I came across this quote today after a friend shared the concept of “glitter grief” last week, and it resonated with me. It reminded me to give grace to myself, knowing I will grieve differently than another person; but what I appreciated even more from it was how it captured the element of surprise that often occurs while grieving.
Grief is like glitter.
Well, I can relate to finding glitter all over the place- sometimes months after a craft is completed and hung up, or a new doll dress full of “glitter stickers” is thrown away, there the pesky specks appear. On my jacket. Stuck on my foot. In the kids’ toilet?! How??
This is a consistent occurrence in our home. And just as I am bewildered every time I find another little jewel in our dryer vent, I have been taken by surprise when in the seemingly ordinary moments, the waves of sadness and loss crash over me.
Right now, it’s all still fresh. Everything reminds me of Maggie- the idea of having three kids, pregnancy, birth, loss, funerals…you name it. But over time, the majority of that glitter pile will be swept up. And then, one day, I will find it on my foot again. On my jeans.
And that’s not just normal and tragic and to be expected, it’s actually beautiful. Because it reminds me of the love I will always have for my daughter.
What Gives Me Comfort as I Look Ahead?
I watched the snow fall from my bed the other morning, the flakes falling delicately toward the window, grazing it with a kiss, and floating down to cover the ground with a fresh pureness that was as comforting as my fuzzy blanket. It helped me sort through my feelings as I felt haunted by a percentage: 1%.
1% of pregnancies end in miscarriage after 16 weeks, and mine was one of them.
I have known better for a while to not take comfort in statistics. First of all, if there is even a fraction of a percentage chance of something, then there is a chance.
Also, percentages won’t ever overpower God’s plan for me. So while it could have been a nice, false comfort as I googled miscarriage symptoms the night before we went to the ER to confirm what I knew deep down- to see that this rarely happens- I knew that wouldn’t determine my or Maggies’ fate.
And yet, there are some hard realities that mostly roll around my mind in the form of questions:
What happened?
Would this happen again?
Being one of the 1% for a loss like this, it definitely dispels any illusion that “these things rarely happen, so no need to worry.”
It is true I have no need to worry, as God has the days of our lives in His Book (Job 14:5 and Psalm 139:16).
This miscarriage defied statistical probability, which is a helpful reminder that I cannot place my hope or peace in stats.
I also cannot place my hope for redemption or healing through having another baby. While JB and I still hope and pray that may someday be in our future, I cannot place all my hope on any outcome in this life to be our “comeback” or redemption.
My redemption story is Jesus Christ on the cross. My sins washed clean. My faith in the price He paid to give me an eternity of joy, laughter, worship, and no pain.
My redemption story on this side of Heaven may be simply witnessing to others because of burying our child. Encouraging other women who will go through this. Pouring into the kids I have. Pouring into my students. It could also be full of more difficult loss and grief ahead. Who knows? God does.
I listened to so many Elisabeth Elliot talks during this pregnancy. Maybe it’s because my and Maggie’s middle name is spelled the same way as her first name, but I have felt drawn to Elisabeth’s faith ever since I first heard her story. Her husband was murdered as a missionary, leaving behind his young wife and child. There are so many things she could have done after that, but she chose to- with her baby in arms- go to the very same tribe that killed her husband and preach the Gospel. And her story of pain, grief, and loss did not end there. Yet she was a stalwart of the faith and shared the Good News with many, bringing many in that tribe and other tribes to Christ.
I think of Horatio Spafford who wrote one of my and JB’s favorite hymns- one JB sang through tears over Maggie as he held her in his hands- “It is Well with My Soul”. I remember the first time I heard the song’s story in 8th grade orchestra. I couldn’t believe this man’s faith; I was overcome with emotion pondering the testimony behind the lyrics I sang for years before.
Horatio’s only son died of illness shortly before he lost his entire fortune in the Great Chicago Fire. Hoping for a respite and a family vacation, he sent his wife and daughters on a ship to Europe, planning to meet with them after finishing up some business. His family’s ship collided with another, and all four of Horatio’s daughters died at sea.
As he traveled to reunite with his heartbroken wife, Horatio penned this famous hymn’s words as he passed the very site where his daughters died:
When peace like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul…
(“It is Well With My Soul”, Spafford)
And those words are still encouraging us, pointing us to a peace we can only find in Jesus centuries later.
How? How can a man who has lost everything, akin to Job in the Bible, still praise God? How could a woman risk everything to share the love of Jesus with the men who killed her husband? I know how, simply because I have experienced it these past five weeks.
As Job wrote after losing his entire fortune, his children, his emotional support, and his health,
“The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job 1:21
___________
I have seen testimonies and social media posts that open with sharing a story of how someone surrendered something important to God and how God blessed them with something even better. It has often been a health concern blessed with a miraculous healing, a financial overwhelm that is met with an unexpected check in the mail, a letting go of trying for years for a baby only to be blessed that month with a pregnancy. Those are miracles that I thank God for. They are so encouraging, and I know they happen. God is the giver of all good things.
But our good and His good can often be different things. So as I ponder our future as a family, I don’t want to approach God like a vending machine. He will give as He sees fit, and His spiritual blessings far outweigh any other desires I have. I can trust that.
Surrendering my plans and dreams to God, giving Him my pain- it doesn’t always mean I will get what I want, but it DOES always mean He will give me more of Himself.
And I may never fully know why we had to lose Maggie; that is where faith can fill in the gap and cover me.
I think of the believers in the Bible who never received their “reward”, never fully understanding why they went through what they went through. Hebrews 11, dubbed “The Hall of Faith” passage, lists many.
Thousands of years later we don’t fully know why some of these faithful followers suffered the way they did. And while we have a better idea than they probably did, we still can’t fully grasp all the purposes because we aren’t meant to as finite humans.
Our family saw the animated David movie right before Maggie died. It is an excellent movie that I highly recommend, even if you don’t have young children. As a musician, I was so drawn to the music and overwhelmed by the beauty of the melodies and how they all came together in the final battle cry song, declaring, “I will not be afraid.” Who knew I would need to hear those words of Truth sung over and over by my children just weeks later as I grieved? God did.
One song from the movie is called “Tapestry”- a beautiful duet between David and his mom as he questions God’s plan of anointing him as king of Israel when there already was a king. The lyrics have moved me to tears as I drove to pick up my kids from school several times. The words mean something so different to me than they did 2 months ago when I first heard them:
There’s a reason for the colors in your story
There’s a picture though you cannot see it yet
Every thread has a purpose and soon you’ll see
Your part in this tapestry
When you feel like nothing is connecting
And you’re searching for an answer you can’t find
Just remember that each strand is intersecting to reveal what the Creator has designed
Any masterpiece is gonna take some time
I lift my eyes above the hills
Though it’s not clear, I know I will
Catch the view that heaven sees
And leap into his plans for me
I’ll find out where the story goes
I’m not there yet, but now I know
The One who brought this world to life
Has seen it all before its time
So ready or not, come what may
I’ll face whatever may come my way
’Cause everything is used in his design
-David movie, 2025
He is weaving my story together. And I trust the Master Weaver.
Purpose in the Suffering- But No Need to be the Grieving Girl Scout
I had a great conversation with a friend yesterday that had me pondering the delicate dance between mourning and lament, and staying in a self-absorbed pit. It has felt tempting to me at times to stay in my grief and pain- to shut out the world and sit in the weight of it. But life is happening all around me. My family, my friends, the sunshine…the chores, even. These are beautiful gifts. I don’t need to “pull myself up by my bootstraps” and ignore how I feel, but I also know that just staying in all of these feelings every moment would not help round out my view of life right now. I can cry for a few minutes and then play in the snow with my kids. I might need to talk to my husband or a friend about how I am feeling but then go for that walk or do my hair to feel normal. And that’s a beautiful thing.
On top of that, it hit me that even- maybe especially- in my pain and grief, I can still serve others, and that is life-giving. That doesn’t mean I am signing up to volunteer at the soup kitchen during my leave from work right now or giving of myself every minute. But I have found doing one thing a day- whether it is visiting a friend who has a medical need, texting with someone who is going through a completely different difficulty, or simply making it a priority to get up with my family and help send the kids out the door with JB so it’s a smoother start to the day- has helped me to think outside of myself.
I know I could become self-absorbed and sinful in my grief because I am human. God is showing me in a new way what I misunderstood for so long- it’s not about “keeping up” with life or “pushing my feelings down”- God makes it a rich blessing to be there for others in our own time of need.
The Bible is the key to this truth: 1 Corinthians 1:3-5 says: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.”
I pray that God would let this loss of Maggie guide, shape, and grow me to be an example of His love and beauty in the future. I pondered that after a difficult “first moment” last week:
I was at the post office with Emma and Ethan. As I stood in a long line, the kids excitedly walked over to the card shelf to read all the silly birthday cards. Their joy and excitement was contagious to the women in front of me as my kids ran up, showing me silly goat faces and fat cats eating pizza.
I love seeing my kids bring joy to others, and it always seems to happen when I am in line somewhere. Isn’t that interesting? In some of the most mundane moments…
While I was feeling very raw and vulnerable that day, as it was one of my first errands I had run since losing Maggie, I prayed for strength and for an opportunity to be a light to others.
The woman in front of me was about my age and struck up a conversation, smiling at my kids and asking their ages. We related to one another, as she also had a girl and a boy in close ages to mine. And then the first of a question that will forever feel different when people ask now, “Do you have any other kids?”.
What do I say, God? I had been prepared for this moment, having read that was one of the dreaded questions for women after loss.
I thought about the ways this conversation could go, and I prayed. We were having a pleasant conversation, even though I felt weak from the sadness and a profound ache in my chest. But God guided me. I didn’t need to burst into tears on this poor woman who doesn’t know me in the slightest. It was clear through our short conversation and observation that she probably had her own pain she was carrying around. I knew that after I said, “Just the two” I would still feel as heartbroken as before, but I also knew that would allow our conversation to continue and for us to share a light-filled, sweet moment marveling at the sweetness of kids.
We parted ways, and on the way out of the post office, an older man held open the heavy door for us, once again smiling at me and my kids- seeing a little hand in each of mine, and simply said, “I love a parade”. And he’s right- while I thought my parade would soon be larger, and while Margaret is a part of our family parade, I have been blessed deeply with the lives in front of me and beside me. And I love that we can be a witness to the random strangers at the post office.
The loss of our girl is something I know I will share with others, maybe even through unexpected visceral tears with a stranger someday. But I was glad that in this moment, God gave me the guidance and strength to keep that moment filled with sunshine and joy because it ministered to me as well. This is yet another way I will depend on Him for the rest of my days- asking Him constantly for guidance on what to share and when to share with the not-so-close friend, the new church member, or the strangers at the store. He will guide me.
I also pray for wisdom to know when to not put myself in the crosshairs of the general public. People overall have good intentions, but it can be extremely painful to be in public after a loss, especially one you carried in your body. Talking to another friend the other day, she said she felt anger walking around stores or watching people get wrapped up in traffic issues, after losing a loved one. “How can people just go about their everyday life? How do they not see what just happened?” I can definitely relate to that. And there have been many times in the past few weeks where I knew I wasn’t ready to run that errand, go to a coffee shop and cry in public yet, or simply answer the phone call.
I know there will be social events or invitations I may need to turn down in this season, and that’s okay. I am not meant to be The Grieving Girl Scout. I don’t need to be some sage grief guru. I’m a human mess, and He will work through that as I turn to Him for comfort and replenishment to pour onto others.
God grieves with me and leads me in allowing myself to feel what I need and do what I need as well. But I long to commit each decision to prayer and step out in faith, even when it hurts.
And while it certainly feels like an invisible wound as I walk around the general public, I also know He sees me. Friends have reminded me of the story of Hagar in the Bible during this time. She was the first person to give God a name in the Bible, “The God Who Sees Me”, when no one else cared a thing about her or her child. God saw her dying in the desert and He took care of her.
What Now?
I go back to work in 6 days. Soon enough, I will be teaching kids Hot Cross Buns on the recorder, pedal work on the piano, and arpeggios on the string bass. Life will move on in a way. What does it look like to go through such rich spiritual communion with God in the depths, then go back to talking to my students about ABA form and fixing broken E strings?
But that is part of the human experience. We can hold eternity in our hearts while making a pb&j sandwich. We can ponder the meaning of existence while taking a shower or taking our dirty car through the car wash. It’s pretty neat and wild to think about, which is an incredible way God made us to be above all other beings on the earth- even above the angels.
I want this time back “in the real world” to be one full of grace and opportunity. I want to help guide my loved ones in what I need. I don’t want them to feel awkward or unsure how to interact with me, walking on eggshells when they see me for the first time. In the times I feel open to it, I want to share with my coworkers and my newer friends about the depth of comfort and love God has showered on me in this. I know every person is different, but I want to talk about Maggie. I want that hug. Friends never need apologize for crying with me; it’s healing. They don’t need to shy away from the topic for fear it would make me sad; I’m already sad.
I hope to help guide others how to be there for me and others in grief.
Maggie’s Reality
I am so grateful Maggie is my daughter. While I would not have wished for it yet, I am so grateful to know she is in Heaven waiting for us. I heard a woman share this past week about her own children who did not get to breathe on Earth. She found peace imagining her kids filling Heaven with more giggles and sweetness, running around the streets of gold with their Father.
I have laid in bed these past couple of mornings, praying. I was pondering that if God wanted to, He could put Maggie back in my womb. He could do anything. But then it hit me that that wouldn’t be what’s best for her. Heaven is way better; I would never want to take her from eternal joy and communion with Jesus. And isn’t that love- sacrifice, even when it hurts?
A quote from Seasons of Sorrow by Tim Challies puts it so well:
“The apostle Paul insisted that ‘to live is Christ, and to die is gain.’ There is gain to be had in death, and it’s the gain that comes when we are released from all that is evil and awakened to all that is good. I would not summon Nick [his 20 year-old son] back to this world if I could, for that would be to rob him of the greatest of all gains and to force him to experience so much loss.”
I can see my little girl now- dancing in those streets of gold.
May my grieving heart and empty arms direct me to the One who is with us both in every moment.
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