Let Them Know They Are Loved: Julie's Faith Journey-Part 1
Hi friends! Today is the first day of Julie’s faith journey. I first met Julie on a mission trip to Panama at Manos de Fe. She was incredibly kind to everyone. On one of the evenings, I told Julie about this little boy, Enrique, that I met that day. I discovered that he did not have shoelaces on his shoes… only thin strips of plastic were keeping them on. I was frustrated with myself because I did not think in the moment to simply take off my shoelaces and give them to him. Julie not only took the time to listen, but she also proceeded to help find a way to get my shoelaces and a new pair of shoes to Enrique. Her patience and love for others is inspiring. I have loved the opportunity to learn more about how God has worked in her life. I hope you do too. Enjoy!
I personally feel like I’m not talented or blessed with huge spiritual gifts. However, if I had to identify one, I would say it was serving. I find joy in helping others and showing people that they matter. That’s it. I feel like it is such a small thing, but it is what I love doing.
To spread God’s love is my number one desire. My pastor, Joby, uses this great analogy about how we are like Bring Your Kids to Work Day to God. It is likely we are more of a hinderance than we are a help. God could do it just like that, in an instant and on His own, yet He invites us in. We are literally picking up the telephone and saying, “Daddy’s work. Can I help you?” Even though what we do is so trivial, He is still cheering for us. God loves it. He loves for us to work with him. I am so thankful that God even uses us to do these small things.
In general, I don’t have a huge story. Mine is one of simply yearning to experience that joy we get whenever we are with Jesus. That starts back from when I was young.
I was born in the small town of Springfield, TN. I lived in the same house my entire life until I moved out to college. In fact, my dad still lives in that very same house. I was born into a Christian family and was the second of four children.
I literally cannot remember a time when I did not go to church as a child. We went to a small, country, Southern Baptist church called Freewill Baptist. My mom and dad were both teachers in Sunday school. We were at church every Sunday morning, every Sunday night, and every Wednesday night. I did memory verse classes, sword drills, summer camps with my church, and all that type of stuff.
For lack of any other words to describe it, I was in love with the church. I loved my pastor, I loved the music director, and I could tell you everything that was in every drawer of every classroom. We were there before hours, after hours, all of that. Church was my home.
Being a child full of the church did not shelter me from everything. One day, when I was little, I was playing cards. My mom was rubbing my shoulder when she felt a lump on my neck. I recall her casually saying, “Oh, we need to go see about that.” What followed was all kinds of medical tests.
At 5 years old, I was diagnosed with cancer. I was brought to Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital to treat my non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. At the time it was a known cancer for adults, but it was rare and not really heard of for children. The doctors were not sure how to approach my treatment. I was a special case that they had to figure out. From what my parents told me later in life, I was treated very broadly to try to encompass everything.
At one point I was in the hospital for almost two months. My mom and dad were tag teaming who stayed with me. Although my youngest brother had not yet been born, my parents still had my older sister, who was 6, and my younger brother, who was 3, at home. I am sure it was hard for my mom to go through that. Even so, I had fun memories of her visiting me in the hospital. We even had a couple of tooth brushing competitions. We brushed our teeth as fast as possible to see who could make the most foam and then declared a winner. My mom always tried to make it as easy as she could for me, even though I’m sure it was extremely difficult for her.
Of course, it was not always fun. Things hurt and I would be upset at times. Radiation treatments were scary for me and were held in what I called the dungeon. It was a sterile room with brick walls and a metal table that I would lay on. The doctor then used a Sharpie permanent marker to draw the area where the treatment would be administered. I told him that I wasn’t allowed to write on myself, and he explained that my mom gave special permission for that day. After that I conceded.
In all reality, my doctors did not know exactly how it would end up. Even though I’m sure my parents were fearful behind the scenes, in front of me they never mentioned or even acted like it was a possibility that it could end badly for me. Because of my parents, I was never in fear. I assumed I was like any other kid that was sick but would get better. It did not occur to me that it could be terminal.
Although I went to the doctor all the time, and once I was even named the Vanderbilt cancer child of the year, I was never the “cancer child” in my family. What I mean by that is that my parents did not allow me to be defined by my cancer. I was still expected to do chores and ultimately to just be a kid.
Of course, there were times where I was too physically tired from chemo to go play, but my parents did not restrict me from going when I felt up to it. As a matter of fact, right after chemo in 1st grade, I was in the backyard playing catch ball, a game we had invented, on the slide. I fell backward off the slide and broke my arm. I did not mind though since I still had a good arm to clock my brother with if I needed to when we played. I was just a normal kid.
At home, I could have easily been labeled as the poor, sick child, but my parents did not allow that. In fact, I recall at a family reunion my siblings and I were introduced to a relative we barely knew. She asked, “Oh, so which one is the sick one?” Immediately, I looked at my brothers and sister and asked them if they were not feeling well. I thought one of them may have had a cold. Eventually I realized that my relative was referring to me. Looking back, I see what a great blessing it was that my parents protected me from letting illness become my identity.
Regardless, I still had a multitude of medical appointments throughout the years. During that time, my nurse Cathy was one of the people that stood out to me. She was with me when I had to get a lymphangiogram done to monitor my lymph nodes. It was a test where they injected dye into my feet to allow it to travel through my lymph system. It always stuck with me how sweet and kind Cathy was with me. She made such an impression that I thought that one day I would become a nurse just like her. Eventually I would. So, although I don’t remember her last name, if you are reading this, thank you Cathy!
When I was around 12 years old, I was finally released from treatments and screenings. I was so thankful to no longer have the dreaded annual checkups that involved painful spinal taps. It was liberating.
Although I was cancer free, my body had endured a lot. Because I was so young and had received so much chemotherapy and radiation, my medical team was unsure of the long-term consequences. At some point I was informed by my doctors that my teeth would be deformed and I may have neuropathy in the future. Additionally, I was told that I would probably never be able to have children.
To be continued.