Momma in the Valley

“I can’t believe you were discharged from the hospital. We cannot see you at this location anymore, we are spooked.” “We’re going to try to get you to 34 weeks. But I don’t think we can do it.” “I’ve only seen 2 other cases as bad as yours, and neither of them made it with both mother and baby.” “We don’t know what will happen.” “We’re just trying to push you through to lessen the amount of NICU time.” “I don’t trust these blood results. Bile acids can’t go from 185 back down to the normal range (less than 10), even with medication. This can’t be right.” “He’s not breathing on his own. We have to take him to the nursery.” “He’s still not able to breathe on his own. He has to be admitted to the NICU.” “I can’t believe you and he both made it.” We heard all of this. I was sick our entire pregnancy, which is fairly normal for us. Pregnancy is difficult and I’m always very ill, but I never got a break with Silas. Once we got to the 7th month of pregnancy, my body had finally said “no more”...

32 weeks and 4 days. The days suddenly matter more than ever as we await the arrival of our baby boy. An arrival that should be taking place in 8 weeks, but suddenly could happen as early as next week. A week and a half ago, I went in for a normal appointment, not feeling well but thinking and hoping I was just sick with a virus. This turned into being hospitalized which turned into a diagnosis of hepatic cholestasis of pregnancy. This progressed to my old OB wiping her hands of me, and a rough transition to the new OB in a more difficult location with different policies and a much larger office that sees many more people. The saving grace has been that the doctor I got to know while in the hospital has taken time out of her days to call me and ensure I understand what is happening and what we could be facing. The fears are of an increased risk of stillbirth, an increased risk of hemorrhage, and a risk of permanent damage to my body. These risks feel insurmountable. There have been man...

We know the questions. We’ve heard them before, and we’ll hear them again. Maybe you’ve heard them, too. Why would you announce so early? What if you lose this one? Do you really want to go through this again? Aren’t the ones you have enough? We love our babies; every single one of them. We love the two we have in Heaven and adored them and prayed for them during short period we had them on Earth. We mourned their loss when they died. We still miss them and wonder what life could be like now. We look forward to the Heavenly reunion when we get to praise our Savior alongside them. The two we have here on Earth? They absolutely light up our lives! They are the sweetest children I have ever seen, and I see God working in them and through them daily. Alex and I get to be the ones they argue with and cry with and scream at. We are called to correct them and raise them in the way they should go. We are also the ones who get to see them think of others and pray for others. We see them twirl a...

In a world where we must question every decision we make—every leader, every ingredient, every medication, every TV show, every word we use, what car to buy, and what meme to share with different friend groups—there are more questions than answers at any given moment. This constant questioning can be overwhelming and even frightening. It has become difficult to feel safe expressing our opinions, regardless of whether we agree with those around us. Many people experience some level of anxiety, and if it weren't a common struggle, the Bible wouldn’t explicitly instruct us not to be anxious (Philippians 4:6). I often find myself consumed by worry. I worry about my babies—about every decision regarding screen time, health, sleep, and my own actions. It’s challenging not to feel that each choice is monumental, especially given the importance of raising them. Tonight, while hiding in my bathroom and crying, a verse came to mind: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my...

  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 th...

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 ...