testimony in at Mount Carmel Baptist Church in Cabot. We were invited by one of Hannah's nurses from the Hematology/Oncology clinic at Children's Hospital. We had not seen her since leaving Children's Hospital for the last time in February of 2009, until we ran into her and her husband at a Chris Tomlin/TobyMac concert in Little Rock about six weeks ago. We got reacquainted that evening, and they invited us to come and share with their Sunday School class. When we arrived today, we were so pleased to see three more of Hannah's nurses there. We had a Hem/Onc clinic reunion right there in the fellowship hall!These four nurses, and the other nurses who work in the Arkansas Children's Hospital Hem/Onc clinic and the Gold floor are truly amazing people. They go to work every day and freely give their hearts to children with life-threatening cancers, and have their hearts broken again and again. I know that for me, personally, during the year that we spent so much time at Children's Hospital with Hannah, these nurses became a lifeline. Even as Hannah's health deteriorated and I know it had to be shocking for them to see her decline from visit to visit, they always greeted us with smiles and encouraging words. I remember one of our last visits to the clinic...Hannah was so ill that it was hard for her to sit up in a chair in the waiting room, and there were no beds available in the chemo infusion room. One of these nurses took us to a conference room which contained one of those pull-out sleep chairs that you find in hospital rooms, and fixed it so Hannah could lay on it while we were waiting for an available bed so she could get her chemo. That's the kind of kindness that a parent never forgets.
When we left Children's for the last time, on our way to the hospice center, one of the hardest things we did was say good-bye to these nurses. Actually, I shouldn't say "we", because I didn't do it. If you've read this blog for awhile, you know I'm a self-confessed avoider of emotional situations...I let Brad say our good-byes. These people had become such an important part of our lives, and when we left that day, we didn't know when or if we'd ever see them again. Several of them did come to Hannah's visitation, and that was such a huge blessing to us. But, until today, I'd never thought about it from their perspective...they told me today that they experience the same thing. They become involved in these children's lives, and many of them are healed and they are able to rejoice with those families as they return for follow-up visits. But, some of these children go to Heaven, and when they do, their contact with these families comes to an abrupt end. Most of the time, they never see the family again, and never know how they are faring in the aftermath of their cancer journeys. So it was a blessing for us to see them, and a blessing for them to see us. It was pretty cool how God worked that out this morning. As God brings it to your mind, please pray for these special people...that God would give them what they need to continue to minister to these kids and families each day like they do!
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