I was pregnant with my third baby, but still not a child in my arms. Five weeks of carrying this precious soul and holding onto a thread of hope that perhaps this would be the one.
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Holding our 9-month old daughter who weighed less than thirteen pounds, I prayed that God would send us to the right doctors. I prayed for her healing and placed her on the altar with Isaac, hoping for a resurrection. I had to trust that God would bring us through whatever happened, although my heart ached for her to be healed. She was His daughter too, after all.
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If you’ve lost a child, I need you to know that you’re not alone. Our grief has woven together and we’ve found ourselves a part of this club that no one ever wanted to join. And it sucks, it’s okay to say that. It’s awful and messy and frustrating and ugly — but we’re here together, we’re not alone.
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Nothing about life is certain. No amount of planning, organizing, preparing or dreaming will guarantee our desired outcome. I’m constantly reminded to loosen my grip and, like the song says, “let Jesus take the wheel.”
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“Is your life filled with unexpected twists and turns? Have you faced uncertainty in times of hardship when things did not go as planned? My dearest sister, I know this story too well.”
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Dear Sister, 'There’s nothing wrong with you. You are God’s beloved daughter.' The words hit me like a brick in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
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