Momma in the Valley

  Grief. It begins the moment you find out you have lost someone you love. It is an all-consuming experience that overwhelms your mind, your heart, and your body. It feels like cortisol is being injected into your stomach. Your heart suddenly feels empty. Your limbs feel heavy. Your stomach feels knotty. Your mind feels simultaneously blank and flooded. Sometimes, you cry so much that you don’t know if there are any tears left, and then you cry some more. Sometimes there is anger. Sometimes there is remorse. Mostly, though, there is an overwhelming sadness at the realization that you will never see someone again. At least, not in this life. You grasp at the memories made, and you look at the ones to come with a new sadness because now all of them will be missing someone important. Someone dear. Someone so full of life that it can’t be possible for them to be gone. How did they live such a full life? And how could they have died such a full death? ”Now the law came in to increase the tr

It’s kind of weird that I can reflect on the past decade of my life and reflect on all that has happened. 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was doing, but I was working hard toward a bachelor’s degree. Emotionally, I was flailing and searching for fulfillment in all the wrong places. I graduated on time with honors, but I had allowed myself to be reeled into the worldly things of sex, drugs, and alcohol. Depression was deep. Anxiety was rampant. My personal life was going nowhere fast and I didn’t have the emotional stamina to fully serve the population I was working with professionally. I would come home “needing” some wine to wind down. I had become a different person than I thought I could be or would be. I still loved people. I was still compassionate. But I had developed a jadedness. A hardness. My heart was searing. But God. He gave me an incredible support system growing up. He gave me people who I could rely on to be there even when I was on a path of destruction. He gave me p

This Holy Week has gone in a blur. It seems that many days go by in this manner! The nights feel long, but I know these years are short. It is difficult when we are struggling with patience. But then there are sprinkles of moments where I see Samuel reflecting Christ’s love to me or to others. His selfless service puts me in awe. Hannah’s sunshine smiles seem to spread love everywhere she looks. She makes my heart soar. More often than not, when we are going through daily life, it feels fruitless. I feel like I can’t focus or that I can’t keep the kids reined in for others to focus. But as my faithful husband always reminds me, it has nothing to do with me. What is happening in our hearts during these times has all to do with God and His Spirit. He is working within us even if we do not see or understand it. Thankfully, He is renewing our hearts and minds as He sees fit. I am thankful this happened to my heart and mind this Holy Week. The cool thing is that Christ came to save us from

How wonderful a life I live that I get to snuggle and nurse one baby to sleep then crawl back in bed and snuggle another. How wonderful a life I live to get to be awake in the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning, providing nourishment and safety. How wonderful a life I live to get to explore the wonders of life and the questions of a toddler. He most certainly stretches my mind and heart daily! It is also a wonderful life to live, knowing I already have 2 saints in Heaven, praising our Father face to face. Grief comes in waves for everyone, including us who have lost two of our babies early on. Sometimes, I see their certificates of life hanging on the wall and it doesn’t hurt quite so much. Other times, little things remind me of the short time we had with them in my womb. Each time, I am reminded of God’s faithfulness. I am reminded of His goodness and mercy. I am reminded that He used their short, little lives to preach a mustard seed faith. When Martin Luther

2 months with my sweet Hannah Joy. Never could I have imagined how special and precious these moments with my family of four are. I never truly understood how families could be best friends with one another, but now I get it. My best friends are my babies and my husband. How blessed am I! Thus far, this has been a much easier postpartum period than with Samuel. I’m sure part of it is that I was just so sick in the final weeks of my pregnancy that anything after that was a piece of cake. My support system is amazing, including my rockstar of a husband who understands the rigor of being “Mommy” and supports me as best he can. He truly is the best. God has blessed me immensely. One amazing thing He has pointed me to through the people in my life is a noninvasive medical device. It is called the BEMER, and it has helped me heal and find a new normal during this postpartum period. It helps increase blood flow and encourages the body to better perform its natural functions. All I have to do

I am blessed beyond measure. Tears come to my eyes when I think of the dark times, and how many times I thought it would always be dark. There have been many glimpses of God’s love, God’s joy, and the light that He gives us in this sinful world. I have seen a share of darkness thus far, and I am aware that more will come as long as we live on this side of Heaven. I often pray the prayer, “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly. Come, Lord Jesus, come.” I pray it with fervor. I pray it with a desperate tone in my voice. But I also pray it with hope and joy. This hope and joy comes when you understand what you have been given by Christ and understanding that only comes through hardship and the growth that results. I remember in middle school and high school I felt so broken, desperate, afraid, dark, hopeless, helpless. I clung to the hope that is only in Christ. I clung to the words that were given to me through God’s word. I was blessed beyond measure to be allowed to hear those words in Church

  It began with a prayer. A prayer for a baby that we could love, snuggle, see grow, and raise alongside our baby boy Samuel. It began with a loss; a loss of that sweet baby boy or girl. It began with severe discomfort. Not just a deep indescribable heartache, but also a discomfort in my back, triggered by the hormones and whatever else my body decided to do in response to that second loss. It began with a connection. A connection to a mentor, an elder, a friend. It started with a connection to a device I didn’t think could be real. There was a connection to the heart for hope that I needed more than anything at the time. It began by coming in, feeling like a ghost; like a hollow being with nothing left to give. It began with a desperate need for something, ANYTHING, that would bring comfort. Not only in my mind and soul but also in my body. The discomfort that felt like an electric current going from my back, down my leg, to my foot. The discomfort that kept me from functioning for my