Today we have a guest blog by Shelli Littleton. She is the mother of two daughters and writes from Texas. Welcome, Shelli.
GUEST BLOG: IT’S OK TO CRY. By Shelli Littleton
“A CT scan is scheduled for Monday.”
When our pediatrician discovered an abnormality in our 13-month-old daughter’s abdomen, I drifted home in a state of shock. After walking through the front door, I locked myself in the bathroom and ran water in the tub as hot as I could stand it. I sought a safe place to cry, where only God could see.
When the x-ray revealed a kidney tumor—no doubt it was cancer—I rocked my baby in the hospital room as she slept from anesthesia and could not restrain the tears.
At Ronald McDonald House before surgery, and after she had been so sick from a virus.
I wanted to be strong … for my daughter, for others, for my family, for God.
And did crying mean I lacked faith? Would I fall apart?
I felt broken. I felt weak.
The following days leading to her surgery were horrendous—more tests, away from home, she contracted a stomach virus, more tears.
During her surgery, visits from family and friends in the waiting room falsely held me together. My smiles turned to a look of exhaustion. I felt it. Others saw it. I couldn’t pretend any longer. I could no longer play host.
Shelli with Katelyn, recuperating from surgery.
After my daughter had been wheeled into her hospital room, she began to cry. An incision stretched from one side of her baby body to the other. Instead of placing our daughter on her back, the nurse placed her on her tummy … why? I don’t know. But our daughter raised up on her knees, crying. I’d never felt more helpless. I couldn’t fix her because she had tubes coming out of every location. More tears from me. My gut wrenched.
Later, when the room had emptied of friends and family and I remained for the long-haul, my baby girl began crying again. Not like you’d imagine a baby crying. Lying on her back, she had silent tears trickling down her cheeks. She hurt. Fear and lack of understanding took hold of her. Being just a baby, she couldn’t voice her thoughts. More tears from me.
I couldn’t leave her sight to simply walk into the bathroom without her crying. Without me crying.
After she settled, I slumped on the couch that would be my bed for the night. And I thought about Footprints in the Sand … how the Lord would carry me. How the Lord was carrying me. How I could trust Him. Even Jesus had cried for the loss of his friend, Lazarus, knowing full well He could and would heal him.
If Jesus cried, I knew my tears were justified. It’s okay to cry over loss. Our baby lost her right kidney, she lost strength in her ankles from chemotherapy, she lost security, and more losses that we would notice as time passed, but we didn’t lose her. And the cancer had not spread. We gained hope and the bond between us due to that season is strong. And every passing day that she recovered, so did I.
Crying didn’t mean I lacked faith. It meant that I could release the pain, that I could be real, that I could feel, that I would heal. Tears proved that I could rest and tenderly weep in the arms of the One who carried me.
Karalee and Katelyn. Katelyn is celebrating 10 years cancer free up on the roof at Cook Children’s Medical Center.
Bio:
Shelli Littleton lives in Royse City, Texas. She speaks on surviving hardships and writes for Woman’s Missionary Union’s magazine, Missions Mosaic. She welcomes you to visit her blog at www.shellilittleton.blogspot.com.
Her daughter, Katelyn, is a blessed 15 year old.
A Gift Worth Keeping: It Goes with My Decor! is a book written by Shelli Littleton, published in 2013. It is available for purchase on Amazon.
Link: A Gift Worth Keeping: It Goes with My Decor
Note from Norma: Shelli and I are acquainted through Books & Such Literary Management. She is a tender-heart. I appreciate her warmth and upbeat personality. In a world that seems to not be very genuine, Shelli strikes me as someone who is genuine and kind. Thank you, Shelli, for writing this post for my readers. I’m so glad and thankful Katelyn is doing well.
Norma, thank you for having me as a guest. It’s always a privilege to share our story. And you are a blessing to me. 🙂
Shelli, Bless you! I’m thrilled to share your story. It’s interesting how the stories in our lives intersect. Your writing is an encouragement.
Dear Shelli, thank you for sharing this…and Norma, thank you for giving her the opportunity.
Crying does not come easily to me; certainly not for my own physical situation. That’s just life, an operational necessity in a world in which the Almighty deemed free will (and all that goes with it) vital for us, and for Him.
But there is a situation that might have, and may yet, reduce me to tears (Barbara and the dogs are OK, no worries!). It’s a personal ‘hit’ about which I can’t be specific, but it’s taken away almost all of the morale that I have tried to maintain, and has left something – not quite bitterness, not quite sorrow – where there should have been security and love.
But it seems that the Almighty would rather I straighten my back, and walk on; I can take no comfort in tears, and I don’t feel His tender embrace. Would that I did, but I do feel His presence, in a call to duty, courtesy, and a stiff upper lip.
Made me want to cry with you, Shelli. What a sweet, tender, and honest post. Five years ago my oldest son was diagnosed with PSC, a liver disease with (apart from God) no cure. I have shed so many tears–as I am now. I so agree–crying doesn’t mean a lack of faith. It means we care. And when tears are a means of expressing helplessness, they can be prayers.
Shelli, your faith and your honesty are both beautiful. Thank you for reminding us that our Father sees and counts our tears because He cares for each one of us. I loved your memoir, and I pray many others will read it and be blessed by it too.
Blessings ~ Wendy
I’m not Shelli, but her post touched me as well. My sister lost an infant daughter before she was a year old. There are no words to describe the emotions during the illness and the sadness caused by losing her. I cried so much. Shelli shows us that even though we have strong faith, it doesn’t change the reality of going through the difficulty with questions, fear, and personal struggle. We learn through it, although it is a process. Thanks for the comment, Norma
Wendy, your words are an encouragement to all of us. Shelli helps us think through the hard moments and helps us acknowledge the grace and help of our spiritual father. We need Him so much. On Shelli’s behalf, thank you for the comment. Norma
Andrew, few words I can say will ease the pain you are in, I wouldn’t try to guess at what you need to meet your personal crisis. What I want you to know, though, is you have a friend here, a friend who cares and hopes for it to get better. Stiff upper lips have their limits, I should know, many crises have come my way. There were days when it was my friends’ prayers that uplifted and carried me through, like Moses, when his arms were supported by others. They knew he couldn’t maintain on his own. I, we, will pray. Bless you, Norma
Oh, sweet Becky! Thank you so much for reading and commenting. I didn’t know that about your son, but I’ll be praying for him, now that I know. I’ll be praying for healing in his body. I know he is precious to you and all those who love him … and so young. I’m so sorry. Much love to you.
Wendy, thank you. I was at a funeral this afternoon … speaking of hard times. But she knew Jesus, yes, she did. I love you dearly.
Thank you, sweet Norma, for stepping in for me this afternoon. God is so good and uses all the hard to help others and even ourselves. I’m so thankful.
Oh goodness … I commented on Andrew’s earlier in the day, but I don’t see it showing up now. But I remember saying that crying probably comes more natural for us women. And God probably keeps you straightening your back so that you can carry your sweet wife. And I don’t know what you’re going through, but I’m praying for you. You’ve been through so much, I don’t like hearing about anything hurting you. You are a blessing to me.
Jesus wept, so we know that it is OK to cry. But you, Andrew, strike me as more of a Job. Whatever trouble comes your way, you can’t bring yourself to curse God. As one who throws tantrums before the Lord, I so admire your resolve to straighten your back and walk on, soldier of Christ.
Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning (Ps 30:5). I heard this verse as I read your story, Shelli. Katelyn dancing on the hospital roof is your joy in the morning.
Thank you, Norma, for letting Shelli share your space. Bless you both!
Oh, yes, Shirlee. I love that. And believe me, I’ve had many “joy in the mornings” … her first few weeks, she wouldn’t eat anything but vanilla ice cream (Blue Bell) and Cheerios. Even that was a celebration. 🙂 Seeing her regain strength in her ankles over the years. So many joys. Thank you, Shirlee.
Courage in the face of difficulty is remarkable.
We get to celebrate the joy with her!
Great post Shelli,
Crying helps us release the pain and fears of which we have no control over. Men aren’t good at it because we’ve been conditioned not to cry.
One of my favorite stories is from Author and lecturer, Leo Buscaglia who once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.
The winner was a four-year-old child, whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.
When his mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy replied,
“Nothing, I just helped him cry.”
That is a lovely story. Thank you for sharing it.
Oh, Gene … that’s beautiful. So true … sometimes, there are no words to say and no words should be said. We just need to be there … maybe help practically, offer a hug, or a listening ear. Thank you for sharing that. Only a child. 🙂