Radical Acceptance

Tuesday, February 03, 2026: 8:18PM

My mind is stuck in two realities- the bright one I played out months in advance, a baby in my arms, and the one I now find myself in.

Do I deny the alternate reality, push it out of my mind, or do I face it and let myself wander through it from time to time?

Which would be more helpful?

In one world, I am looking at my baby girl on a screen and putting “Big Brother” and “Big Sister” sweatshirts on my smiling kids’ faces, adding wildflower stickers to her new bedroom wall.
In the other, I am putting those sweatshirts away in an empty cradle tucked in the back of my crawlspace, hidden so I am not reminded of all that was and is. I am cleaning up her bedroom so my kids can continue playing in it and so I don’t feel as sad looking at it.

This would have been the week we found out our Maggie was a girl. The week we should have gathered in the ultrasound room to see her growing and developing, kicking and forming.

We would have been halfway through pregnancy, and all of a sudden, it is over.

The calendar suddenly feels like a death march. Each day, a new funeral of what is gone and will be no more.

Oh, how broken this world is. Jesus hates death as much as we do. He wept with anger over the death of his friend, Lazarus. And he weeps with me now as I grieve a future that cannot be.

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I have received such loving comments reassuring us that we will know if and when we would feel ready to try again. Those sentiments are so full of grace and reassurance, and it gives me peace and comfort.

In my grief, though, a heavy thought came into my mind this weekend and lived with me for a couple days straight:

We were ready. We were nearly halfway there. I endured through a tough first trimester as we celebrated the sweetness of the promised second trimester and turned our faces toward the trying, cramped third trimester.

We were ready.

And now we have to take time to grieve, heal, and pray over being “ready.”

But we were ready.

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I have talked with several friends this past week about how searching for answers for the loss of their unborn child played a role in their grief journey. I am so thankful for the community of Godly mothers around me who have been through this same tragedy. Their experiences are helping guide me in this hazy cloud of strong emotions and deafened logic.

The truth is, the search for answers will not give me Maggie back. It won’t take away the pain. I hear that in their experiences and am grateful for that clarity when all I want to do is scream loud enough until I get the answer.
Yes, I will do my due diligence to check in on my health and do tests that are noninvasive to us both, but as my doctor told me, it is nearly impossible to know.

It is sometimes a daily surrender to not beg God, Google, or anyone in proximity for the answer as to why. What caused this?

This will be a new level of faith and trust in God’s loving, good plan that I have only ever witnessed in faithful saints before or around me. And now it is my turn.

Can I trust God, even when I don’t know the reasons for His Will? Even when the unbearable happens?

Can I live with peace in my heart, soul, and mind when I don’t have all the answers, even to life’s hardest questions?

Can I love God more than my plans and dreams, even if they were beautiful and praiseworthy?

Do I trust that He loves Maggie, me, and my family more than I can imagine?

Yes.

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I have been reading several incredible books in this time of grief and reflection. My current read is a book called Seasons of Sorrow, written by Tim Challies, theologian and pastor, in the first year after his 20 year-old son suddenly died.

This quote resonated with me tonight as he processed life without his son, Nick:
“I know I am heading into a future that is utterly unknown, utterly foreign, utterly opaque. I am heading into a future I cannot see and will not see until future has become present and present has become past. A wise man once said that the true victory of faith is to trust God in the dark and through the dark. I trusted God as he led me through daylight; I will trust him now as he leads me through the thickest darkness. I may not be able to see the way I go, but I don’t need to, because my eye is fixed on the one who is guiding me there. He has given me every reason to trust him. He has given me every reason to have confidence that he will hold my course steady until the keel of this weather-beaten little boat has finally nudged against the shore of glory and I am home.” (Seasons of Sorrow)

Can I trust God in the darkness? I know without a doubt that His love for me drove His own Son to the cross, so yes.
Jesus took on all brokenness and darkness for me. For Maggie. Therefore, I can praise Him in the light and the dark.

Something else that was encouraging to me this week-
A friend shared a beautiful interview with singer, Ellie Holcomb, on the topic of grief after her young nephew died of cancer.
I encourage you each to listen to it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sq2XxjzYVGc

A few quotes I jotted down from her interview that spoke to me:

“He writes resurrection in His creation to remind us [of His own resurrection, and of our own future resurrection].”

“Can I tell you some stories about when I didn’t have the answers, but God met me in those questions?”

“Remembering and wrestling” ….We can do both at the same time

I am so thankful for helpful resources from believers who are walking this path as well.

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JB and I met with my OB this past week. I came in thinking the main purpose of our appointment would be to discuss medical topics, but it ended up being more of an emotional, spiritual conversation than anything, and it blessed us so much.

You see, we chose my doctor because he treated me for postpartum pre-eclampsia after having Ethan. I remember feeling so well cared for when he came into my room to check on me in my treatment. Those feelings stuck with me as we chose him to be our OB for this pregnancy. All along, I envisioned him helping me deliver our child through potentially stressful circumstances with my blood pressure, but God knew we would need his comforting, intelligent, gentle demeanor for delivering our baby who had died instead.

Walking into the OB office was not easy, although God graciously reminded me hours before my appointment that He was with me in the even darker, more triggering places I had already faced- the hospital and delivery room- and that He would be with me now.

My doctor came into the room with a calm, hushed, gentle tone, genuinely wanting to know how we are. Once we exchanged the opening remarks on this time of loss and how we are coping, we delved into the actual content of the appointment.
We weaved in and out of medical topics and questions, but the stronger thread that twisted and stretched to form a glorious pattern was the topic of God’s providence, His will for our lives, and the miracle of life.

My doctor clearly understands loss and grief, and he certainly believes in God’s plan for our lives. Nothing was more comforting to me in this moment, now sitting in this room with an empty womb- a room that I had once longed to find promise and hope in through the growing life of my child.
And yet, my promise and hope was still there, just flowing from a deeper place.

As I turned to the Infamous Why Question in my appointment, my doctor responded with something I will continually cling to as a life raft in this Now What phase:

Allow this part of our journey to lead us to a place where we find a radical acceptance- a radical acceptance in the unknown never being known, a radical acceptance to be willing to try again in that unknowing if we so choose, and a radical acceptance that God numbered Maggie’s days to the exact moment she fell asleep and woke up in Heaven.

Radical acceptance. Is that not the calling of faith?

“So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:18

“Now faith is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

“Therefore the Lord is waiting to show you mercy, and is rising up to show you compassion, for the Lord is a just God. All who wait patiently for Him are happy. For people will live on Zion in Jerusalem. You will never weep again; He will show favor to you at the sound of your outcry; as soon as He hears, He will answer you. The Lord will give you meager bread and water during oppression, but your Teacher will not hide any longer. Your eyes will see your Teacher, and whenever you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear this command behind you: ‘This is the way. Walk in it.’” Isaiah 30:18-21

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4

“You rejoice in this, even though now for a short time, if necessary, you suffer grief in various trials so that the proven character of your faith- more valuable than gold which, though perishable, is refined by fire- may result in praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen Him, you love Him; though not seeing Him now, you believe in Him, and you rejoice with inexpressible and glorious joy, because you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” 1 Peter 1:6-9

Why would I not answer this call to trust God after all the ways He has proven His love for me?

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This realization hits me with a force that both shocks and steadies me:

Jesus could do nothing other than die for me on the cross, and that is still worthy of fully proving His goodness, mercy, and love for me.

Truthfully, He owes me nothing. And yet, out of His love for me- like a gracious Father- He came to the earth, lived a perfect life, died a brutal death, and ascended into Heaven where He is preparing a room for me and all who believe these truths. For me, an imperfect sinner who can in no way save myself through my own deeds. He lavished His grace on me.

Even if that is all He did, I should still praise Him and thank Him.

But He didn’t stop there. Because He loves to lavish his children with his loving gifts.

He gave me the world’s best husband. A warm, happy home. Two precious children to hug. A child who skipped all the suffering of this world and went straight to the Best Place.

The mountains, the sun, the blue skies. Changing seasons that remind me of His promises of renewal, redemption, and life from death.

He gave me music and the teaching of young ones, which brings me such joy.

He has graced me with such convenient and fun things- a computer to write on, a car to get to places faster and spare my feet from tiring, electrolytes and heating pads and humidifiers when I’m not feeling well.

Friends and loved ones who proclaim- even in their imperfections- His love for me. A church I can freely worship in.

Cookies and chocolate. Movie theater popcorn…

Psalm 19 talks about how the heavens declare the handiwork of God, and I praise Him for it. For even in this heavy blanket of grief, I can look up. I can look around. I can hold my kids or my husband. I can listen to gentle piano worship music and feel Him all around.

With this reassuring hope…

I can face the calendar and the cradle
I can face the nagging questions and lack of answers
I can face future decisions
I can face life without Maggie

For I am not alone.

After facing the reality of death and conquering it, He promised me this:
“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:20b