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.

To My Little Valentine

Friday, February 14, 2026: 6:55AM

Dear Maggie,

It’s a day where we celebrate love and family, and I wanted to take the time to thank you and say how much Mommy loves you. 

My sweet girl, you were a bringer of beauty from the very start. From the moment we saw those two lines on the test (which were so faint at first, your Daddy didn’t believe me), to the moment we told your big sister and big brother and reveled in their surprise and glee, to our first time seeing you and hearing your heart beat, you have given us great joy. 

We loved you from the moment we knew you were in my tummy, and we couldn’t wait to meet you. 

I am so glad I got to see you in the ultrasounds- watching you be so wiggly filled me with excited anticipation, looking forward to when I could feel every flip and squirm. I couldn’t wait to bring your siblings’ hand to my stomach so they could feel your kicks, your hiccups. 

I am so glad I got to feel you kick inside of me those last two weeks I carried you. I will never forget laying in bed one night, and suddenly you were there- that familiar twitch and flutter in my stomach. It was like we were having a conversation and you wanted me to know you were with me and were having a blast. 

My favorite ultrasound picture of you was three weeks before you died. I got to see you in various positions, and your siblings were there to marvel as well. My favorite picture of you is one I will never forget because it brought me such joy and peace that day, and it continues to.

You were laying down with your hands behind your head, legs crossed- just chilling. It was as if you were at the beach, listening to your favorite song and having the time of your life. And every time I worried or wondered how you were doing and growing, I would look at that picture and know that you were content and secure. 

Even though you didn’t end up being safe from death, I know you were safe in the arms of Jesus the whole time. I wish I could have carried you longer- to the finish line- and have gotten to see your personality in action. I wish I could have held your breathing body, rocked you and fed you, watched you grow into the young woman God created you to be. 

We miss you here, sweetheart. I desperately hold onto those moments I felt close to you, those times I felt like I learned more about you.

Although your life here was short, you are forever part of our family. You will always have a piece of my and your daddy’s hearts. Just like your older siblings, you have changed our lives. 

Thank you for the joy you brought us. Thank you for the dreams you gave us. 

Thank you for all the special moments of snuggling with your big brother, his hand placed on my stomach with excitement and a gentleness I know he would have maintained as a big brother to a newborn. 

Thank you for the overflow of prayers you inspired in our family and community. 

Thank you for the courage you gave me to try again- to hope and dream and trust. 

Thank you for the ways you grew me and stretched me in my faith. 

Thank you for the ways you helped me prioritize my health and my family in a new way. 

Thank you for all the moments of sweetness along the way. 

I miss you. I miss your kicks. I miss the dreams of our future here together. The tug toward Heaven feels like a rope that has thickened by another beautiful thread since you died. But I know you are not lost and that someday I will be with you. 

I can only imagine your current reality. I bet your Valentine’s Day is far greater than class parties, sweet outfits, and candy. I am so thrilled for you, even as my heart is breaking. 

We love you, sweet girl. 

The Nail-Scarred Hands

Friday, February 13, 2026: 10:00AM

This post will be about women’s cycles and things of that nature- you’ve been warned. 🙂

It amazes me how God designed women’s bodies. As a young teenager, I was so embarrassed by my cycle. As a young adult, it felt like an inconvenience. As a newlywed, it felt like a mystery. As a first-time mom, it was a marvel. And now in this loss, it is a miracle- but also a very painful reminder.

It is amazing that a week ago, I felt clear-headed, physically strong, and emotionally stronger.

And then my first period happened since losing Maggie. At first, I was relieved. I was marveling at all my body could do- the miracle of it all. After something unexplainable, abnormal, and “unfixable” happened inside of my body, a familiar part of my life as a woman had returned like clockwork.
But then 3 days in, the cramps intensified to the point it felt like I was in labor. Writhing on the couch, medicine not touching the terrible pain, my whole body cold from the hormonal shifts and the pain. It completely surprised me. And all of a sudden, my emotions were right back to giving birth to my sleeping baby. To this loss. To what happened. I felt undone.

That all makes sense to me. Of course I am triggered. This time of the month was a physical reminder of the pain I experienced delivering Maggie. Losing her. Saying goodbye to her. And I’m not sure if there will come a time where it doesn’t remind me of what we went through. But I know that eventually, it won’t be so physically shocking for me.

My pain reminded me of what I had been through and brought me to tears. It was therapeutic to cry out to God. I knew He was with me, as was my amazing husband. It also reminded me to continue giving grace to myself. Even though some aspects of my life are slowly returning to “normal”, I have been through physical and emotional trauma, intense hormonal shifts, grief over the death of a child- all while trying to shepherd our kids with life happening all around us. It is important for me to recognize this- because I can forget the effects of trauma when I am feeling okay.

My physical pain brings out a deep emotional unraveling that can only be soothed by the Lord. It is to Him I turn and in Him where I take comfort.

All this pain makes me think of the cross. It makes me think of the scars Jesus still bears- even in Heaven. The pain He endured for us. My pain here mirrors a small glimpse into what He went through sacrificially to save me. To save Maggie. A mother’s sacrifice of her body in every way mirrors that. As I look at my broken body, puffy and not feeling the way I want it to at times, I pray that Jesus would help me to remember that. To remember Him.

I love reading Charles Spurgeon when my brain can handle it. Such rich writing! I came across this resource as I pondered Jesus’ scars.

This quote encouraged me greatly:

“But next he teaches us his sympathy with us in our suffering. ‘There,’ says he, ‘see this hand! I am not an high priest that cannot be touched with the feeling of your infirmities. I have suffered, too. I was tempted in all ways like as you are. Look here! there are the marks—there are the marks. They are not only tokens of my love, they are not only sweet forget-me-nots that bind me to love you for ever. But besides that they are the evidence of my sympathy. I can feel for you. Look—look—I have suffered. Have you the heart-ache? Ah, look yon here, what a heartache I had when this heart was pierced Do you suffer, even unto blood wrestling against sin? So did I. I have sympathy with you.’” (Spurgeon, The Wounds of Jesus)

The Bible says He is well-acquainted with grief, our Suffering Savior. He is the Man of Sorrows. Who better to go to in a grief so weighty?

I have never fully pondered until today the significance of Jesus still bearing the scars from the cross on His hands and sides in Heaven. Think about it- He will be the only one with scars in Heaven. The Bible promises us that there will be no more tears, no more pain or ailments in Heaven. I imagine scars are part of that.

His scars are a comfort to us, a reminder that we are not alone in our suffering. They also forever remind us of the depths of His love for us. Spurgeon writes once more:

“Again, Christ wears these scars in his body in heaven as his ornaments. The wounds of Christ are his glories, they are his jewels and his precious things. To the eye of the believer Christ is never so glorious, never so passing fair, as when we can say of him, “My beloved is white and ruddy,” white with innocence, and ruddy with his own blood. He never seems so beautiful as when he can see him as the rose and the lily; as the lily, matchless purity, and as the rose, crimsoned with his own gore. We may talk of Christ in his beauty, in divers places raising the dead and stilling the tempest, but oh! there never was such a matchless Christ as he that did hang upon the cross. There I behold all his beauties, all his attributes developed, all his love drawn out, all his character expressed in letters so legible, that even my poor stammering heart call read those lines and speak them out again, as I see them written in crimson upon the bloody tree. Beloved, these are to Jesus what they are to us; they are his ornaments, his royal jewels, his fair array.” (Spurgeon, The Wounds of Jesus)

His scars represent the pain He endured that brought beauty, love, redemption, sacrifice, and light. Because of this, so can mine. Thank You, Lord, that death brings way to life because of You.

Isaiah 63:7; 9 prophesies of Jesus:
“I will make known the Lord’s faithful love and the Lord’s praiseworthy acts, because of all the Lord has done for us- even the many good things He has done for the house of Israel, which He did for them based on His compassion and the abundance of His faithful love…In all their suffering, He suffered, and the angel of His presence saved them. He redeemed them because of His love and compassion; He lifted them up and carried them all the days of the past.”

Paul, who was imprisoned and beaten multiple times, ultimately martyred for his faith, wrote in Romans 8:18:
“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is going to be revealed to us.”

He is my steady anchor, my shelter from the storm, this Man with the nail-scarred hands.

Thank You, Jesus, for redeeming my pain.

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.

____________________

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.

____________________

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.

____________________

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.

____________________

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?

____________________

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

Answered Prayers and Broken Dreams

Wednesday, January 28, 2026- 1:28PM

The past two days, I have had the kinds of dreams that haunt me when I wake up. I can tell my brain is working hard to process what has happened.

Two nights ago, I had a dream that I was 3 months pregnant with a little boy. I went in to deliver him, thinking in my dream state that all would be fine. As I prepare to push, excited to meet him and hold him, all of a sudden I realize that he’s too young and it’s too soon; the reality of what is about to happen and what this will mean suddenly sinks in.

In my dream last night, I was blissfully pregnant with Maggie again, thinking all was well and as it should be. Until a feeling of dread came upon me as I realized that was not the case.

Dreams are difficult. I wish at least, when I am asleep, I could escape.

______________________

I had a beautiful conversation with a dear, new friend last night. She and I spent hours recounting all that God has done in our lives, sharing our testimonies with each other, especially in light of our recent loss. It was so, so good for my soul to hear her story- to hear how she encountered God’s love and provision of strength and joy throughout the different circumstances and tragedies in her life; it was an incredible encouragement to me.

She and I settled on a two things we have learned so far in our faith journeys:

When we invite God with us in trials, we have felt an underlying sense of peace- even when it made no sense to anyone, let alone ourselves.

God has clearly opened and closed doors when we have let go of our plans and solely sought His will. And we have both seen in our Type A ways that His plan has always been better than we could have imagined.

Both of these themes have been so present in my experiences the past two weeks. Let me share more:

Inviting God Into My Trials Has Granted Me His Peace, Even When It Hasn’t Made Sense

There have been so many moments in this loss that I have felt a deep peace- no panic- just peace.

I think of not being able to find Maggie’s heartbeat on our at-home doppler the night before we went into the ER. I wasn’t fully grasping what was happening, but I knew there was nothing to fear. It didn’t make any sense to me, but I didn’t even question that feeling.

I think of sitting in the ER, waiting an hour and a half to hear that our daughter is gone. Due to miscommunications and shift changes, we waited 3 times longer than we were told to expect to hear the news. But we saw the flat line on the ultrasound, our daughter’s body laying still when she was super wiggly and active days before. We knew, but we weren’t agonizing over not officially “knowing”- God’s supernatural peace.

I think of the peace I felt, even when I was sobbing in our bed the night before my induction, JB holding me as I cried harder than I ever had before, cramps reminding me of this deep loss. Even in that, I knew He was with me.

I think of the peace I felt holding JB’s hand during delivery when the doctor told us we may need to move to a c-section to remove the rest of the placenta. We both prayed desperately for that to not be the case, and God was gracious in answering our prayers. Even through the pain of our doctor working to recover the placenta, I felt nothing but relief and joy that God answered our prayer and I wouldn’t need surgery after all we had already been through.

I think of all the moments since then that even in this darkness, God has blessed me with sweetness and comfort and light.

But it’s funny how the Devil works- occasionally this nature of thinking will flash across my mind, “Oh, you’re just in shock.” or “You are simply in denial.” But it’s not true. Believers can have peace in the pain. The Bible tells us this:

“Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” -Philippians 4:7

It really is true. I don’t fully understand it, and I’m not meant to. But this peace is what is sustaining me and equipping me through the trial.

God Is Opening Doors To Guide Me in His Plan

My friend and I discussed the classic quest many of us humans embark on: seeking God’s will for our lives.

I certainly don’t have all the answers to that Big Question, but I have felt God’s guidance over the years through prayer, reading His word, and talking with close mentors when making big decisions.

But what does it look like to see God’s Will right now- in something I didn’t plan or desire? I see Him at work in my life and my heart. His Will is being accomplished.

I see how He is growing my faith, which is something I don’t ever want to take for granted. It is priceless and truly all that matters.
I see how He is growing my relationships.
I see how He is using my words, my sharing, to encourage others.

Rich gifts.

But I also see how He has reminded me that He will supply. He has opened doors and answered so many prayers- prayers I didn’t even know I had. For example:

He didn’t answer our prayers of reviving Maggie or working a miracle in that way, which I know He could have done if He wanted to. And yet, He answered every single prayer in her delivery and with my health. Every specific prayer we had about the length of labor, for gracious nurses, for my OB to be able to be there during delivery, my specific health needs, He answered.

I knew we had a good community around us, but receiving meals for almost an entire month…what a blessing.

While we were in the hospital, we had to make so many decisions and have so many difficult conversations. Part of those conversations and stressors was taking leave from work for both of us, and the financial strain of paying a large hospital bill months before our savings was ready for it.

Once again, God provided. My doctor told me to apply for six weeks off from the district, and my paid leave was granted. I was blown away. JB was out of sick leave and had to take several unpaid days to be home those two weeks, and through the extreme generosity of others- some, dear friends, and others nearly strangers- his leave was covered through donations.

He provided so much more than we could even ask for.

“And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus.” -Philippians 4:19

The amount of ladies who have reached out and said they have been through the same thing has astounded me. It breaks my heart that they have been through this, but I have felt that strong bond of not walking through this alone. I have friends I can shoulder the weight with and reach out to when I am lost in this foreign nature of agony.

The deepening of my close relationships is astounding. To be able to sit on my couch and weep with my loved ones, to show them pictures of our precious daughter and mourn together as they “meet” her…I will never, ever forget those shared moments. Their willingness to step into the grief themselves, even when it is difficult for them, is so sacrificially beautiful. What a pure, godly love.
God has shown me time and time again in my life when the unexpected happens, when I have a big, scary decision to make, He can be trusted and He will guide me and make a way- even when it’s difficult, painful, or terrifying. When I stop trying to control the narrative of my life and release the outcome to Him, it’s all so much better. This part of our story has been no different.