As it Was, Yet Never the Same

Sunday, March 1, 2026: 9:17AM

Back to Normal, but Forever Changed

This was a big week.

Standing in a closet full of professional clothes that I have avoided for weeks because they don’t fit right anymore and they are reminders of what I have been through.

Rising early to serve my family and get to school. Pouring into young minds all day and being on my feet. Returning home to spend time with my kids and husband and going to bed before doing it all again.

Facing the faces- the faces of caring coworkers, empathetic students and their parents. 

How do I do this well, Lord? How do I continue to grieve while picking up more balls to juggle? How do I lead my students while being genuine? Those were some of my questions.

I will be honest- the first three days were immensely difficult. Unbearable at times. And it wasn’t because of anything people said or did, it was just because I was reliving our loss again. I felt like a spectacle, simply because something terrible happened to me- inside of me- and everyone knew it. And being a teacher is much like being on a stage. I couldn’t hide behind my desk and check tasks off a list, pretending it all away. I had to face it.

Being in my classroom also reminded me that the last time I was there, so was Maggie. The last time I sat at the piano bench with a student, I felt the little tickles in my stomach of Maggie’s kicks. The last time I sat at my desk, I was nauseous and putting my pregnant feet up during my lunch, excited for what was to come. I longed to go back to that time and ached knowing that there was no way that could happen.

I was reminded of my physical emptiness this week- an emptiness any mother who has lost an unborn child could understand.

I felt raw, undone, weepy, and exhausted. Did I feel ready? No. I’m not sure if I ever would.

The amount of hugs, cards, chocolates, and cookies I received were staggering and yet not surprising with how amazing my community is. As I sit and reflect on the week, that has brought me such joy and gratitude.

There have been moments of personal pain this week that made me wonder if I should have told my students’ families what had happened in the first place. You see, the morning we went into the hospital for me to be induced, I sent an honest email to parents about our present reality: that I had been 16 weeks pregnant (and had planned to tell students that week), and that our daughter had died and that I was going to the hospital to deliver her and would be out for some time.

I am a transparent person; otherwise, I don’t feel like I am being genuine. It’s just how God made me. And that honest email set off the most beautiful domino effect of meals and prayers and care that blew us away. I have felt so cared for and loved then, and I felt so cared for and loved this past week as well.

This week, though, it all felt painful. And so I asked myself, “Should I have not told families what had happened?” 

Would that have taken away the pain when I noticed my younger students looking at my stomach sadly and looking away?

Would it have brought me relief to walk into a class of students who weren’t so somber? The atmosphere in my classroom at the start of every fresh class this week was very sad, honoring, and mellow.

But now, looking back, I am still glad I shared. Because while it hurt to relive seeing and leading all 10 new classes this week, continually feeling this loss each time, it was part of the healing process. These students and families loved on me so beautifully and ministered to me and my family. And it would have hurt me much more because of how God made me as a person and a teacher for them to not know why I was gone. 

To see my students and parents shoulder the grief and express it with me was so incredible. God designed us to not carry these weights alone, and it brought me satisfaction and relief to allow their love to cover me and their sadness to join with me.

I had to accept, once again, that there is no way out of this pain but to wade through it and to embrace the beauty in the difficulty.

By Friday, I had seen all of 220 students for the first time and could just focus on moving forward in the music, and that was such a relief. There were moments I felt lighter and could fully engage in teaching, nothing else on my mind but the music, and that was such a lovely reprieve.

This week highlighted this pondering for me- I am so fascinated by the scope and cycle of grief and how God designed us to not live in it every moment. For instance, the concept of shock. Shock is a common grace He gives us to protect our bodies and brains. At times, I have felt unsteady for feeling numb or for not fully letting reality sink in, but I know it is part of God’s design to protect me. 

And then when the shock wears off and the waves of reality come crashing over me, pushing me below the surface, I have learned to swim upward and lay flat on my back, letting the waves carry me until they calm. To cry and let it out, but to also trust and know it won’t last forever.

Monday night, I laid in bed and couldn’t stand up, my nervous system shot and my body weary. Tuesday night, I once again needed to lay down in the quiet, doing deep breathing exercises and listening to gentle piano hymns. Wednesday night, I bawled in JB’s arms. Thursday morning, I felt a little lighter, and by the afternoon I was making silly jokes with my older orchestra class, sharing stories of crazy wedding gigs I have played and laughing with them over who knows what. I went home and finally vacuumed the house. I read with my kids. And while that still felt uncomfortable and off-putting to me to feel normal and have more capacity, I know that that is not only okay, it is good.

I have entertained those mind games like many other moms in this situation- Am I honoring Maggie if I’m not sad all the time? Should I feel guilty thinking about the future of our family while also grieving her? And the answer is no.

Once again, her reality is eternal joy and happiness. Unending provision. She doesn’t have to fight for peace; she doesn’t have to slip away to a quiet cabin for days to feel Jesus’ presence near or desperately pray for a word of God in a season of turmoil. 

And while I grieve not getting to comfort her when she cries from the pain of teething as a baby, when she scrapes a knee as a young child, or when she goes through her first break-up as a teen, I also feel immense joy and thankfulness that she will never need to be comforted from pain or sorrow. She will never cry a single angry, sad, or hurting tear.

She will only ever know rejoicing, contentment, ultimate purpose and provision.

And there is some real comfort in knowing that my group of loved ones is growing in Heaven. While I did not want it or ask for it, my father-in-law and my daughter are together. My relatives and family friends who ran the race well are there. And now I have another person to greet me when it is my time. What hope and excitement.

So I can laugh, cry, vent, and play music, knowing it is all okay.

And I can also walk through my same routines and schedule, knowing things are different and I am changed because of what has happened. And that is a good thing.

A wonderful friend who has known immense grief in her own life sent me such an encouraging text the day before I went back to work. She said:

“I have found as I have walked through some really hard times, that as you come through the most intense grief, things have shifted- in you and in your world. For me, life was never quite the same afterwards, and I had to learn that that was okay. That I didn’t have to try to make everything the same way it was before, and that I needed to give myself space and grace to explore my new ‘normal’. “

What a clarifying word that was for me as I faced going back. I praise God for the rich, deep, Godly people He has placed in my life- and all of this richness and depth is due to their own suffering. We each go through difficulties, pain, loss, diagnoses, discontentment, in this life. And He uses it all to grow us, draw us closer to Him, and to minister to others:

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 reminds of this promise: “...the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

Think of it…This is a tragedy, losing my daughter.

And yet…She is in Heaven. I never need to worry about her again.

And yet…I have felt Jesus’ tangible presence so strongly in all of this.

And yet…I have grown closer to Him and hopefully become a bit more like Him.

And yet…I have grown closer in my marriage and all my relationships.

And yet…I have been blessed by others in their love and care toward us.

And yet…God gives me the desire to write and share my story and His truths with others.

And yet…He gives me the opportunity to witness to my students and my own children who are watching how I approach this.

And yet…He is equipping me to bless and encourage others who may go through something similar someday, just as He has brought ladies into my life these past two months to do the same for me.

All the good from it is pretty staggering when I let myself think about it.

It doesn’t minimize what we have been through, it just gives space for what is true. The duality of loss as a believer points to the hope we have always.

It’s the most oxymoronic, bewildering, bolstering, beautiful thing.

Thank You, Lord.

His Eternal Word- Applicable in Every Situation and Season

God is so cool. I can’t tell you how many times this has happened…

I feel in dire need to hear a word of encouragement, guidance, comfort, etc. from God and am reading my Bible consistently, listening to sermons, and actively looking for Him. All of a sudden, the same verse or passage pops up multiple times in one week, and it’s always from different places- the Verse of the Day on the Bible app, a selected passage in my daily reading plan, a shared Scripture from a friend, a verse image shared on social media, a topic discussed in a sermon. It’s a gentle, loving reminder from God that He is here. He is speaking to me, guiding me, loving me. When I seek Him, I will find Him (Jeremiah 29:13, Matthew 7:7-8).

Well, that happened to me again this week in the form of Psalm 71. This Psalm came to me early on after we lost Maggie, but God renewed my experience of it during this first week back at school. When I read it a few weeks postpartum, I read the passage through the lens of Maggie- who she is, and what her reality is.

Holding her in my hands when I delivered her, I could feel her joy. It’s as if I could feel her soul actively worshipping, dancing, and praising God in that very moment.

I read verses 5-8, knowing these are words Maggie could have said herself when she embraced Jesus in Heaven:

“For You, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O Lord, from my youth. Upon You I have learned from before my birth; You are He who took me from my mother’s womb. My praise is continually of You. I have been as a portent to many, but You are my strong refuge. My mouth is filled with Your praise, and with Your glory all the day.”

I forgot I had read that Psalm. And then it popped up the other evening in my Bible reading. The verses now felt like they were tailor-made for me, this week, this moment. I went to write it down…and lo and behold, in my notes I had written about it a month ago and had completely forgotten.

This same passage that brought me such peace imagining my little girl who has gone on ahead of me has now brought me such relief and comfort. Now it feels like my song as I forge ahead through life without her. 

Verse 3 says, “Be to me a rock of refuge, to which I may continually come; You have given the command to save me, for You are my rock and my fortress.” I think about that phrase, “Continually come”, and that is where I have been this week. Desperately clinging to Him, coming to Him in every moment. I will need to continually come to Him.

A theme that God has brought to my mind this week has been hope. Hope in the future, hope in God.

Loss can drain hope. The darkness of grief can settle so thickly on my heart that I am left with nothing but despair and fear of what is to come. 

But God reminds me over and over that there is hope. Hope in His name. Hope in His righteousness. Hope in a future with Him. Hope in His promises, which He never breaks. It is all over His Word.

Verse 5 of Psalm 71 reminded me of that again this week: “For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O Lord, from my youth.”

I don’t need to muster up the strength to have a temporal, superficial hope. Just like God is love, He is my hope. I can dare to hope because of Him.

I loved my study Bible’s commentary on that verse: “God’s righteousness is His faithfulness to keep His promises, and this is the ground of hope.”

My ground of hope, my foundation of hope, is in His unwavering character, His unending love, His eternal righteousness. Thank You, Lord, for that.

When my current reality feels like misery at times, I can look back to His hand in my life. Verse 6 says:

“Upon you I have leaned from before my birth; you are He took me from my mother's womb. My praise is continually of you.” 

The study Bible commentary says, “These believers learn here to trace God’s work in their lives back to the very beginning of their personal existence, before they were even born. Indeed, they even consider the faith that they articulate now to have begun then, before they could speak it.”

I can’t even grasp His faithfulness to me- that it began before I was even formed or born. The same truths for Maggie apply to me and to you.

Verse 18’s Study Bible note says, “the life of faith is meant to be passed on to one’s descendants.” What a privilege I get to preach of God’s faithfulness to my children here on Earth, as well as to others I speak with.

Verses 22-24’s breakdown in the Study Bible also summed it up so well: …we can have confidence and anticipation of giving testimony in worship. 

Our very lives are worship. Prayer is an act of worship. Singing, playing my cello, serving my family, teaching, grieving…it is all an act of worship. And I can have confidence of His faithfulness and of this hope I have in Him, sharing all He has done and who He is.

Continuously Wrestling with the Questions

I was talking to a dear friend the other day about the places my mind goes when thinking about Maggie dying. Sometimes, I can just sit in the sorrow and mourn her being gone. Other times, though, I go back to the spiraling of the mind, replaying what happened over and over as if I can retroactively fix it. The denial and bargaining of grief.

How could I be so far along and she still died? Was it something I did? Was it the twinge I felt that one time, the spotting I had for two weeks leading up to losing her? The doctor reassures me it’s not any of those things…as does Google. And yet, I want to find the answer.

Radical acceptance, once again. It is sometimes a daily choice to not be consumed by the spiraling and to lay it down.

I was lamenting these things to my friend, wishing my mind could just rest for good, stop trying to find answers and fight the battle to put this down. My friend gently pointed out that we, as humans, are meaning makers. We long to make sense of things- to solve the puzzles, to have the reasons. Yet, there are so many things in life we will not have the answers to. And I continue to tell myself- and joyfully accept from others this same reassurance- this isn’t my fault and I am not to blame.

With acceptance that this wasn’t my fault comes acceptance that this terrible loss happened. With that acceptance also comes freedom- freedom to find peace in the impossible. Freedom to not be consumed by guilt, fear, what if’s, or trying to “solve the mystery” only meant for the Author or Life and Death. Freedom to trust God and His plans above it all.

This quote from Seasons of Sorrow by Tim Challies after losing his son was helpful to me:

“It falls to me, then, not to take blame for what happened, nor to attempt to determine God’s reasons for it, but simply to accept this as his will- his divine will, his secret will, his good will. There is much that God aims to teach me through it, I am sure. But I need to be careful to distinguish the purposes from the results, why God did it from how God will use it.”

Sharing the Load of Grief

Now that this tremendous week is laid to rest, I can think back and be grateful for all the moments of shared mourning I got to be part of. While it is so painful to have all of the memories at the forefront of my mind, I have been able to witness and accept the beauty of what it looks like to let others into my grief. 

While painful at the time, my students’ somber tone was so fitting. Their cards were so meaningful. Hugging and crying with friends and family…it was all so beautiful.

A lot of big “firsts” are out of the way, and I am grateful for that. But I am also grateful for those moments and choose to see the light in them.

I think about when we went back to church for the first time after losing Maggie. It was my first time in a public space where I couldn’t hide because everyone knew what had happened. Our congregation had prayed over us and loved us so well. Walking into the building with tissues stuffed in both pockets, there was a tremendous buildup of emotion that was released through tears all morning. But I felt nothing but relief to be there, with my church family, before God in corporate worship. I knew I could be safe there to cry, to grieve, to praise Him.

And we Christians love to praise God from the mountaintops in life- when our hearts are bursting with joy and overflowing with gratitude.

But to worship through tears? Through agony? To be so heartbroken that I can’t even speak, simply worshipping Him in my heart? That is a different kind of worship- dare I say, even more deep and rich- and I felt His presence and comfort so near.

Psalm 7:17: “I will give to the Lord thanks due to His righteousness, and I will sing praise to the name of the Lord, Most High.”

Psalm 42:5: “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation.”

Hebrews 13:15: “Through Him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to our God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge His name.”

Revelation 21:4: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

I can hold onto the truth that someday, my worship will be filled with nothing but joy for all my days.

The Weekend Before

I sat in the dark hotel room, curled up on the ottoman, staring out the window in tears. My dear husband had stepped out of the room to shower before bed; when he had left the room, I was fine- joyful, even. And yet, a few minutes of silence and some painful reminders hit me like a huge wave. I was wrecked.

He came close and took my hand, listening to me pour out my heart for the hundredth time. Fresh waves of grief about how different I had thought this getaway would have been when we planned it months before came tumbling over me. Fear of the future, grief over the past, and a lack of clarity in the present all plagued me.

I stared through the glass at the dreamy path of snow below that was lit with lanterns, beckoning drivers and dreamers to follow it through the forest and toward the mountains. I stared at the grand peaks, still glowing with snow in the utter darkness. I felt so small looking at them. I felt so loved looking at them, knowing God created them for me to enjoy.

I took in this Narnia Land while my incredible husband spoke words of Truth over me. He prayed for me, he encouraged me, and then he got out his Bible. This has been a pattern our whole marriage, but especially in these past few weeks.

I had asked him questions no one could answer-

Why was this God’s plan?

What would become of our future as a family?

Is my body broken?

I was spiraling and hurting.

JB’s response was to read Job 38, and I can’t tell you the peace and relief I felt hearing God speak to Job with authority when Job came to Him with his grief-driven, pained questions.

-Where was I when He laid the foundation of the earth? (v. 4)

-Have I commanded the morning since my days began, and caused the dawn to know its place? (v. 12)

-Have I entered the storehouses of the snow? (v. 22). Sometimes I feel like I have, living in Alaska, but I haven’t…

-Who provides for the raven its prey, when its young ones cry to God for help, and wander about for lack of food? (v. 41)

I can tell you the answer has nothing to do with my power or knowledge.

And lo and behold, two days later, the next reading in my Bible app reading plan, called Inconceivable Redemption: God’s Presence in Miscarriage & Infertility, wrote of Job 38:

“Think about Job, who continually asks God his questions with raw honesty throughout his grief and loss. When God finally shows up with a reply, it isn’t to explain Himself or provide the reasoning behind the circumstances. It is to declare His sovereignty and character (Job 38-41). He doesn’t give an answer; He is the answer [emphasis added].  

You see, tragedy and triumph go together. When we overcome pain with the love of Christ, when we embrace grief, knowing that God will lead us through the valley of the shadow of death to the other side (Ps. 23:4), there is a promise for those who are faithful. This promise is not that our dreams will come true, as we so often want to believe. It is for God’s will to be done in us and for Him to be glorified.”

In all my spiraling and wondering, I can return to God’s peace and foundational truths. I can accept His Will because I know His character, finding comfort in my questions because my God’s name is I Am (Exodus 3:14).

A quote from Seasons of Sorrow by Tim Challies faces some Job-like questions and answers:

“For something to be good is for it to meet the approval of God, and for something to meet the approval of God is for it to be good. If that’s the case, then who am I to declare evil what God has declared good? Who am I to condemn what God has approved? It falls to me to align my own understanding of good to inform my own. Ultimately it’s to agree that if God did it, it must be good, and if it is good, it must be worthy of approval. To say ‘Thy will be done,’  is to say, ‘Thy goodness be shown.’ It’s to seek out evidence of God’s goodness even in the hardest of his providences. It’s to worship him, even with a broken heart.”

________________

God loves children, and Jesus did not turn the little children away.

Our Bible study group has been reading through the book of Jeremiah, and I am reminded of the agony and anger God felt when seeing His people sacrifice children to other gods, going against His plan and leadership of the people. He disciplined them severely for this (Jeremiah 7:31 and beyond).

He loves Maggie, and He loves me. And He understands my grief well…

Because God lost a child, too. To save me.

Amazing love, how can it be?

Glitter Grief

Tuesday, February 17, 2026: 12:40PM

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.