Letters to My Daughter

My Lively, Joyful Girl,

You are almost 6 years old and I haven’t written you any letters yet. I’ve wanted to many times, but until tonight I didn’t have the perfect first message for you.

What a joy you are to all of us, sweet Elizabeth Esther Hope. Our strong shining star of hope. That’s what your name means. You are full of life and energy and you are the completion of our little family.


Tonight we were praying together for some members of our church Community Group. Sweet, amazing people with real heart-wrenching needs. Circumstances that can only be altered by a miracle. Loss of pregnancies for one. Unanswered questions, waiting for a diagnosis for a child for another. Yet one more, standing with a husband whose wife has left him and there is a sweet little girl caught in the middle of another broken home. The circumstances would overwhelm us if it wasn’t for faith. Faith in a loving God whose number one character trait is: Good.  Sometimes it’s the only anchor we can cling to.

I can talk like this with you. We have had countless similar conversations. Even though you are not quite 6 yet. Because you have had to grow up faster than I wished. Faster than I ever dreamed.

When I was praying for our loved ones, you (as always) noticed my tears. You kept asking me, “Are you almost crying?” I kept answering, “Yes, Sweetheart. Tonight I am.” And then you did an incredibly thoughtful thing. You held up your tiny palm and told me to blow. You had me take five deep breaths and blow on your palm. So I could calm down.

Just like I have had you do on my palm ever since you were 2. Ever since your brother was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Ever since our world never looked the same again.

I’m sure I will never understand what it is like being the sibling of someone with a chronic disease like you do. I will never understand what you have gone through listening to the cries, screams and terrors of your brother as he faces his fears. In the early days, Daddy would take you to the park so you didn’t have to hear what was going on. Now you just cover your ears, and then find a quieter place to play your worship music and dance (after blowing on my palm 5 times so you can calm down). I’m so thankful you can do that. Sweetheart, what a gift from God! You know exactly where to go in time of need!!

Tonight, after I blew on your sweet little hand 5 times in a row to stop crying, you looked at me with your wise eyes and said, “Momma, it’s ok. Remember when I told you I would have Diabetes too so Georgie wouldn’t be alone? It’s ok.” It was as if your sharing would help everyone we just prayed for. I wonder if you would take on everyone’s brokenness for the sake of their wholeness. In my heart of hearts I think you would.

You, my darling Miracle Girl are the unsung hero of our family.

I know you are young for this, but we just finished watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. You never batted an eye or questioned a thing. You told me that Sam was your favorite. And I know why. Because whether we like it or not, you are the Sam to our Frodo. We try to keep the burden from you whenever and however possible, but the fact is that Georgie carries a heavy weight at times. And you. You carry George. I’ve seen it time and time again.

You are so unique, beautiful girl. So strong and so wholesome. So determined to contribute your beauty to the world, our family, your brother.

I admire you. I love you. I thank God for you. Your Dad and I (and your whole family and extended family and well shoot…everyone who knows you!!!) will do everything we can to support you and give you the love and attention you need.

I prayed and prayed for a little girl. After 4 boys and a miscarriage….And here you are. Shining bright. Bringing strength. Giving Hope.

As only you can.


Letters to My Son


My dearest boy,

I have a feeling that March 18th will always be a difficult day for me.  I hope throughout the years you will humor your emotional, sentimental Mama because on this day I will most likely be in tears often and try to hug or hold you frequently.

It is a strange feeling to realize that our lives literally changed overnight.  From March 18 2014 to March 19 2014 the world tilted and when it straightened out everything looked different.  Type 1 Diabetes had arrived.

Tomorrow is your second Diaversary.  A word I had never heard of before T1D.  But it is a word that we utilize to celebrate your bravery.

You don’t know it, but tomorrow over 50 people will arrive to celebrate you.  Congratulate you.  Encourage you.  Because you deserve it.

You wouldn’t ever guess it, but we have arranged to have two soldiers arrive in a military vehicle to award you for your bravery.  Soldiers who are heroes!  Who have never met you but want to honor you.  Because this year has been a battlefield for you.  You have fought long and hard.

Also, tomorrow all the kids at your school who have T1D will be here.  All 8 of you together.  All of the parents together. I’m hoping we can encourage and strengthen each other.  As you have encouraged and strengthened us this year with your bravery and courage.

Through all the tears, fear, trauma, questions for God, anger and resentment at this “new normal”… I have admired you, George.  I have held you in my arms, crying with you, questioning with you, my heart breaking into a million pieces, yet I have been overwhelmed by your character.  I have noticed two qualities that are rising up in your sweet little life.

One is honesty.  I can’t count the times you have started a sentence to me with, “Mom you might not want to hear this but….” and then you share your heart.  The hurt.  The anger.  The confusion.  The fear.  Even the occasional confession of trying to sneak food.  Son, God values honesty.  Even when it is terribly hard, continue to be honest.  You are growing up to be a mighty man of valor.  You are on the right track with honesty.

The second is tenacity.  You never give up.  It might take almost an hour to do a site change on your tummy, but eventually, after the tears, screaming and hiding, you go through with it.  Finger poke after finger poke.  Waiting 20 minutes after dosing for any kind of sugar.  Doing things you do not want to do, over and over.  What an inspiration you are to me, Big Cheese!!  I look up to you in so many ways.

Your second year with Type 1 Diabetes has been incredibly difficult.  But it has also been very sweet.  We have had many treasured moments, deep talks and long prayers.  My darling boy I hope you know what a joy and inspiration you are to our whole family.

I love you with all of my fart.  I mean heart.


365 Days Later

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One year ago tonight as I put my son George to bed, I remember praying while he fell asleep. I knew something was wrong because he was excessively thirsty, hungry, fatigued and had severe mood swings. I was scared and unsure. When we got up the next morning, I weighed him and discovered that he was losing weight. We went to the doctor that afternoon and George was given a diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. And our lives have never been the same.

One year ago today, I was blissfully unaware of how to count carbs for meals. Testing someone’s blood sugar was a mystery, and I definitely had never been trained on how to administer insulin through an injection. I didn’t know the purpose of insulin, or the function of a pancreas. Long-acting insulin, short-acting insulin, lancets, test strips, pens (a fancy way to give shots), blood glucose records, food records, carb to insulin ratios, sick days, pumps, insets, cartridges, syringes, ketones, glucagon, and of course hypo or hyper-glycemia. All foreign. Like a foreign language in a foreign land.

365 days later it is now my native tongue and the T1D community familiar ground.

Some people told me that it would get better. That our “new normal” with T1D would get easier. That has not happened. I’m not sure it is possible with a chronic disease in which 24 hours a day, 7 days a week I am my son’s pancreas. And nutritionist. And nurse. And teacher. And mother. And comforter, and pastor/shepherd (although there is ONE much better at those roles, and I point George to Him every time I can). However, the way I respond to our new normal is better. And because of technology we can treat diabetes in a more straightforward way. For this I am extremely grateful.

A year ago tonight, I would never have fathomed going through some of the experiences we have had to endure. But there is the key phrase: Going Through. I have learned that grief is a season, not a destination. My stage of grieving now is such that I look back over the past year with an ache in my heart but faith and hope in my spirit. I have had some dark times. Anxiety. Depression. Isolation. Fear. Deep deep grief and loss. Sometimes it seemed like there was no light at the end of the diabetes tunnel. But none of those places were destinations for me. Those are not destinations for any of us.

What am I destined for?

365 days after a life-changing diagnosis for my beloved son, I can truly say that I’m destined to give God glory. I’m destined to lay all my pain, weakness, fear, sin and doubt at His feet and just worship Him. Because I learned this year that most of the time, that is the one and only thing I am capable of.

I learned that I’m far weaker and more fragile than I ever imagined.
I learned that I am completely dependent on His faithfulness.
I learned that He takes care of my son in ways I never can.
I learned a new level of teamwork and partnership with my incredible husband Shane.
I learned that He has uniquely fashioned my beautiful daughter to be on this life journey with us.
I learned that some of His people are truly truly His hands and feet. And He sends them to me exactly when I need them.
I learned that prayer is everything.
I learned that He is always speaking to me. Sometimes I listen.
I learned that He gets to be God all by Himself. This is the true definition of sovereignty.
Where there is anxiety, I learned how to ask for peace.
Where there is depression, I learned how to lift my eyes and worship.
Where there is isolation, I learned to receive help from others.
Where there is fear, I asked for faith.
The chasms of grief and loss do not go on forever.

365 days later it is no small miracle that I can lift my head toward my Savior and my God and declare, “My help comes from the LORD…He who keeps me will not slumber…The LORD is my keeper; the LORD is my shade on my right hand.” Ps. 121

Tonight when I put Georgie to bed, my heart ached. But my spirit was singing. He is healthy. He is learning how to walk with His Lord. He is a normal 6 year old boy. Who happens to have T1D. And we are all impacted by his little life, and his great courage.

“Courage is simply the willingness to be afraid and act anyway.”
Dr. Robert Anthony

My New Blue Pant Suit

When I was 25 years old, I took a job downtown Portland Oregon.  I was a receptionist for a wealthy businessman on the 40th floor of a high rise.  When I got the job my mom took me shopping and bought me a beautiful blue pant suit.  It was gorgeous, flattering, expensive and uncomfortable.  In fact, everything […]

Letters to My Son



My strong little man,

I have a feeling that today will be remembered as a turning point for you.  We enrolled you in a Taekwondo Academy and today was your first class.  You were nervous at first, not sure you wanted to participate.  But as soon as the Instructor called out, “Mr. George!  Will you join us?”  You ran to the mat and jumped up and down with excitement.

Your personality came out during this class.  You are a very black and white, all or nothing young man.  When your heart is involved in something, nothing can stop you.  I watched you run laps and try to pass all the other kids.  During circuit training, you had no fear of failure.  You jumped right in and tried several things you had never even seen done before.  When the class was over, you would not leave until I purchased your uniform because you were determined to come back in two days for your white belt.  You wore the uniform all afternoon.

This will be yet another Type 1 Diabetes learning curve for us.  I tested your blood sugar before the class, and I knew you were going low toward the end.  But with some trial and error this will be no problem for us.

One reason we decided to sign you up for Taekwondo is because we notice that you are becoming increasingly frustrated and angry.  The littlest thing will cause you to burst into tears or shout angrily.  You frequently say to me that you feel like no one likes you.  And the hardest for me:  You want to hurt yourself sometimes.  I know that blood sugar levels play a part in this, but it isn’t the only factor.

One night a couple of weeks ago I got you up to visit the bathroom and you kept calling yourself an idiot and hitting yourself in the face.  I tested you and you were high.  I gave you a shot for the first time in the middle of the night.  Once you were peacefully sleeping again, I wept and cried out to the Lord.  Any parent who has ever seen their child hurt themselves knows the helplessness and fear that I felt.  But that night, something changed in my heart.  I began to see T1D as an enemy who was trying to destroy my son.

So I declared war.

  • I’m reading some new parenting material that is giving me a new perspective on how to communicate with and train you.
  • I am exercising because I want to set that example for you.  I need to be healthy in order to take care of you.  I need extra energy so I can come alongside you and teach you how to manage this disease.
  • I make myself read something about T1D every single night so I’m constantly learning something new.
  • I pray more.  And then I pray again.  And then I find myself praying.  Because Son, if there is anything I know for absolute sure right now…it is that we cannot do this on our own.  And we don’t need to.  We just read the story of David and Goliath again together.  At the end of the story I asked you, “Who brought victory to the Israelites?”  You didn’t even hesitate when you said, “God did.”  We may be fighting our own Goliath right now, but I promise you, God is the one who gives us strength for the battle.

I spoke with your Instructor after class.  She was so impressed with you that she recommends moving you up to the older class in September.  She mentioned that your focus and determination were exceptional.  You are a natural. Of course you are. You have been in a serious battle since March 19, 2014.

There is no other little soldier that I would rather fight alongside.  If you can do it, I can do it.

I love you with aaaaaaaallllllll of my fart.  I mean, heart.



This Pancreas Failed Art Class

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George’s doctor tells me that Type 1 Diabetes is not a science.  It is an art.  But I’m the one who sat in art class with a blank piece of paper trying to decide how to draw a perfectly straight line, with a perfectly sharpened crayon, wishing for a completely quiet classroom and step by step guidelines on how to draw that perfectly straight line.

I cannot build anything with Legos unless there are instructions. Varying from a recipe??  I feel like I’m breaking the rules somehow.  I’m literal and analytical.  Black and white.  All or nothing.  1 + 2 absolutely must equal 3 and if it doesn’t I will probably spend countless hours trying to figure out why.  However, I am also an emotional, over-sensitive, deep feeler.  It is most likely this deep emotional side of me that enables me to sit at the piano and sing my own songs of worship to the Lord.  I don’t need someone else’s music or words for this.  It is the one part of my life that does not need a formula for guidance.  It just flows.

Put all this together and I’m probably describing lots of other women out there.  Which is all fine and good.  But put all this together and it’s not a good combination for someone trying to be their son’s pancreas.

I can provide George with a perfect day.  Shots exactly on time.  Insulin to Carb ratios absolutely error free.  Exercise noted and snacks given to help maintain blood sugar levels.  Balanced meals with carbs and proteins working together.  Adequate hydration.  Everything working together to give George the best possible chance for stable blood sugar levels.  And I can give him a finger poke, test his blood and find that he is low.  Or high.  And moody.  And confused.  And angry.  And full of sorrow.  And has a stomachache.

Georgie also has not-so-perfect days.  Meals not quite on time.   Insulin to Carb ratio not perfect due to food not being measured adequately.  Too much exercise without snacks.  Or not enough exercise and too many snacks.  Meals with carbs only and I forget to add some protein.  And I can give him a finger poke, test his blood and find that he is exactly in the target range.  And he is joyful.  And content.  And feels great.

This makes the analytical, literal, 1 + 2 = 3 side of me absolutely anxious and stressed.  And it drives the emotional, over-sensitive side of me to guilt and tears.  I know I’m writing some vulnerable things here, but being a pancreas is so much more than food, insulin, carbs and shots.  Taking care of my son in this way is bringing to the surface every vulnerable part of me.  Yes, it also causes my strengths to surface as well.  As it does for anyone walking through pain and suffering.

And that’s life, isn’t it?  The good with the bad.  The joy with the sorrow.  The dawn after the dark night.

This is all on my mind tonight as I gear up for another long night tending to George.  His numbers were consistently high all afternoon and evening.  So we had him running sprints and playing hard outside before bed.  Which could lead to nighttime lows.

For this girl who failed art class, I’m desperately wishing there was an easy, step-by-step formula for my son tonight.  But since there is not, I’ll just let that one part of my life that isn’t contained by a formula loose.  I won’t worry about perfectly straight lines with perfectly sharpened crayons tonight.  I will look to the Lord with every finger poke, and with every decision I have to make based on his blood sugar levels.  And then I will let myself worship.  No formulas.  No instructions.  Just deep calling to deep.  All night long.

“Deep calls to deep at the sound of Your waterfalls; all Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me.”  Ps. 42:7

Letters to My Son


My Precious Boy,

I’m sitting in our back yard tonight looking at the garden you helped me plant this weekend. Just a few hours ago, this patio table was covered with Star Wars Legos and you were teaching me all about them. I love watching your excitement! Georgie, you are so very loved. So valued and cherished.

God created you with an extra tender heart. You have a sensitivity toward others that runs deep.  You are usually aware of how others might be thinking or feeling. These are special things God has planted within you, and they will grow into beautiful tools that you can use to show compassion to many. They will also help you in your relationship with Jesus; having a tender heart toward Him, being sensitive to when He is speaking to you or wants you to do something.

Along with this, you are living with Type 1 Diabetes which has opened your eyes to a whole new world. You can empathize with people going through pain and suffering. In the past few weeks I have noticed that you not only empathize, but you act on it.  Which is true compassion.

  • When we read the Bible and pray you always want to pray for your Dad.  “Dear God.  Thank you for this beautiful day.  Please put joy and grace down deep into my Dad’s heart.  Let him know I want to play with him and I love him.”
  • I was struggling through some discouragement recently.  You could tell even though I tried my best to hide it from you. I will always remember how you told me that I’m beautiful and graceful and the bestest mom. You hugged me, kissed me and told me that you would help me all day long.
  • Your sister stepped on a bee yesterday. Your dad and I couldn’t get her calmed down, but you brought her water.  Then you brought a piece of bread and helped her eat it. You spoke soothingly to her about how the pain wouldn’t last long and everything would be OK.  She stopped crying and allowed you to care for her.  Because you have experienced pain, you knew how to care for someone in pain.  It was breathtaking to watch.

And Georgie, just as you reach out and care for others, I want to be sure that you know how many are reaching out and caring for you as well.  Today I realized this in a profound way.  Your grandparents from Lacey, WA are here visiting and taking care of your great grandma for a few weeks.  Your Grandma Patty had to learn how to give insulin shots to your great grandma.  When you realized this, you wanted her to give you a shot for lunch today.  My heart was in my throat because you haven’t allowed anyone to give you a shot except your dad and me since your hospital visit.  It was a huge step for you!  And for me.

So many people are ready and willing to walk this road with you.  Your grandparents here in town went to an all day seminar to learn how to care for you and give shots.  Your brother and sister-in-law are researching, learning, gathering recipes and doing all they can to be prepared in case anything ever happened to your dad and I.  My parents are learning as much as they can as well. Your uncle, aunt and cousins sent a huge box of goodies especially to bring us joy.  And above all…everyone is praying.  Contending for your healing.  Constantly.

I’m sure by the time you read these letters, you will know that one of my all time favorite books/movies is The Lord of the Rings.  Toward the end of the movie, when Frodo and Sam are trying to climb the last mountain that will take them to destroy The Ring, Frodo falls down under the weight of the evil ring and cannot get up.  Sam cries, “I cannot carry the ring for you.  But I can carry you!!”  And he carries Frodo up the mountain.

We cannot carry T1D for you, my brave boy.  But we can, and will carry you.  Because we are also being carried.  By the Creator and Maker of tender, sensitive hearts.  By the One who loves us beyond measure.

Our Needs Are Met…Ahead of Time Part 3

Emotions are running higher than usual for me tonight.  I remember where we were two months ago at this time, and it’s hard not to re-live the experience of the diagnosis.  Maybe writing the remaining ways in which the Lord provided for our needs in this third blog will help.

A few weeks prior to knowing George had Type 1 Diabetes, we thought Shane might have an open door to a new job in Portland Oregon.  I lived there for seven years and all my family and several close friends would be nearby.  This job would pay more.  It was difficult, but all I can say is the Lord made it clear that we were not to pursue a big move like that.  And then came the diagnosis.  If Shane had a new job we would have had a season of no medical insurance.  The insurance  from Shane’s employment at Lowe’s has been exceptional.  And to top it off, his manager has asked us to give copies of our medical bills to him so he can present them to higher management and possibly offset the costs for us.

Along with that, we have been humbled and blessed to receive checks in the mail for the exact amount we need for monthly prescriptions.  Two months in a row.

While on the topic of prescriptions, I need to mention a sweet gift from the Lord to me specifically.  I had a miscarriage a few years ago, and during that time I went to a particular Walgreens for my prescriptions.  I hate that Walgreens.  I rarely go inside because of the memories it invokes.  But it is cheap, and that is where I had the doctor send Georgie’s prescriptions.  Weeks prior to all this, one of my dearest friends decided to come for a visit.  He is more than a friend, he is our family.  He just happened to be here when I had to go to the hated Walgreens.  He came inside with me.  He stood by me as I paid for the numerous bags of needles, insulin, blood sugar test strips, syringes, vials, glucagon and I don’t remember what else.  He cried with me.  And after we cried, he made me laugh.  And after that I’m pretty sure we cried again.  I could NEVER have done that by myself.  And I could never have planned his visit to fall on the exact day I had to fill those prescriptions.  Only my loving Father could provide that for me.

I have just a few more that I will quickly summarize, then I want to end with a story that illustrates perfectly how the Lord provided before we even knew we needed it.

  • Georgie is an extreme extrovert.  God created him this way.  Neither Shane nor I are this way.  He loves people and loves communication.  This is a gift God has given him to help him as he learns to manage this disease on his own in the next few years.
  • I didn’t know it, but I already have two friends who have sons with T1D.  When they heard about Georgie, they contacted me and have been a source of encouragement, help and hope.  I also have friends with T1D who have been helping me more than I can express.
  • About four years ago, a godly couple prayed over Shane and me.  It was encouraging and prophetic.  But one part never made sense to me until a few days ago.  Hope was rummaging through a drawer and she brought me the notes I took from this prayer time.  It said, “As God’s design for George becomes clearer, it will make sense why Melodi was chosen to be his mother.”  I was chosen to be Georgie’s mother.  And God wants me to know it.

Now I can write my favorite portion of my provision-ahead-of-time story.

After our time in the hospital we were discharged and sent directly to the Barbara Davis Center for Childhood Diabetes (BDC).  One of the top research facilities for T1D in the world.  It was late afternoon and we were still in shock, exhausted in every sense of the word, fragile mentally and emotionally.  But we had to meet with a doctor and nurse and learn several things before heading home for the night.  Only to return in the morning.  For eight hours of training.

George was completely traumatized at this point.  The hourly finger pokes, an IV in each arm, countless blood draws, hunger, thirst, fatigue….he was a mess.  And hysterical.  I don’t like to talk much about his screaming.  Or his weeping.  Or the desperate look of confusion that would come over his face.  Or how he would cry out, “Mommy!  Mommy!”  He hadn’t called me that in many months.  By the time we arrived at the BDC, anyone in scrubs sent him into hysterical screaming and he would hide in my arms.

And then we met her.

I was dazed when we were ushered into the lab technicians room.  I remember seeing a small woman in scrubs trying to talk George into getting onto a scale so she could weigh him.  And he went absolutely nuts.  He would not let her touch him, and wouldn’t let us near him either.  I started to fall apart but then I heard something.  I heard the Name that has been my refuge for as long as I can remember.  I lifted my eyes and saw this woman with her arms raised to Heaven praying, “Oh Jesus.  Oh Jesus.  Help my Little Brother.  Be with Mama.  Be with Daddy. Let them know that it will be alright.  Everything will be alright.”

Somehow I found myself in a chair with tears streaming down my cheeks as I watched her envelop my son in her arms.  She told him that she would never hurt him.  That Jesus loved him.  That she was here to help him.  And Georgie instantly calmed down.  For the first time in nearly 24 hours he wasn’t screaming.  Because he knows that Name too.  And felt His presence as immediately as Shane and I did.  Amazingly he allowed her to weigh him, measure him and give him a finger poke.  No crying.  No screaming.  Just peace.

She turned to me and said, “Everything will be alright, Mama.”  And I wept.

She has worked at the BDC for several years.  Diabetic herself, she has learned to comfort others through her own affliction.

And the best part??  The absolutely incredible miracle part??  Her father’s name was George.  When he passed away, she had his name tattooed on her ankle.  Little Georgie always wants to see it.  Once he wanted to ask her if she was a real angel.  (Because I refer to her as our sister-angel.  I honestly don’t even remember her real name yet.  I just call her Angel.)  So he asked her if she was a real angel.  She stared at him with tears in her eyes and said, “No, Little Brother.  I’m not a real angel.”

But you never know.  You just never know.

All I know is that this lovely woman was put in place years ago by a loving God who knew I (and countless others) would need her.  Desperately, desperately need to encounter the Prince of Peace who so abundantly flows through her precious care.

Thank you for reading.  It has been a healing experience for me to write these past three blogs.  Looking back and acknowledging the work of God in this way is heart-changing.  Thank you for allowing me to do it with you.

Letters to My Son

My Darlin’ Boy,

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I’m thanking God tonight for the past few weeks.  This Honeymoon Phase has enabled us all to take a deep breath and get grounded again after Hurricane Type 1 Diabetes hit.  You still only have two shots a day, we are learning more about the effects of certain carbs and proteins in your body, and your blood sugar has leveled out to a (somewhat) predictable pattern.  Your mood swings and reactions to blood sugar levels have lessened.  We see more glimpses of our familiar Georgie pre-diagnosis.  It has brought peace and hope to our hearts.

It seems like it might be a good time to sit back and relax.  But I don’t think so.

You have heard me talk about my years on the Track team.  And now you see me training for a half-marathon.  In every race, son, there is a strategy.  You want to start well, pace yourself, and maintain your position throughout the race.  And then there comes the time to kick.  You cannot wait until the end of the race to exert yourself and give everything you’ve got.  If you wait until the end, it will be too late and you won’t have the strength to bust through the finish line.  You have to start kicking while everyone else is still maintaining.  You may not even see the finish line yet, but you must set your mind, rely on your training and sprint to the end.  This is how races are won.  (Remind me to tell you the story of when I did the 300 meter hurdles and tripped over the last hurdle at the finish line.  That is NOT how races are won, by the way.)

Georgie, running a race is hard.  It is painful.  Especially if the race is long.  The longer the race, the greater the struggle to the end.  You were with me earlier this week when I ran 7 miles with you and Hopie.  You saw my pain and weakness.  Every race will have pain.  Diabetes is your race right now.  And I would give anything for us all to withdraw from the race.  But instead, we are going to kick.

  • Rather than numbing or escaping from the pain, we need to acknowledge it and deal with it in healthy ways.  Trying to find comfort in food, alcohol, material things, busy-ness, and yes even “religion” is not helpful.  The best thing we can do is to let it drive us straight into the Man of Sorrows.  The One who has endured more undeserved pain than anyone else ever has or ever will.  Even on the cross, Jesus rejected a sedative because He chose to face His suffering head on.  I will tell you this, we don’t need to be fake and paste a smile on our faces and say that we are OK with Diabetes.  But we don’t have to hide from it either.  Or get bitter because of it.  Or allow it to affect our race.  Pain can make our kick stronger.  And George, I already see you growing stronger because of your affliction.
  • Preparation is as important as performance and without it no race can be won.  Today I had the privilege of being part of your training.  You were having a very hard time and you mentioned wanting to hurt yourself.  Alarm bells went off in my spirit and I immediately went to my knees.  I prayed over you like I’ve never done before.  I did it out loud in front of you and your sister.  When I was done you looked at me and said, “Mom, I have no idea what any of that means.”  I just smiled and said, “You don’t need to know yet.  But God knows, and you better believe our enemy knows.”  You (because you want to be a Jedi Knight) wanted to know more about how to fight Satan.  I simply said that the best way to fight is to praise and worship God.  You immediately put your fists in the air and declared, “Praise You Jesus!  You are my King!  I love You!  Enemy you must get away!”  And little Hopie praised Him too.  And I just sat back and marveled at it all.  This is all preparation for you, my warrior son.  You will have some battles to fight, some races to run, and God is setting you up to know how to win.
  • In this race, God is always after one thing.  Your heart.  He wants a close, intimate relationship with you.  And there are many things along the road that can slow, distract or weaken you.  Don’t miss the relationship God wants to build with you through your pain.  You might hear some folks tell you that God will never give you more than you can handle.  That’s not Biblical.  There are a ton of things in this life that we absolutely cannot handle.  And that is the whole point.  Our lives as Christ Followers is not about what we can or cannot do.  It is about what He has done and is continuing to do so that He can have our hearts.  Forever.

My mom told me today that she is praying specifically that God will restore your body back to the way He originally created it.  Diabetes free.  I love that.  We all pray for your healing daily.  Sometimes hourly.  Sometimes even more.  But unless or until He heals you, this Honeymoon Phase will pass and the real race begins.  We will need to know how to run straight into Him.  We will have been prepared by spending time in HIs Word and praising and worshiping Him.  We will know how to kick.  So we can bust through the finish line and hear Him say, “Well done!”

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My miracle son, there is no one else I would rather run this race with.  You are my hero.

I love you with aaaaaaaaalllllll of my fart.  I mean heart.


Letters to My Son

Dear Georgie,

Your newest favorite thing is to sit down with me after dinner and teach me about your Lego Star Wars thingymajiggers.  I don’t know what most of them are, but you know the name of every ship, droid, clone and robot.  You know how they function and where they came from.  You know who the good guys and bad guys are.   And I’m completely enjoying the education.

You’re a very good teacher.

I have learned a tremendous amount from you in the 41 days since you were diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes (T1D).  And I know I’m not the only one.  But tonight, there are a few things on my heart that I want to teach you:

  • Running and hiding doesn’t take the pain away, it just delays it.  Last night you ran and hid when I told you about your pre-dinner shot.  I wish with all my heart that shots didn’t hurt.  That anti-bodies didn’t attack pancreas’s.  And that this evil disease didn’t exist.  But my darling boy…we cannot run from pain.  On this side of Eternity, we cannot hide from it either.  We must face it head on and allow it to drive us straight into the safety of God’s presence.  He is close to the brokenhearted.  Wherever there is pain, I promise you my sweetheart, He is near.  Because He too, feels our pain.
  • Honeymoons don’t last forever, but true commitment does.  Your blood sugars have been rising these past few days.  Its too early for me to know if you are becoming ill or if your honeymoon phase is ending.  If it is an illness then we can deal with that (although I haven’t learned how yet).  But if your pancreas is finally shutting down completely, our small season of honeymooning is over.  Honeymoons are wonderful!  But they end and real life in the real world begins.  It is important to be spirit-led instead of emotionally-led.  There is a big difference.  Just because you feel something doesn’t make it true.  Truth is found in a man.  A man named Jesus.  And in His Holy Word.  Life is full of ups and downs, and our emotions follow.  You will have even more ups and downs than the average person because of T1D.  You must be committed to truth.  Because truth never changes.  Your commitment to Jesus and to His Holy Word will make all the difference in your life.  It has in mine.  I’ve staked my life upon it.
  • You have choices.  I can already see the effects of this disease on you…in the sense that it takes many choices away from you.  Apparently, you cannot be a professional truck driver if you have T1D.  Or a commercial pilot.  Or join the military.  Today we were talking about the new Sprouts market opening up down the street.  One of your favorite treats is a honey stick from Sprouts.  I finally spoke around the huge lump in my throat and explained that honey wasn’t a food choice for you any longer.  I watched the battle on your face as you started crying.  You cried for 15 minutes.  I know it wasn’t just about a stupid honey stick.  It was about the fact that you felt one more choice taken from you because of T1D.  But Georgie, you do still have choices.  You can choose nutrition and exercise, or you can choose more shots.  Choose to overcome, or choose to be a victim.  Choose to walk with God, or choose to fight against Him.  Choose to survive, or choose to live.  Learning how to make good choices takes time and often depends on our perspective…see next point.
  • Perspective is a big deal!!  Disease, healing, God’s sovereignty, suffering…these are all things we wrestle with daily.  It is important to have the right perspective about these issues.  Can you see the difference in these two sentences?

It is because of God that I’m forced to survive this painful life.   OR   I can survive this painful life because of God.

Just as you know the name of every Star Wars ship, droid, clone and robot, I pray you intimately know the Name Above Every Name, the One True God, Jehovah, Yeshua, Jesus.

Just as you know how things function and where they come from in the Star Wars world, I pray you know exactly where you come from, and what your purpose in this life is to be.  You are a miracle boy.  Sent to us straight from Heaven.  Literally.  I pray you walk in the footsteps of your Savior, who suffered much, loved unmeasurably and served others.  These things you already do at the tender age of 5!

Just as you know who every Star Wars good and bad guy is, I look forward to watching you grow into a mighty warrior.  One who fights for justice, honor, truth, integrity and mercy.  One who fights for life in the face of disease.  One who stands up for those who have no voice.

And we will all continue to learn from you.

Just as I will tomorrow night after dinner.  Because I know your dad bought you a new Lego Star Wars thingymaggiger.  And I can’t wait to hear all about it.

I love you with aaaaaaaaallllllll of my fart.  I mean heart.