Another day done
Of a slightly forced smile
As I ponder and shudder
You’ve not been with me for a while.
And right by the chair
As I sweep up the floor,
I see the glitter dot
That had brought joy before –
A day when your siblings discovered,
“It’s a baby girl!”-
Your brother bemoaning
Not having a boy on whom to score.
But no soccer balls are being kicked from him to his little sister
Because you are gone,
And so’s all that glitter.
Except for this one piece that tortures me so.
Do I throw it away, or keep it right there?
If I leave it by the lamp, can I pretend the despair
From that day that we heard
The words we never imagined
Was all just a bad dream
That didn’t actually happen? –
To hear once again after so many tears
And faithful leaps, just to confirm all my fears
That this may be all I will ever know
Of carrying a child and watching them grow
Only to hear, “I’m so sorry” and “I don’t know
why this keeps happening to these precious ones who show
No signs of issues or any true reason
That would take them from you so far along in such a short season.”
The darkness of death
And the loss of my girls
Has tortured my heart, my body my soul
And so does this glitter pierce at my heart
Any more than the daily reminder that we’re so far apart?
Do I hoard it and keep it, torment myself so?
Or toss it away so my grieving heart knows
It won’t have to face it
Each time that I clean,
Dusting off the corners of my home- that which is tangible and that which is unseen?
No matter the choice, I still cannot bear
The thought of another piece of you farther away, not there–
Just like my dreams, my hopes, and my prayers
Of raising you and holding you each and every day.
I miss you, Lucy girl,
And all of the smiles
That I won’t ever see
Until I walk that aisle
From this life to Heaven
Oh, how I can’t wait
To hold all my children
And never again feel the weight
Of death inside of me
That leaves empty, aching arms.
Clinging to Jesus,
I know He’s not far
From me and from you, and your big sister, too
Mommy so deeply loves and misses you.
Monday, September 21, 2026
Unfiltered Thoughts of Mourning
Monday, August 03, 2026, 5:05PM
A week ago, I was on a trip of a lifetime in a sunny place far away from all the reminders and stress. It was glorious. And then the plane landed and reality came flooding in.
I landed home and once again sat in a waiting room.
…
Waiting for the next ultrasound. Waiting to miscarry. Waiting for the test results. Waiting for the consultation. Waiting to try. Waiting for the pain to lessen like people say it will. Waiting.
That has felt like my life the past six months.
I am weary. And if I’m honest, I can feel like the waiting is a heavy weight meant to crush me.
Good News? Or Not? I enter the office door, telling my brain to not go there; don’t think about what happened just two months ago in the ultrasound room next door. Today is a new day. And yet it didn’t feel so far away, as we were sitting down to talk through my test results from my end-of-first-trimester miscarriage. Suddenly, I was transported right back to all the anguish of losing Maggie after 16 weeks. To be here again with no answers- nearly perfect labs and teary eyes- is shocking.
And yet, there I was. When just a month ago, my OB sat across from me convinced there was a clotting disorder that caused these losses, now the results prove against that hypothesis. I don’t want something so serious, but I don’t want this either- the unexplained. All the evidence of something being broken, and yet nothing to diagnose or fix.
Make it Make Sense “Make it make sense” has been a sarcastic phrase used online to point out the ridiculousness of someone’s statement.
But it also has been the cry of my heart when I feel lost and hurting, wondering why us, why our babies…why does this happen at all.
I turned to my dear husband the other night and asked him the question I have uttered so many times these past months, “Why? Why did this happen? I just wish there was an explanation”.
And his answer this time was profound. He said, “I’m not sure I want it to make sense. Because the death of a child shouldn’t make sense.”
He went on to insightfully point out that many tragedies in the world can feel “explained away”- Oh, that earthquake that killed hundreds of people happened because the land is on top of so many fault lines. Oh, that tsunami happened because of the storm system at sea.
We seem to dole out scientific, logical, or spiritual explanations for why things happen. Because the truth is, when we truly step back and think of the death and destruction that natural events, shootings, illness, and otherwise cause, it is too much for our human hearts to handle.
But when you lose a loved one, when cancer overtakes your body, when you hear those haunting words, “There’s no heartbeat,” you realize this isn’t right. And it can’t be explained or rationalized. There is no sense to make of it because it wasn’t God’s desire for this world- the suffering, the chaos, the tragedy.
So as I ponder the why and feel like the ache inside of me will weigh me down to the greatest depths of the earth, I can look up and be reminded that these questions and this pain has a resolution. That it’s okay to find no logical answers to the death of a child.
Paradoxes I look outside, and the sun hurts me. Surely it shouldn’t be this nice when I feel so very broken.
This week came like a bulldozer, shoveling dirt over me until I could barely see which way was up.
I wish I could celebrate the miracles with no inhibitions. I wish joy didn't bring pain.
I didn’t know before January that a human being could experience so much pain and still survive.
I am bewildered. In those moments of grief, I feel lost and desperate, terrified this will last forever. I feel the pain welling up through my chest, threatening me with its tight clutches. And all I can do is let it wash over me and try to walk through it.
I hate feeling so out of control. I can’t remember things. Who did I say that to last? Why can’t I remember my middle name? What’s wrong with me?
And then I remember.
What’s wrong with me? Where did things go wrong? Why is this so hard for so many of us?
The Difference Between Two Losses and One
I felt different after losing Lucy. It has felt like an extra rock tied to my sorrowful soul as I try to swim to the surface. So much grief and sadness over my two girls.
And then there is an equally deep pain: This may be it. I may be at the end of the road.
Maybe we are not meant to have more.
After my heart opening up to having more children years ago and waiting for God’s timing, I cannot always fathom this.
And oh, the mind games. I struggle to not view myself as a medical spectacle instead of a living, breathing mother and host of grief.
I desperately want to find “the problem”. Because surely there is one.
Something else that is so hard? There is no comfort in stats. I defied statistics with both of these losses- less than 1% chance each time. I can’t scour Facebook groups or join support groups to see if other women had a successful pregnancy after 2 miscarriages. Even if I found hopeful successful stories, it doesn’t matter because they are not mine.
Lord, set me straight and hold me close.
Wednesday, July 1, 2026
Spiritual Pitfalls and The God of all Comfort
Wednesday, July 01, 2026: 7:09AM
Babies, The Sanctity of Life, and Purpose
I have never questioned the fact that human life begins at conception, but that truth has only strengthened as I mourn Maggie and Lucy.
But these losses have caused me to reach up and ask God,
For what purpose? Why have us conceive twice, only for them to die before they even lived on this Earth?
I don’t know the answers, and they plague me at times. But what I do know is that these girls have purpose. In fact, every human has eternal purpose. Every child- unborn babies included- has a soul. They have value and meaning. My girls are not just fetuses, tissue, or “losses”. Every child is to be celebrated and regarded as the incredibly unique, beautiful gift God has made them to be.
We only have two living children, but ultimately I am a mother of four. Even when I don’t share that with everyone I meet, I have that tucked away in my heart in a special, sad place. As a friend from church encouraged me- I carry my babies in my heart forever, as they grew beneath my heart for even a short time.
Facing the Spiritual Pitfalls
Lucy’s death, so shortly after Maggie’s death, shook me. It felt like a part of me broke the moment that ultrasound once again showed that my body was no longer a safe, warm place for life but a tomb.
I grieved and mourned. I felt numb and barely existing. And after I endured the agony of saying goodbye to another daughter, I went to battle, asking Jesus to show me Himself in this torture.
This time, I felt a strong need to understand how God truly felt about miscarriage, about death. The world has its own thoughts, but I only need to know His.
If everything passes through Your hands and You know the number of days in our lives (Psalm 139:16, Job 14:5), is this good?
Should I praise You for this, God? Flex some spiritual strength I am completely bereft of right now?
God has been patient, revealing once again His character, His love. And I have felt Him weep with me.
So, onto some pitfalls I have encountered- either from within or from others. I am, by no means, any sort of theologian, but these are the topics JB and I have discussed and wrestled in God’s Word about in this time.
Pitfall #1: If I am so in love with God, I don’t need to be so sad.
Brittany Lee Allen writes of a concept she coins, “Emotional Prosperity” in her book, Lost Gifts:
…there’s a sneakier prosperity teaching [than the Prosperity
Gospel] creeping into many Churches. Here’s what it says: if we
truly love Jesus more than anything, we won’t be phased by woes
of the world. We will be so joyful in Christ that heartbreak over
things like babies dying in the womb won’t deeply grieve us.
Basically, prosperity teaching [which is not Biblical, yet so
popular]– but make it emotional. (pg. 43) [brackets are my
words]
She goes on to write that there are some people in the church who would imply that if we love God enough, we wouldn’t be this sad about our babies dying…or really insert any tragedy, loss, or suffering there.
There are several key passages in the Bible that speak of enduring suffering well (1 Peter 4:12-16, James 1:2-4, Romans 5:3-5, to name a few) with the knowledge of the fruits it brings in our lives, knowing He brings good out of it all, and the closeness it brings to Christ through our further sanctification (i.e. becoming more like Him).
But Brittany Lee Allen puts it so well a few pages later:
God isn’t only concerned with our growth in holiness, but also
that we would experience his love, comfort, and faithfulness
toward us. This is all part of growing in Christlikeness. When a
couple loses their pre-born baby, God is just as concerned
about washing over them with his comfort as he is about
washing them with his word. (pg. 49)
Pitfall #2: I should look for the silver linings in these losses- let them make me “stronger” and “better”. Keep it positive to be a better witness to those who don’t know Jesus.
Selah’s song, “I Will Carry You”, captures my current state:
People say that I am brave but I'm not.
Truth is I'm barely hanging on.
I’ve had people say I’m so strong in this, but the truth is, I don’t really have a choice. I did not choose this or expect this; it was thrust upon me like a dark monster threatening to take my very soul.
If waking up to another day and getting out of bed is strong, sure.
I have no desire to seek self-glorification in this process because He is holding me up every moment. Truth is, I barely feel here sometimes. Without Jesus, I truly, truly don’t know where I would be, but it would be an incredibly dark place. Truly.
And, while many people have seen me smile or cherish my kids, even in this heartbreaking time, God and a few close ones have seen me weep and question and hurt repeatedly.
Our witnesses as believers are not at all tarnished by being human- being vulnerable about our pain and struggle- even when we are doubting or feeling far from God.
I want my friends, my readers, my kids to see a human being who does not have it all figured out, who struggles and weeps at not understanding, but keeps coming back to this One Belief that I can’t stop talking about to the point that it’s annoying. And why? Why would I keep coming back to God, especially after all this pain?
Because I have zero doubts of His goodness or His love for me because of what He did on the cross. And I know He actually did it- more on that later.
So how could I doubt that He is good, even when what I am going through makes me want to think otherwise?
Pitfall #3: God must be pruning you. He’s teaching you something in this.
Yes, God is growing me and stretching me. Suffering and hardship are such a significant part of How he does that, and it’s beautiful and hard to comprehend. But He did not cause this to teach me a lesson. How do I know this? Because He has no evil or darkness in Him (1 John 1:5), and death is evil.
Brittany Lee Allen words it well:
God did not take our babies to teach us a lesson. God is
sovereign. He is not the author of evil, suffering, and death…
Often, we are encouraged to look for the good in our loss…But
we don’t always have to see the goodness of God in the midst of
it. And that’s okay. The truth that our suffering isn’t wasted is
encouraging. But we need not strain our eyes to search for the
why of our miscarriage. We can simply rest in the grace of our
Lord, the Good Shepherd, knowing we are carried. We are held,
even in our unbelief. (pg. 50)
So, Where are You in This, God?
Do You hate death?
Am I supposed to deem this as “good”?
Why did You open our hearts to having more children and pave the way for us in every way- jobs, schedules, our home- only for us to lose these two babies?
I don’t have the answers for why we didn’t get to raise our Maggie and Lucy in our loving family.
And I don’t need to defend God’s ways or His timing- nor do I demand answers. He is a loving Father with only good in Him- no darkness. And I know that to be true in every part of my being.
But I have continued to be refreshed in Scripture with answers to many of these questions, and I cling to them:
Yes, God hates death. He does not declare death to be a “good thing” in our lives, and it wasn’t part of His original design for our world. It was brought about after Adam and Eve committed the original sin, which was rooted in pride and a desire to be greater than God.
1 Corinthians 15:24-27 says that death is God’s last enemy- that He tasted death so that He could conquer it, once and for all, for us. Because He loves us:
“Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. For he ‘has put everything under his feet.’”
Psalm 5:4 says, “For You are not a God who delights in wickedness; evil may not dwell with you.”
Yes, God hates death. He hates it so much that He sent His Son to die to conquer it- to not let it be the end for those who believe.
He loves us that much that He would endure a terrible death so that death is not the final word.
Here is an example from Jesus’ time on earth.
While the stories of Joseph and Job were a comfort to me after Maggie, the story of Lazarus has been such a comfort to me after Lucy.
In John 11:35, Jesus wept after his friend, Lazarus, died- even though he knew he would raise him from the dead soon after.
But you know what? These were angry tears. Righteous anger over the death of his friend and the pain it caused his dear sisters, Jesus’ friends. He hated death and the agony it brought with it.
Looking back at verse 33 of John gives us a clearer picture, as it says that Jesus was "deeply moved in spirit and troubled". The original Greek word used there was embrimaomai, which, based on a modern day pastor’s writing, is a term often used to describe a horse snorting in battle preparation or a deep, boiling indignation and rage.
Romans 5:12 explains the origin of death on Earth:
“Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned…”
And once again, I don’t need to slap some blanket statement on this that because God is with me as my Comforter and Redeemer, all that happens in my life is unequivocally good.
Many of us have tried to comfort others with these kinds of generalized platitudes because it makes us uncomfortable to help shoulder the heavy weight of pain, loss, and suffering when we or loved ones are going through hard things we don’t understand or wish for.
God hates death. He hates miscarriage. This is a broken, terrible thing, and He does not require us to sugarcoat it, trivialize it, or minimize it. And just because God allowed/ordained/whatever He did (because I am only human and can never fully understand) does not mean that my girls’ deaths are good or that He thinks they are either. He makes good out of the awful. He brings forth beauty from the ashes (Isaiah 61:3).
Brittany Lee Allen asks similar questions on page 48 of her Lost Gifts:
“Does God expect me to thank him for my circumstances? Does he demand I have gratitude for the loss of my child?”
If we reflect on 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, the verse says to give thanks “in all
Babies, The Sanctity of Life, and Purpose
I have never questioned the fact that human life begins at conception, but that truth has only strengthened as I mourn Maggie and Lucy.
But these losses have caused me to reach up and ask God,
For what purpose? Why have us conceive twice, only for them to die before they even lived on this Earth?
I don’t know the answers, and they plague me at times. But what I do know is that these girls have purpose. In fact, every human has eternal purpose. Every child- unborn babies included- has a soul. They have value and meaning. My girls are not just fetuses, tissue, or “losses”. Every child is to be celebrated and regarded as the incredibly unique, beautiful gift God has made them to be.
We only have two living children, but ultimately I am a mother of four. Even when I don’t share that with everyone I meet, I have that tucked away in my heart in a special, sad place. As a friend from church encouraged me- I carry my babies in my heart forever, as they grew beneath my heart for even a short time.
Facing the Spiritual Pitfalls
Lucy’s death, so shortly after Maggie’s death, shook me. It felt like a part of me broke the moment that ultrasound once again showed that my body was no longer a safe, warm place for life but a tomb.
I grieved and mourned. I felt numb and barely existing. And after I endured the agony of saying goodbye to another daughter, I went to battle, asking Jesus to show me Himself in this torture.
This time, I felt a strong need to understand how God truly felt about miscarriage, about death. The world has its own thoughts, but I only need to know His.
If everything passes through Your hands and You know the number of days in our lives (Psalm 139:16, Job 14:5), is this good?
Should I praise You for this, God? Flex some spiritual strength I am completely bereft of right now?
God has been patient, revealing once again His character, His love. And I have felt Him weep with me.
So, onto some pitfalls I have encountered- either from within or from others. I am, by no means, any sort of theologian, but these are the topics JB and I have discussed and wrestled in God’s Word about in this time.
Pitfall #1: If I am so in love with God, I don’t need to be so sad.
Brittany Lee Allen writes of a concept she coins, “Emotional Prosperity” in her book, Lost Gifts:
…there’s a sneakier prosperity teaching [than the Prosperity
Gospel] creeping into many Churches. Here’s what it says: if we
truly love Jesus more than anything, we won’t be phased by woes
of the world. We will be so joyful in Christ that heartbreak over
things like babies dying in the womb won’t deeply grieve us.
Basically, prosperity teaching [which is not Biblical, yet so
popular]– but make it emotional. (pg. 43) [brackets are my
words]
She goes on to write that there are some people in the church who would imply that if we love God enough, we wouldn’t be this sad about our babies dying…or really insert any tragedy, loss, or suffering there.
There are several key passages in the Bible that speak of enduring suffering well (1 Peter 4:12-16, James 1:2-4, Romans 5:3-5, to name a few) with the knowledge of the fruits it brings in our lives, knowing He brings good out of it all, and the closeness it brings to Christ through our further sanctification (i.e. becoming more like Him).
But Brittany Lee Allen puts it so well a few pages later:
God isn’t only concerned with our growth in holiness, but also
that we would experience his love, comfort, and faithfulness
toward us. This is all part of growing in Christlikeness. When a
couple loses their pre-born baby, God is just as concerned
about washing over them with his comfort as he is about
washing them with his word. (pg. 49)
Pitfall #2: I should look for the silver linings in these losses- let them make me “stronger” and “better”. Keep it positive to be a better witness to those who don’t know Jesus.
Selah’s song, “I Will Carry You”, captures my current state:
People say that I am brave but I'm not.
Truth is I'm barely hanging on.
I’ve had people say I’m so strong in this, but the truth is, I don’t really have a choice. I did not choose this or expect this; it was thrust upon me like a dark monster threatening to take my very soul.
If waking up to another day and getting out of bed is strong, sure.
I have no desire to seek self-glorification in this process because He is holding me up every moment. Truth is, I barely feel here sometimes. Without Jesus, I truly, truly don’t know where I would be, but it would be an incredibly dark place. Truly.
And, while many people have seen me smile or cherish my kids, even in this heartbreaking time, God and a few close ones have seen me weep and question and hurt repeatedly.
Our witnesses as believers are not at all tarnished by being human- being vulnerable about our pain and struggle- even when we are doubting or feeling far from God.
I want my friends, my readers, my kids to see a human being who does not have it all figured out, who struggles and weeps at not understanding, but keeps coming back to this One Belief that I can’t stop talking about to the point that it’s annoying. And why? Why would I keep coming back to God, especially after all this pain?
Because I have zero doubts of His goodness or His love for me because of what He did on the cross. And I know He actually did it- more on that later.
So how could I doubt that He is good, even when what I am going through makes me want to think otherwise?
Pitfall #3: God must be pruning you. He’s teaching you something in this.
Yes, God is growing me and stretching me. Suffering and hardship are such a significant part of How he does that, and it’s beautiful and hard to comprehend. But He did not cause this to teach me a lesson. How do I know this? Because He has no evil or darkness in Him (1 John 1:5), and death is evil.
Brittany Lee Allen words it well:
God did not take our babies to teach us a lesson. God is
sovereign. He is not the author of evil, suffering, and death…
Often, we are encouraged to look for the good in our loss…But
we don’t always have to see the goodness of God in the midst of
it. And that’s okay. The truth that our suffering isn’t wasted is
encouraging. But we need not strain our eyes to search for the
why of our miscarriage. We can simply rest in the grace of our
Lord, the Good Shepherd, knowing we are carried. We are held,
even in our unbelief. (pg. 50)
So, Where are You in This, God?
Do You hate death?
Am I supposed to deem this as “good”?
Why did You open our hearts to having more children and pave the way for us in every way- jobs, schedules, our home- only for us to lose these two babies?
I don’t have the answers for why we didn’t get to raise our Maggie and Lucy in our loving family.
And I don’t need to defend God’s ways or His timing- nor do I demand answers. He is a loving Father with only good in Him- no darkness. And I know that to be true in every part of my being.
But I have continued to be refreshed in Scripture with answers to many of these questions, and I cling to them:
Yes, God hates death. He does not declare death to be a “good thing” in our lives, and it wasn’t part of His original design for our world. It was brought about after Adam and Eve committed the original sin, which was rooted in pride and a desire to be greater than God.
1 Corinthians 15:24-27 says that death is God’s last enemy- that He tasted death so that He could conquer it, once and for all, for us. Because He loves us:
“Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. For he ‘has put everything under his feet.’”
Psalm 5:4 says, “For You are not a God who delights in wickedness; evil may not dwell with you.”
Yes, God hates death. He hates it so much that He sent His Son to die to conquer it- to not let it be the end for those who believe.
He loves us that much that He would endure a terrible death so that death is not the final word.
Here is an example from Jesus’ time on earth.
While the stories of Joseph and Job were a comfort to me after Maggie, the story of Lazarus has been such a comfort to me after Lucy.
In John 11:35, Jesus wept after his friend, Lazarus, died- even though he knew he would raise him from the dead soon after.
But you know what? These were angry tears. Righteous anger over the death of his friend and the pain it caused his dear sisters, Jesus’ friends. He hated death and the agony it brought with it.
Looking back at verse 33 of John gives us a clearer picture, as it says that Jesus was "deeply moved in spirit and troubled". The original Greek word used there was embrimaomai, which, based on a modern day pastor’s writing, is a term often used to describe a horse snorting in battle preparation or a deep, boiling indignation and rage.
Romans 5:12 explains the origin of death on Earth:
“Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned…”
And once again, I don’t need to slap some blanket statement on this that because God is with me as my Comforter and Redeemer, all that happens in my life is unequivocally good.
Many of us have tried to comfort others with these kinds of generalized platitudes because it makes us uncomfortable to help shoulder the heavy weight of pain, loss, and suffering when we or loved ones are going through hard things we don’t understand or wish for.
God hates death. He hates miscarriage. This is a broken, terrible thing, and He does not require us to sugarcoat it, trivialize it, or minimize it. And just because God allowed/ordained/whatever He did (because I am only human and can never fully understand) does not mean that my girls’ deaths are good or that He thinks they are either. He makes good out of the awful. He brings forth beauty from the ashes (Isaiah 61:3).
Brittany Lee Allen asks similar questions on page 48 of her Lost Gifts:
“Does God expect me to thank him for my circumstances? Does he demand I have gratitude for the loss of my child?”
If we reflect on 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, the verse says to give thanks “in all
circumstances,” not for all circumstances…This means we can be grateful for what God is doing in our suffering– how he’s sustaining our faith, comforting us in our grief, growing
us in Christlikeness, and providing for our needs, but we are not required to be thankful that
our baby is gone. It may feel radical to thank God for the very source of our suffering, but it isn’t necessarily biblical.” (pg. 48)
JB has encouraged me with this thought process over the months:
Instead of asking, “What lesson is God trying to teach me through this?”, as if I am the main character of this story, I can ask, “God, how can I glorify You through this?". It’s not performance-based. It is focused on honor, praise, and glorifying Him- putting Him at the forefront of my mind and soul.
How Can I Encourage the Griever?
This post explains some words to refrain from sharing with someone who is grieving or hurting- well, then, what should you say and do? I will share from my experience, as well as what I have heard and read from others:
1. Keep it simple. You may be a Biblical scholar or pastor, or you may know nothing of this faith your friend or family member believes in. All you have to say are:
There are no words.
I am so sorry.
I am heartbroken for you.
I am grieving with you.
I love you.
I am praying for you.
No need to relate. And no need to feel shy about bringing up their precious baby; there can be a fear that saying their baby’s name will cause more pain, but it is quite the opposite. Just sit in the grief with them and recognize the child they lost.
2. Feeling nervous to even say those things, but your friend invites you into their home? I have had gracious, wonderful friends admit to me they don’t know what to say because they have not personally experienced miscarriage and don’t want to say something hurtful by accident.
First of all, just sharing that with me brings me comfort and makes me feel loved because I see their heart.
But if that person is physically with me, what is often better than words is a hug.
Bring the box of tissues close and just hold them. Hold their hand and let them cry. If they sit there numb, dried out from all the tears, just be with them. It is better to say nothing than to try to fill the silence with platitudes, small talk, or nonsense. While it may feel awkward, my very soul is in such depths at moments and the quiet is a balm. Your presence is a gift to your loved one; nothing else is required.
If you are really feeling like you need to say something, you can always ask a simple question like, “Is there anything that would be helpful for you to share with me today? I am here for you and love you. If you need silence, I can do that. Or if you would like to talk, I am here to bear your grief with you.”
3. Ask them if you can pray over them if you feel comfortable.
What has been the greatest comfort to me is not for people to pray for peace for me or even understanding. I need prayers for comfort, to feel His presence near, and to feel held in His hands. Peace and (maybe) understanding of some of the “whys” may happen, but not initially, and that’s okay.
4. Offer acts of service. I have had friends and family alike come and watch my kids so I can sleep. I have had friends sign up to clean my home, to drop off meals, to take my kids to their home so they can have a fun playdate.
5. Give them space if they ask for it. My family and friends have been so sensitive to my needs, which have been different after losing Lucy. This time, I haven’t wanted to be around people nearly as much. The greatest comfort I have found is being alone in my backyard, reading my Bible and listening to the birds. Or being with JB and the kids.
Text your loved one and ask how you can love them or support them best, and take no offense if they just need prayer from afar. My loved ones have done that so well with graciousness and gentleness, and that has been a true act of love.
6. Can’t be there in person? Send texts every few days. Just a short, “Thinking of you”, “Praying for you”, “Love you, dear friend” can be a light in a dark time.
Send your loved one a hand-written note- just a short one- sharing your love and care for them and their precious baby. Send them a piece of jewelry with their baby’s name. A hand-knit little blanket. A candle they can light every time they want to think about their child. Or keep it practical and send a DoorDash gift card to help with meals. Offer to drop off some groceries or send their favorite snacks via Instacart.
Show the comfort He readily give us.
The God of All Comfort
To drive the truth home about God’s unending love for us and His incredible comfort, I want to share the verses my dear twin shared with me from Lamentations 3 the morning of my D&C with Lucy. The Message version really captures His heart here:
“I’m the man who has seen trouble..He took me by the hand and
walked me into pitch-black darkness…I gave up on life
altogether. I’ve forgotten what the good life is like. I said to
myself, ‘This is it. I’m finished. God is a lost cause.’
I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of
ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed. I remember it all–oh, how
well I remember–and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t
have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great
is your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and
over). He’s all I’ve got left. God proves to be good to the man
who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It’s
a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God.
It’s a good thing when you’re young to stick it out through the
hard times.
When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter
the silence. Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions: Wait for hope to
appear. Don’t run from trouble. Take it full-face. The “worst” is
never the worst. Why? Because the Master won’t ever walk out
and fail to return.”
JB has encouraged me with this thought process over the months:
Instead of asking, “What lesson is God trying to teach me through this?”, as if I am the main character of this story, I can ask, “God, how can I glorify You through this?". It’s not performance-based. It is focused on honor, praise, and glorifying Him- putting Him at the forefront of my mind and soul.
How Can I Encourage the Griever?
This post explains some words to refrain from sharing with someone who is grieving or hurting- well, then, what should you say and do? I will share from my experience, as well as what I have heard and read from others:
1. Keep it simple. You may be a Biblical scholar or pastor, or you may know nothing of this faith your friend or family member believes in. All you have to say are:
There are no words.
I am so sorry.
I am heartbroken for you.
I am grieving with you.
I love you.
I am praying for you.
No need to relate. And no need to feel shy about bringing up their precious baby; there can be a fear that saying their baby’s name will cause more pain, but it is quite the opposite. Just sit in the grief with them and recognize the child they lost.
2. Feeling nervous to even say those things, but your friend invites you into their home? I have had gracious, wonderful friends admit to me they don’t know what to say because they have not personally experienced miscarriage and don’t want to say something hurtful by accident.
First of all, just sharing that with me brings me comfort and makes me feel loved because I see their heart.
But if that person is physically with me, what is often better than words is a hug.
Bring the box of tissues close and just hold them. Hold their hand and let them cry. If they sit there numb, dried out from all the tears, just be with them. It is better to say nothing than to try to fill the silence with platitudes, small talk, or nonsense. While it may feel awkward, my very soul is in such depths at moments and the quiet is a balm. Your presence is a gift to your loved one; nothing else is required.
If you are really feeling like you need to say something, you can always ask a simple question like, “Is there anything that would be helpful for you to share with me today? I am here for you and love you. If you need silence, I can do that. Or if you would like to talk, I am here to bear your grief with you.”
3. Ask them if you can pray over them if you feel comfortable.
What has been the greatest comfort to me is not for people to pray for peace for me or even understanding. I need prayers for comfort, to feel His presence near, and to feel held in His hands. Peace and (maybe) understanding of some of the “whys” may happen, but not initially, and that’s okay.
4. Offer acts of service. I have had friends and family alike come and watch my kids so I can sleep. I have had friends sign up to clean my home, to drop off meals, to take my kids to their home so they can have a fun playdate.
5. Give them space if they ask for it. My family and friends have been so sensitive to my needs, which have been different after losing Lucy. This time, I haven’t wanted to be around people nearly as much. The greatest comfort I have found is being alone in my backyard, reading my Bible and listening to the birds. Or being with JB and the kids.
Text your loved one and ask how you can love them or support them best, and take no offense if they just need prayer from afar. My loved ones have done that so well with graciousness and gentleness, and that has been a true act of love.
6. Can’t be there in person? Send texts every few days. Just a short, “Thinking of you”, “Praying for you”, “Love you, dear friend” can be a light in a dark time.
Send your loved one a hand-written note- just a short one- sharing your love and care for them and their precious baby. Send them a piece of jewelry with their baby’s name. A hand-knit little blanket. A candle they can light every time they want to think about their child. Or keep it practical and send a DoorDash gift card to help with meals. Offer to drop off some groceries or send their favorite snacks via Instacart.
Show the comfort He readily give us.
The God of All Comfort
To drive the truth home about God’s unending love for us and His incredible comfort, I want to share the verses my dear twin shared with me from Lamentations 3 the morning of my D&C with Lucy. The Message version really captures His heart here:
“I’m the man who has seen trouble..He took me by the hand and
walked me into pitch-black darkness…I gave up on life
altogether. I’ve forgotten what the good life is like. I said to
myself, ‘This is it. I’m finished. God is a lost cause.’
I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of
ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed. I remember it all–oh, how
well I remember–and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t
have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great
is your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and
over). He’s all I’ve got left. God proves to be good to the man
who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It’s
a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God.
It’s a good thing when you’re young to stick it out through the
hard times.
When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter
the silence. Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions: Wait for hope to
appear. Don’t run from trouble. Take it full-face. The “worst” is
never the worst. Why? Because the Master won’t ever walk out
and fail to return.”
Saturday, June 27, 2026
To My Maggie: On Your Due Date
Saturday, June 27, 2026: 9:01AM
My dear Margaret,
Today is your due date. My arms ache.
My heart is torn apart thinking about how badly I wish things were different.
But it is only for my sake.
I had a dream about you while I was pregnant; now I know it was a glimpse into your heavenly future. You were running in a field, laughing and full of life. God brought that dream to my mind right after you were born, and I was washed over with an overwhelming feeling of love and grief knowing I had been given a glimpse of you in your eternal glory.
I miss your delicate fingers, your lovely lips. Your sleeping eyes looked like your big sister’s, and that was such a comfort to me.
I wonder what kind of temperament you would have had as a baby. I close my eyes and imagine your big brother and sister fawning over you as I remind them to give you space when you’re overstimulated and fussing. I imagine your warm body folded into mine, our hearts beating together in harmony. It comforts me as I think about spreading your ashes today.
I wish I could be holding you in the rocking chair I snuggled with your brother in. I wish I could be putting those big bow headbands on your head while you’re little enough that you don’t notice them and rip them off in protest as your older sister did.
We had a floral nursery planned out- one that would have been lovely and gentle, peaceful peach colorings and wildflower gardens surrounding you as you slept. And yet I wonder if you’re dancing in fields of flowers now?
Mommy misses you every minute.
I love you, sweet Maggie.
A hymn from Isaac Watts, based on 1 Corinthians 15:55-57:
O for an overcoming faith,
To cheer my dying hours,
To triumph o’er the monster, Death,
And all his frightful powers.
Joyful with all the strength I have
My quivering lips should sing,
“Where is thy boasted victory, Grave?
And where’s the monster’s sting?”
If sin be pardoned, I’m secure;
Death has no sting beside;
The law gives sin its damning power,
But Christ, my ransom, died.
Now to the God of victory
Immortal thanks be paid,
Who makes us conquerors, though we die,
Through Christ our living Head.
Margaret means “pearl” and “child of light”. In the Bible, pearls represent purity, the kingdom of Heaven, discernment, and inner beauty.
Oh, my Maggie, you brought so much light to our lives. From the moment we saw the positive pregnancy test to our last kiss goodbye, you brought a beauty that will stay with me and your Daddy forever.
You are precious to us. We love you.
Revelation 21: 3-7:
And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s
dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with
them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them
and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There
will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old
order of things has passed away.”
He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything
new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are
trustworthy and true.”
He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the
Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without
cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are
victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they
will be my children.
Emma and Ethan would have been wonderful siblings to have on this Earth. They grieve you, too. What a glorious eternity we will spend in Heaven together. We all love you, sweet girl.
My dear Margaret,
Today is your due date. My arms ache.
My heart is torn apart thinking about how badly I wish things were different.
But it is only for my sake.
I had a dream about you while I was pregnant; now I know it was a glimpse into your heavenly future. You were running in a field, laughing and full of life. God brought that dream to my mind right after you were born, and I was washed over with an overwhelming feeling of love and grief knowing I had been given a glimpse of you in your eternal glory.
I miss your delicate fingers, your lovely lips. Your sleeping eyes looked like your big sister’s, and that was such a comfort to me.
I wonder what kind of temperament you would have had as a baby. I close my eyes and imagine your big brother and sister fawning over you as I remind them to give you space when you’re overstimulated and fussing. I imagine your warm body folded into mine, our hearts beating together in harmony. It comforts me as I think about spreading your ashes today.
I wish I could be holding you in the rocking chair I snuggled with your brother in. I wish I could be putting those big bow headbands on your head while you’re little enough that you don’t notice them and rip them off in protest as your older sister did.
We had a floral nursery planned out- one that would have been lovely and gentle, peaceful peach colorings and wildflower gardens surrounding you as you slept. And yet I wonder if you’re dancing in fields of flowers now?
Mommy misses you every minute.
I love you, sweet Maggie.
A hymn from Isaac Watts, based on 1 Corinthians 15:55-57:
O for an overcoming faith,
To cheer my dying hours,
To triumph o’er the monster, Death,
And all his frightful powers.
Joyful with all the strength I have
My quivering lips should sing,
“Where is thy boasted victory, Grave?
And where’s the monster’s sting?”
If sin be pardoned, I’m secure;
Death has no sting beside;
The law gives sin its damning power,
But Christ, my ransom, died.
Now to the God of victory
Immortal thanks be paid,
Who makes us conquerors, though we die,
Through Christ our living Head.
Margaret means “pearl” and “child of light”. In the Bible, pearls represent purity, the kingdom of Heaven, discernment, and inner beauty.
Oh, my Maggie, you brought so much light to our lives. From the moment we saw the positive pregnancy test to our last kiss goodbye, you brought a beauty that will stay with me and your Daddy forever.
You are precious to us. We love you.
Revelation 21: 3-7:
And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s
dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with
them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them
and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There
will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old
order of things has passed away.”
He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything
new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are
trustworthy and true.”
He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the
Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without
cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are
victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they
will be my children.
Emma and Ethan would have been wonderful siblings to have on this Earth. They grieve you, too. What a glorious eternity we will spend in Heaven together. We all love you, sweet girl.
From Volume II of Every Moment Holy:
O Christ, be merciful, for we are frail.
And in our frailty we have suffered such loss.
Indeed, this future hope will not end
the pain we feel today. It does not negate
the emptiness of the womb where new life
stirred. It does not fill the empty cradle.
But it does declare that the empty cradle
and the empty womb will not have power
to grieve us forever, for one day our eternal
joys will flow backward in time, even to this
broken place. And then those joys will fill every
emptiness and every heartbreak the children
of God have ever endured.
Now, O Lord,
we remember your past faithfulness.
We receive your present comforts.
We await your future redemptions.
For yours, O Father,
is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glorious redemption
of all our losses.
Even of this one.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 24, 2026
Lessons from Therapy, In Faith
Wednesday, June 10, 2026: 9:40AM
Linking Objects and Searching and Yearning
I am so grateful to have my counselor as I walk through this path of loss after loss. I met with her a couple days after my D&C and expressed what has felt like an uncontrollable longing at times to hold my girls. To remember them. I told her how I set my mind to researching and buying objects that would help me think of them and honor them, feeling like I was going crazy as I customized and pondered. She told me this is a very normal, healthy part of grief. When we lose someone we love, we search and yearn for them. It is natural and beautiful, and it’s okay to lean into that. And one way we remember them and feel close to them as we yearn for them is to establish linking objects- objects and items that allow us to feel close to them, that encourage us to pause and remember them.
One linking object that has been so beautiful for me is our new windchimes. I ordered them the day I came home from my D&C, customizing them with Margaret Elisabeth and Lucy Kay’s names on it. The night we hung them on our front porch, I sat by the sun-filled window for hours, reading a book and listening to the beautiful, bright tones of E Major wash over me as I thought of my girls in Heaven. It has been such a comfort to me and something I listen for every day.
And God has also blessed me with what a friend of mine has called “God Smiles” that have become other objects or memories I associate with my girls and with His presence.
I can’t tell you the amount of times I have received a text when I am feeling especially low and alone. Just a simple, “Thinking of you,” or “Praying for you” at a time when I really needed it.
Another incredible thing? The day I posted my last blog post, publicly sharing about our second loss and commemorating my girls with a butterfly and wildflower design, I saw a yellow monarch butterfly in our backyard. I have seen a butterfly every single day from our back deck since then. Thank You, Lord, for Your graciousness.
Grief and Mourning, Understanding the Grief-Stricken Mind
Some other truths my counselor has shared that have helped me recently is that grief and mourning are two different things. Grief is the internal expression, and mourning is the external. Many people stay in grief but never mourn. Mourning is how we heal our grief.
A key part of mourning is being compassionate toward oneself- to not place the same expectations on myself that I would before this happened. My counselor shared from a mentor of hers:
“Many of us are hard on ourselves when we are in mourning. We
often have inappropriate expectations of how ‘well’ we should be
doing with our grief. We are told to ‘carry on,’ ‘keep your chin up,’
and ‘keep busy.’ Actually, when we are in grief we need to slow
down, turn inward, embrace our feelings of loss, and seek and
accept support.” (Alan D. Wolfelt)
As I have waded through the thick of my jumbled thoughts and fears with my counselor, she has helped me see some of the psychological pitfalls of my mind. One of the big lies I struggle with, especially after two miscarriages, is that this is my fault- my body’s failing of my girls. And while that is a tragic, destructive lie, my therapist also encouraged me that it’s a natural response we have because the thought is, if I caused it, I can prevent it in the future.
The marriage of psychology and faith is so important here. I cannot control the future or the outcomes. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I also can’t suppress my grief, thinking that’s what God asks of me.
Other Things that Have Helped Me
1. Writing.
2. Talking about Maggie and Lucy. Saying their names.
3. Sitting on my back deck with a puppy in my lap.
4. Putting away clothes that are reminders or just don’t fit right.
5. Buying new clothes that I feel good in and bring me joy.
6. Hugging Emma and Ethan. Making them laugh and soaking up their giggles.
7. Watching funny tv shows or heartfelt movies.
8. Getting massages and allowing my body to experience positive things.
9. Taking a break from social media. It just feeds on my broken heart.
10. Listening to a playlist of songs when I feel sad and need a good cry.
11. Communicating with my husband when I feel down and need a hug.
12. Going to church and crying through worship.
13. Sharing specific needs I might have before social situations, even when I feel silly.
14. Letting people love on me with meals, gifts, and childcare help.
15. Exercising when I feel like it, and napping when I don’t. Usually I need one of the two every day right now.
There is no perfect formula, but I have learned to be kind to myself, give myself grace, and listen to what my heart and body need. Sometimes, it’s chocolate. Sometimes, it’s silence and solitude. And other times, I have absolutely no idea what I need, and that’s okay. Sometimes the days feel almost normal, and other days they drag out into an endless pool of sorrow. But as others remind me, this won’t last forever- even if it’s not until Heaven, it won’t.
Monday, June 22, 2026
Puzzle Pieces of Grief
Wednesday, June 10, 2026: 9:12AM
A New Me“You're shattered like you've never been before
The life you knew in a thousand pieces on the floor
And words fall short in times like these
When this world drives you to your knees
You think you're never gonna get back to the you that used to be.”
-Danny Gokey’s song, “Tell Your Heart to Beat Again”
It is quite exhausting to be so self-aware right now. I have found myself in social situations or in public in the past week, completely engulfed in my mind. I was consumed with a thought the other day: I have changed. I’m not who I was. My version of reality is different. And it’s hard to keep up with regular conversations while I think about how disjointed I feel- out of touch with who I was and where I am. It feels similar to the clothes in my closet these days- familiar, yet uncomfortable and unfitting; painful reminders.
Oh, the reminders. It’s still so fresh right now. Everywhere I look, I see reminders of my girls. Of what my body has been through. Of what I thought would be. I catch my kids looking at me as I’m laying down, frowning and patting my stomach that had made room for baby sisters they didn’t get to meet. Every time I change, get out of the shower, get ready for bed, I am reminded. The bruise on my hand from the hospital IV and the stiffness in my neck from the pain and tears- reminders. My face feels worn from the tight-faced sobs I have stifled with my pillow as our kids sleep.
So how do I put on real clothes and go to the post office? How do I do the awkward social dance of not knowing if the person who asks me how I am at church knows or doesn’t? Cook, clean, take care of home- or even my basic needs? I keep forgetting to eat and have asked JB to remind me.
My world has shattered, yet the rest of the world carries on.
The Fight
My self-awareness can slip into self-focus and pity all too easily right now. And Satan knows it. I was texting with a dear friend this morning and was grateful for the vulnerability I can always have with her.
“I feel like I’m in the fiercest spiritual battle I’ve ever encountered. And I need to go to the Word so much more than I have been because I am barely hanging on.”
It’s real.
My dear husband and I had yet another long talk late into the night, the tears wetting my cheeks over and over, as he encouraged me and prayed over us.
He reminded me to fight daily to make Jesus the main character of my life. That it’s an everlasting struggle we all encounter.
There is no success or failure; there’s just one moment at a time to seek Him and live for Him.
As I sat staring all around the room, avoiding my husband’s loving gaze as my eyes filled with hot tears, he reminded me- there is a reason only One Thing can fill the holes of my heart. It’s not my living children. My spouse. Fleeting moments of sunshine, new things or experiences.
It’s the love, mercy, grace, and salvation found in Christ and Christ alone. Everything else falls short eventually.
And oh, have I felt that time and time again this past week.
Nothing soothes my soul. No platitudes or sweet moments can ultimately heal the gaping wound in my heart but Him. His promises, His love, His Word.
I have heard the well-meaning words: “Enjoy your two,” and I am enjoying them. But we can’t use Emma and Ethan to fill the void left behind in our hearts. They can’t replace our other two children we don’t get to hold and raise. Our hearts already made room for these sweet baby girls.
The only thing that can fill any broken part of our hearts is Jesus.
This grief is the battleground of my life.
Seek Him, Seek Him
Susannah Spurgeon, wife of one of my favorite theologians, writes, “Tears may, and must come; but if they gather in the eyes that are constantly looking up to You in heaven, they will glisten with the brightness of the coming glory.”
Our hearts are all made for longing. But ultimately, only He can quench this unending, tormenting thirst I can feel.
The Psalmist puts it beautifully in Psalm 63:1-4:
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you,
as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.
So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,
beholding your power and glory.
Because your steadfast love is better than life,
my lips will praise you.
So I will bless you as long as I live;
in your name I will lift up my hands.
This week, I have been practicing taking my angst and yearning and instead of directing it at God or anyone around me, feeling angry at Satan and evil.
Lost Gifts: Miscarriage, Grief, and the God of All Comfort
My favorite read of the week is Brittany Lee Allen’s Lost Gifts: Miscarriage, Grief, and the God of All Comfort.
I highly, highly recommend this book and author. More posts on her book later.
The Armor of God: Ephesians 6
I used to read Ephesians 6 at times in my life when I was going into difficult social situations where I needed God’s strength to get through. But to read it while walking the Valley of Death, in a spiritual battle within my own heart and mind, it takes on a whole new meaning:
Finally, be strengthened by the Lord and by his vast strength.
Put on the full armor of God so that you can stand against the schemes of the devil.
This week, I have been practicing taking my angst and yearning and instead of directing it at God or anyone around me, feeling angry at Satan and evil.
Lost Gifts: Miscarriage, Grief, and the God of All Comfort
My favorite read of the week is Brittany Lee Allen’s Lost Gifts: Miscarriage, Grief, and the God of All Comfort.
I highly, highly recommend this book and author. More posts on her book later.
The Armor of God: Ephesians 6
I used to read Ephesians 6 at times in my life when I was going into difficult social situations where I needed God’s strength to get through. But to read it while walking the Valley of Death, in a spiritual battle within my own heart and mind, it takes on a whole new meaning:
Finally, be strengthened by the Lord and by his vast strength.
Put on the full armor of God so that you can stand against the schemes of the devil.
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this darkness, against evil, spiritual forces in the heavens.
For this reason take up the full armor of God, so that you may be able to resist in the evil day, and having prepared everything, to take your stand. -Ephesians 6:10-13
Spiritual warfare wages even stronger on the weary, broken souls who can barely stand in their grief. Lord, help me remember this and stay on guard.
Be Good to Your Body
In this war waged against my soul, I have been wrestling with resentment toward my body. With disdain, resignation, or pain when I think about it or look at it.
Because when I get self-focused, I think to myself,
What is wrong with me, yet not others?
What am I doing wrong?
Why, God, did You give me this broken body?
But I have come to remember that all bodies are broken. No matter how hard we work at optimizing our lab results, defining our muscles, or increasing our agility and speed, our bodies are living in a broken world. I am not alone; I am simply human.
Instead of shaming my body, as if it is The World’s Worst, my heart is stirred to ponder the difficult state of this world. To turn my mind to weeping over the brokenness of this world will very quickly guide it straight to the cross. Because I would be forever trapped in a state of mourning without the cross. I live in a broken body in a broken world, but it is not the end.
The fact is, as a Christ-follower, I actually live in a redeemed body. Not one untouched by the horrors of this world, but one set aside for a different purpose and place. And when I mourn it, I need not shame myself for being touched by the fractured reality we all walk around in. And I also don’t need to stay there because this is not the end.
I also recently read an interpretation of God’s curse on women and childbearing I never thought of, and it has brought me peace in understanding the grander scheme of things:
In Genesis 3:16, God shares the consequences of Adam and Eve’s pride and sin: “To the woman he said, ‘I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.’”
The Hebrew word for “pains” and “painful” is ʿitstsabon, which can mean pain, sorrow, toil, or grief. This noun highlights that labor will come with anguish, worry, and emotional pain.
How did I never know that? Most only ever talk about the physical pain of childbirth being part of our burden to bear. Oh, but it is so much more. Part of the curse brought by sin in this world is not just physical pain in childbirth, but also emotional sorrow, pain, and grief in child bearing. Throughout every part- from infertility to miscarriage, stillbirth, postpartum.
As I pondered that, a book, “Be Good to Your Body” by Jordan Lee Dooley has been a helpful read to me this week. Jordan walked through multiple miscarriages as well as other health issues and sought to use Scripture as her guide to take care of her body instead of the latest health trends.
On pages 13-14, Jordan writes about how we are called to steward our bodies- to remember that everything we have is the Lord’s, even our body, and even our people. “My body is a beautiful gift from God given to me as a way to carry out my callings during my short time on this earth.”
What a wonderful reminder to me in this season.
Later on, as she suffered through her own miscarriages, she discovered a diagnosis that explained so much of what she went through.
She writes on page 61:
Wow, I thought. I’ve been over here being mad at my body
for failing me, and this whole time it’s been fighting a nasty
disease and an infection. I had no idea.
Did you catch that? I thought my body was failing me, when
in reality it was fighting for me…
Our bodies aren’t failing us; they are fighting for us in a
fallen world that fails us.
Perspective While Parenting
Sometimes I loathe the everyday needs right now as they feel suddenly overwhelming, and other times I love them. When I am packing the lunches, wiping the table, watching JB take out the trash or sweep the floor, I think of all the things required to keep a home and to take care of children. But then I think of what a privilege it is. To have this house, to have these loved ones to tend to.
And this season, I am learning the art of slowing. Slowing my body down. Slowing time. Living in the present and trusting God with the rest. I can’t face the past; I can’t predict the future.
As I ponder the ache of having two kids on earth and two in Heaven, I marvel at the two children I get to parent even more. I am enjoying them in new ways- listening to them differently. Emma and Ethan are only 19 months apart and often act like twins. They do everything together and are the best of friends. Emma likes to help take care of Ethan, and Ethan likes to stick up for his sister.
Emma tried to help wash Ethan’s hair this morning in the bath, and their dialogue was hilarious. “Just tilt your head up! Not like that…I don’t want to get it in your eyes!” So cute. I love being a fly on the wall in their conversations.
This evening, I am laying on the couch, watching the sunlight dance through our sheer curtains and reading a book. Meanwhile, my two oldest children are bickering over which magnatiles they are each entitled to. And I can’t help but smile. I am so grateful I get to be their mom. That I get to hug them and hold them and pray with them.
Emma was sick yesterday, and while I was sad for her, I was thankful to be there for her. She loves to be with her mama when she’s sick. And so, my girl and I had a slumber party for the night. I stayed up late into the night just watching her sleep. I haven’t done that in ages. I kept thanking God I got to feel her breathe and stroke her hair and watch her toothlessly giggle.
Spiritual warfare wages even stronger on the weary, broken souls who can barely stand in their grief. Lord, help me remember this and stay on guard.
Be Good to Your Body
In this war waged against my soul, I have been wrestling with resentment toward my body. With disdain, resignation, or pain when I think about it or look at it.
Because when I get self-focused, I think to myself,
What is wrong with me, yet not others?
What am I doing wrong?
Why, God, did You give me this broken body?
But I have come to remember that all bodies are broken. No matter how hard we work at optimizing our lab results, defining our muscles, or increasing our agility and speed, our bodies are living in a broken world. I am not alone; I am simply human.
Instead of shaming my body, as if it is The World’s Worst, my heart is stirred to ponder the difficult state of this world. To turn my mind to weeping over the brokenness of this world will very quickly guide it straight to the cross. Because I would be forever trapped in a state of mourning without the cross. I live in a broken body in a broken world, but it is not the end.
The fact is, as a Christ-follower, I actually live in a redeemed body. Not one untouched by the horrors of this world, but one set aside for a different purpose and place. And when I mourn it, I need not shame myself for being touched by the fractured reality we all walk around in. And I also don’t need to stay there because this is not the end.
I also recently read an interpretation of God’s curse on women and childbearing I never thought of, and it has brought me peace in understanding the grander scheme of things:
In Genesis 3:16, God shares the consequences of Adam and Eve’s pride and sin: “To the woman he said, ‘I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.’”
The Hebrew word for “pains” and “painful” is ʿitstsabon, which can mean pain, sorrow, toil, or grief. This noun highlights that labor will come with anguish, worry, and emotional pain.
How did I never know that? Most only ever talk about the physical pain of childbirth being part of our burden to bear. Oh, but it is so much more. Part of the curse brought by sin in this world is not just physical pain in childbirth, but also emotional sorrow, pain, and grief in child bearing. Throughout every part- from infertility to miscarriage, stillbirth, postpartum.
As I pondered that, a book, “Be Good to Your Body” by Jordan Lee Dooley has been a helpful read to me this week. Jordan walked through multiple miscarriages as well as other health issues and sought to use Scripture as her guide to take care of her body instead of the latest health trends.
On pages 13-14, Jordan writes about how we are called to steward our bodies- to remember that everything we have is the Lord’s, even our body, and even our people. “My body is a beautiful gift from God given to me as a way to carry out my callings during my short time on this earth.”
What a wonderful reminder to me in this season.
Later on, as she suffered through her own miscarriages, she discovered a diagnosis that explained so much of what she went through.
She writes on page 61:
Wow, I thought. I’ve been over here being mad at my body
for failing me, and this whole time it’s been fighting a nasty
disease and an infection. I had no idea.
Did you catch that? I thought my body was failing me, when
in reality it was fighting for me…
Our bodies aren’t failing us; they are fighting for us in a
fallen world that fails us.
Perspective While Parenting
Sometimes I loathe the everyday needs right now as they feel suddenly overwhelming, and other times I love them. When I am packing the lunches, wiping the table, watching JB take out the trash or sweep the floor, I think of all the things required to keep a home and to take care of children. But then I think of what a privilege it is. To have this house, to have these loved ones to tend to.
And this season, I am learning the art of slowing. Slowing my body down. Slowing time. Living in the present and trusting God with the rest. I can’t face the past; I can’t predict the future.
As I ponder the ache of having two kids on earth and two in Heaven, I marvel at the two children I get to parent even more. I am enjoying them in new ways- listening to them differently. Emma and Ethan are only 19 months apart and often act like twins. They do everything together and are the best of friends. Emma likes to help take care of Ethan, and Ethan likes to stick up for his sister.
Emma tried to help wash Ethan’s hair this morning in the bath, and their dialogue was hilarious. “Just tilt your head up! Not like that…I don’t want to get it in your eyes!” So cute. I love being a fly on the wall in their conversations.
This evening, I am laying on the couch, watching the sunlight dance through our sheer curtains and reading a book. Meanwhile, my two oldest children are bickering over which magnatiles they are each entitled to. And I can’t help but smile. I am so grateful I get to be their mom. That I get to hug them and hold them and pray with them.
Emma was sick yesterday, and while I was sad for her, I was thankful to be there for her. She loves to be with her mama when she’s sick. And so, my girl and I had a slumber party for the night. I stayed up late into the night just watching her sleep. I haven’t done that in ages. I kept thanking God I got to feel her breathe and stroke her hair and watch her toothlessly giggle.
I know we are not promised tomorrow, but I was thankful for today- this moment.
Thursday, June 4, 2026
The After
Thursday, June 04, 2026: 6:12AM
I slept as long as I could before The Reality sank in and I couldn’t turn off my weary mind.
I went to sleep thinking about my Maggie, holding my husband’s hand as I drifted in and out of sleep. I woke up looking in the mirror, once again feeling empty knowing my Lucy isn’t in there anymore.
I had a D&C yesterday. It all felt like deja vu, but also a fresh kind of pain and agony. To pull into the same parking lot we did just months before on a cold winter day, this time only to be met with sunshine and green trees, felt too familiar. To walk the halls I now know so well after using them as an indoor track to stretch my legs after giving birth to my baby girl who was in Heaven felt unbearable.
But it was different, too. No maternity ward this time. No quiet, solitary rooms. I was in a pre-surgical room next to a man making small talk about his job in waste water management, a few doors down from a little girl who was scared and resisting medical help. Even farther down the hall was a prisoner with guards. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was in for- in every sense of the word.
“So what are we having done today?” I know each nurse and medical staff member has to ask to confirm they are, in fact, talking to the correct patient and have marked down the correct procedure, but goodness, please don’t make me say it again.
“How far along were you?”
I squeak out, “Eleven and a half weeks.” I know the half doesn’t truly matter, but I just needed to prove to myself that Lucy and I had gotten a few days farther than others may know.
My OB- new to me this time around, as I hoped to move forward from past loss with a new face- came in and immediately pulled me into a long hug and said how sorry she was. Apparently switching OBs couldn’t help me outrun this inevitable tragedy.
I sat in that bed, watching the minutes tick by, knowing that within an hour, my baby girl would no longer be in me but forever part of me. But how? How can I hold her close when she’s not with me anymore?
They wheeled me away after I told JB I loved him. I thought I would be more scared, being that I have never had a surgical procedure in a hospital.
But I was indifferent. Ready to be under anesthesia and have a break from this misery.
The surgical room was so white. It felt like I was a character in one of the doctor shows I enjoy watching. Although I’m not sure how much I will enjoy watching them right now.
My OB held my hand and gently stroked it as I heard my racing pulse beeping and beeping moments before I fell asleep. She and the surgical nurse made small talk about their dogs’ poor behavior and their crazy scuba diving training stories, and I know it was just to distract me.
I fell asleep crying, staring into my OB’s compassionate eyes who kept nodding and telling me she’s got me.
I knew there was a strong chance I would wake up in the same state, but I slowly came to feeling numb. Relieved that part was over. In my post-anesthesia state, I felt like I was still dreaming- even like a little piece of Old Ruth was back.
The post-op nurse made small talk with me, and I followed her lead, even though I couldn’t focus very well. She mentioned to me that my OB has been her OB as well and how much she loved her.
I mistakenly asked her how many kids she had.
“I have a toddler, and I am 16 weeks pregnant,” as she looked down at her belly, with a joy in her voice that pierced through my anguished soul. In my hazy state, I almost blurted out, “That’s how far along I was when I lost my first daughter.” But I quickly reminded my brain that’s not something we say out loud, feeling a protectiveness over this young mom who still had the cherished gift of having hope and excitement in her expecting state.
But boy, did my heart break into a million pieces as I stared at her stomach and held onto those words right after waking up from yet another pregnancy abruptly and painfully ending.
There are no words.
Going Home
My dear husband took me home after I managed some crackers and ginger ale. I was grateful I tolerated the anesthesia okay. But I told JB on the way home, if I truly thought about what we just went through, I would fall apart. And my body hurt too much- my heart hurt too much- to go there. He grabbed my hand, knowing all too well what I was describing.
I was so tired. I am so tired. But I can’t sleep much. I have bad dreams. I have racing thoughts. Or I have no dreams and wake up in perpetual heaviness. I ache internally and externally. I look at the sunshine and beg God to shine a little glimmer of it into my broken heart.
The only things that have helped are to hold onto the love my people are showing me, look for small things to appreciate, and try to find one Bible verse or story to desperately cling to a day. Sometimes I have to force myself to do any of those things. Sometimes I just don’t push it, and I allow myself to sit in the utter disbelief and darkness of losing a child. Two children.
To see the tears of my friends as they shake their heads in disbelief and hold me is healing. To be able to have honest conversations with the love of my life about how weighed down we feel- how numb, shocked, and defeated we both are- is therapeutic. We are in this together.
To turn to my dear husband and just blurt out, “JB, I am feeling so sad. Can you come sit next to me and hold my hand?” before I fall apart in his arms once again- those are sacred moments. But oh, how I wish we could stop experiencing them together.
I look out the window and see the seasons have changed. And yet for our family, they haven’t. Heartbreak, agony, physical pain, and dragging ourselves through the day, just trying to keep our house in order and our kids fed, has continued.
I didn’t think our summer would start out this way after such a horrible winter and difficult spring. I lament it.
But as the gently falling snow made me think of Maggie, so the chirping birds and early morning light remind me of my Lucy.
Saying Goodbye
How do you find closure before a D&C? I hate that we had already experienced a loss farther along, but that means we got to hold our beautiful baby girl in our hands and sing over her the first time around. What is there to capture with this precious little one? I agonized over it; I really did.
I can’t describe the state of Hell I felt I was in, walking around knowing my baby was gone and was still inside of me for 5 days. But I also didn’t want to miss an opportunity for me to connect with her before it felt too late to me.
And so, we found our way through the twisted agony of saying goodbye to our fourth child. The night before my procedure, JB and I lay in our bed. I stared at our ceiling fan as I have done so many times these past few months when my grief felt so weighty. My eyes slowly meandered from the ceiling to our curtains. Curtains I bought after losing Maggie because they reminded me of her- feminine, beautiful, soft. I turned on some songs that spoke of Heaven, asking my heart to be a little open to the reminder of our daughters’ incredible reality. I can’t say it worked, but that’s okay.
I put my hand on my belly for the first time in days. Every other moment since that nightmarish ultrasound, I tried to ignore my stomach- don’t look at it, don’t touch it. But this time, I leaned in. I talked to Lucy and thanked her for making me more brave. For showing me how to stretch my love through sacrifice and fear and pain. I told her how special it was to see a positive pregnancy test on Easter morning and hold her daddy’s hand at church, worshipping through tears and disbelief. I told her how her big sister inspired me to leave my public school teaching career, and that she gave me the courage to apply for a new job and try something so different and exciting- my own music business and a job at my church I accepted just the day before she died. Everything I did, I did for my children, and I thanked them for giving me the courage to do it. I thought of how important her name is to me and JB- Lucy Kay. Her first name to mimic my mom’s name, and her middle name to replicate her other grandma’s middle name. Thanking God for both of these loving moms and grandmas who have poured out their love and prayers over us during this painful season. I told her how much I loved her and wished I had gotten to be her mommy on Earth.
I am so thankful I got to say goodbye.
Missing Her Close By
And yet, I am bereft of peace. I spent hours researching yesterday when I finally came out of the post-anesthesia state.
What can I do to remember my girls? To be reminded of their present reality when I feel grief stricken?
I couldn’t bear not having more things around my home, my body, my life, that reminded me they mattered. They were real, and they are part of me and this family.
But even after the beautiful windchimes were ordered and the designs were made for decor, it struck me: I want them so close, but they aren’t and never will be this side of Heaven.
And once again, I realized I can’t avoid this. I can’t outrun it. I can’t “research” things away- trying to delve into why this happened, poring over my medical records and wishing I could be some world-class non-medically trained genius who can solve this mystery- to make it better. There are no amounts of books on loss, cherished items of remembrance, or moments of escaping with tv that can take this away.
This is loss. This is pain. Grief. The heavy ache of unspent love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)