Let me introduce you to Julie

Julie celebrates her first birthday in heaven this year. Here on earth, she would have turned 47 today, but as her friend Ellyn said, she gets to stop aging now. I know some of you never knew sweet Julie and she is worth remembering. So, I thought I'd take a moment to introduce her to you and tell you who she was to me. 

----

Jules and I were about thirteen years old when we met. She was new in town and her family began attending our church. My mom thought that I could help Julie to meet people, help her to fit into the group.

I was a shy, bookish girl back then, dressed in skirts, sweaters, and big glasses. I took one look at Julie--in her stylish jacket and jeans, wearing a ribbon in her hair like a pop star--and I wondered how I could possibly help her to fit in. She already looked like she owned the room. What could a cool kid like her possibly need from me?

It would be a while before I knew her well enough to know that sometimes she was the one quietly quaking in her Keds. She had insecurities of her own. From the outside, though, she was as cool as a cucumber.

Julie and I did become fast friends and spent nearly every day together for years. We went to church services on Sundays, youth group and choir practices midweek and school on weekdays. Often, we walked together after school to her house where we would eat peanut butter apples, listen to Duran Duran, watch George Michael on MTV and then sit down to our tradition of Duck Tales (yep, the cartoon) or Days of Our Lives (shhh. . . don't tell my parents). Weekends were full of friends, movies, beach days, parties, walking around town and lots and lots of music and conversation. In the summers, we traveled to Mexico with a church choir and made road trips back and forth to San Francisco to visit friends we'd met through that group. In the midst of normal teen angst, we knew we were really, truly blessed. She wrote in my yearbook one year about the goodness of God and a future in heaven. She stood with me in concert after concert, singing of His love for her. Her faith ran deep.

 Julie and I--and about forty other choir members--in Torreon, Mexico, 

where we sang in a bullring.

I'm the one dressed in blue with our friend LeeAnn behind me. Julie used to call her AnnLee. Julie, in white, is standing on the riser above me.

Julie and I with a friend of ours--Luis Daniel.

Julie and I graduated high school together, had our graduation party together, and went on to the local junior college together. Then she moved to San Francisco. We wrote letters and sent them regular mail--real stamps and everything--in those pre-Internet, pre-texting days. Sometimes I would go visit her and we would talk for hours and go to Giants games at Candlestick Park. When she'd come home to visit her parents, we'd make time to see each other and catch up. Eventually, she took a job with the Giants organization and we marveled at how she was working side by side with the same baseball legends that we had gawked at (stalked. . . ) from behind fences and guardrails. She even introduced me to a few of them and got a baseball card signed for me by the player I thought was the cutest. She started calling me by that player's last name. . .one of several nicknames she gave me over the years. Julie loved to give nicknames.

Eventually, I got married to a guy even cuter than that baseball player and Julie stood up for me as a bridesmaid. Not too much later, my husband Tom and I went away to college back east. I have very few regrets in my life, but one is that I wasn't able to be at Julie's wedding when she married her sweetheart, Dave. Next thing I knew, she'd become a Southern California girl instead of a Northern one.

Dreaming of our future husbands in front of a Mexican bridal shop. 

We were about 18 years old.

At my wedding in 1993. Julie is on the far left, in sunglasses.

Still thousands of miles apart, Julie and I both became pregnant and gave birth to sons (Matthew and Peter). Three years later, we were pregnant at the same time again--and again gave birth to sons (Brendan and Philip).

Our families saw each other in So Cal for a quick weekend visit before I moved yet again--this time all the way to South America. Before we said goodbye, Julie sang with me in her church, putting pictures of Bolivian children on the screen behind us, trying to raise funds for my upcoming work there. She was a giver like that.

After that, I got to see Julie every three years or so when we came to the States on furloughs. When we were apart, she sent me emails and messages on my birthdays. Our visits were very rare. Yet coming to see her still felt like old times. It still felt like home. We were so different than we used to be. We were grown women, wives and moms. Yet in some ways we were still those girls who used to curl our hair and sing Mariah Carey songs in Julie's Miami-Vice themed bedroom. She was a bubbling, passionate, caring, smart person. I could trust her. She didn't judge. She noticed things, noticed details. She nudged me to be a better version of myself and looked out for me, protecting my heart and supporting my interests. And she was so fun. Those parts of her hadn't gone away just because we became adults.

Then something did change for us. Something horrible. Julie got cancer. She battled it for a few years, first in her breast and then in her liver.

She was a warrior. She fought through pain, anger, heartache and lots of uncertainty. We watched miracle after miracle as our Wonder Woman beat the odds. We watched her comeback, then that stupid cancer came back. 

She told me she suspected her time was very short. So, on Labor Day of last year, I flew down to see her. Saying goodbye wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what she wanted. We both wanted longer and prayed for a miracle that would give us that. But I stood and agreed with her that day that even if we didn't get what we wanted, God is still good. As Julie said, we were all going to be okay in His capable hands. She knew that. She trusted him. 

Shortly after our last goodbye to each other and shortly before she passed into God's arms, I wrote this:

". . . . Even with cancer, maybe especially with cancer, she has a lot to say. A lot she can teach us. She's not a perfect person. She's made her own mistakes. Yet, as my oldest son said recently, she is in a place of incredible clarity. Clarity that we need, too. As she looks at her past, present and future, she's become very good at determining what matters most.

"I went to see her and she didn't complain about her pain or her losses. She told me she was grateful. So grateful. Grateful for all the blessings God had given her. Grateful for time she was given to say goodbyes, to shed tears with people she loves, to say what she needed to say and to hear what she needed to hear. It was a time for her to be intentional and love people. 

"It wasn't all about her--even in the hospital, even in dialysis, even in moments that have been sometimes humiliating and hard. Her mission is still to live well and to pour out love even more than before to those around her--her nurses, doctors, friends, relatives . . .to anyone near her.

"I've seen God give supernatural peace and hope in tough times. He is a good Father who gives strength to his children. Yet, I never before saw someone live out Galatians 5 the way Julie has been living it.

"The 'fruit of the Spirit' is so evident in her life right now--not just a couple of them, like patience or peace. All of them. She has risen above caring for her own spirit to caring about those around her, even in her own pain. That is something to see.

"She has been teaching people to forgive; laugh; say what needs said; to be vulnerable, bold and brave; to trust God and spend time with Him; to be intentional and kind; to live unselfishly; to be grateful; to keep an eternal perspective; to live big and love large.

"She has yielded her self to God's plan, whatever that looks like. That surrender and trust has given her space to actually enjoy the rest of her time here and go beyond that happiness to bless others. That, my friends, is a miracle, one of many that has surrounded her life."

The following are some of her own powerful words about her journey. . . written between the time she first beat breast cancer and being diagnosed a second time. 

"I had chosen the word “shine” as my post-cancer mantra. “You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world… shine!” (Matthew 5:14). Whatever I did, even the smallest thing, I wanted to shine with everything God had done in me and through me. With that came more pictures and in 2015 I chose a new mantra, “joy”. With everything I had been through, how could I not find and choose joy? Not just that, I also wanted to share joy. To me, that meant living life to the fullest. Taking advantage of opportunities that came my way. Trying new things. Doing things that made me happy (naps included). Eating things that made me happy. Spending time with family AND friends… all the while posting more pictures.

My posts were never meant to brag or be showy. I’m sure there are some who got tired of seeing me and some who probably “unfriended” me.  Here’s the thing, I can’t go back to being a wallflower! It was my hope that I could make someone smile, share some joy, give some hope, make someone feel better about what they were going through, share faith, share fun, share friendship, share strength and courage, share love. That’s still what I hope for. God has been so good to me! Look deeper than the silly faces. . . and see a girl who is thankful.  See a girl who loves life, her family and her friends.  See a girl who loves the Lord. See a girl that has chosen JOY."

                      Kids in the early '90s                A bit older and wiser in 2016

(Thank you to Christine Rose Elle Photography, LeeAnn, Tami, Olivia, Matthew, and anyone else I might have missed, for your photos.)