Enjoy below:

Kitchen

Our home renovation started in the kitchen. We paid for new granite countertops to be installed and got to work on repainting the cabinets. We were on a strict timeline for it. Wesley had taken the following week off for us to put new floors in. This meant we had to finish the kitchen this week.

I, Gracie, did a huge portion of this project after the kids went to bed. I would work from 7pm until midnight. Wesley was still working, so he made sure I had what I needed, helped when he could, and then headed to bed.

I didn’t mind as it was a rare opportunity to do the bulk of a project in the home, plus I love painting. However sanding is not as much fun.

I sanded down each cabinet, and spent my nights painting them. I was worried about the color we chose coming out badly (you never know with green) but we LOVED it. Wesley said he was never concerned about it.

Once everything was painted, Wesley and I worked together to put all the new hardware on it.

We deep cleaned out all the sawdust, wiped the new counters, and admired all our hard work. Somehow, we really did finish during the week! I think it was pure will power along with some late nights.

Entry Way & Craft Room

We started off tiling in the craft room. We knew that we would need a place to put all our furniture from the living and dining area. When we finished the craft room, that would be where it would all go.

When we began, Wesley took the whole week off of work. We were certain we could complete all 650 square feet of tiling in one week. We would do the craft room and entry way in one day, the bathrooms and hallway in another, and then end it all with the living room and dining area. We would use our last couple days to put any baseboards back in.

Looking back, we understand how absolutely wild this thinking was. We started off in our blissful ignorance and happily pulled up our old floors.

When we moved into the house we were told they were brand new floors—which they were. The problem was they were the cheapest vinyl flooring that could be found and were installed improperly. During our first full winter in the home in 2022, the floors began to pop up and started cracking.

It wasn’t long before it became enough of an issue that we had to start laying a couple extra rugs around the home. Time went on and the rugs began to expand. We decided that we would save up and replace the floors in 2024.

Of course, this did not happen. Between miscarriage, Aurelia’s loss, and Behr’s pregnancy, there was no time or money in 2024 for a home renovation. When 2025 rolled around, our lives were so booked with milestones, counseling, and recovery there wasn’t much time then either. So, the rugs kept layering. Eventually, we had almost every portion of our vinyl floors covered in a rug and still there were little spots of concrete showing up in the tiny spaces and corners that we couldn’t cover.

We were surviving those floors.

You can imagine the jubilation as we started peeling floors up that first night. We had put the kids to bed, put gloves on, and happily stacked up the flooring and threw it out into our dump trailer in the driveway. It was a glorious day to begin.

Isaiah, hearing the commotion, came out of his bed and walked around the corner to the craft room as we worked.

“Why are y’all doing the best part without me?” He said.

It was true. This was truly the best and easiest part. We sent him off to bed with the promise that he would get to participate in “the best part” during the days to come.

Once the floors were out, we carefully pulled up the tiling in the entry way, very careful not to crack the connecting tile in our kitchen. Thankfully, we were able to do this without issue.

The problems arrived quickly after this. Our AC had been leaking and repaired recently, but it seemed this had not been its first time. The water had not dried properly over the years and mold was on some of the walls. We began pulling the baseboards out, removing portions of the wall, and prepared to do a bit of mold remediation. Thankfully, the mold was not devastating, but, of course, any mold, no matter how little, is never great.

That night, we prepped the space, put a new ceiling fan in the room, and went to bed a bit disappointed by the mold but overall excited to have started our long anticipated project.

The next day we worked all day. We got the craft room practically complete until we got to the door. The door in this room has an extremely awkward shape and angle. We were stuck for hours. We worked until maybe 1am in the morning before we finally had to call it quits. We did not finish the entry way like we had planned and went to bed.

The next morning it took another four hours of work, but we got that section of the home done. We rehashed the plan with the setback. A few days later, my brother arrived to help us move all our furniture into the craft room, but before that, we continued on to our bathroom.

Bathrooms & Hallway

We thought the easiest part of this home renovation would be the little spaces. Boy, were we wrong! It turns out that these are the HARDEST spaces to complete. We learned this early on with the awkward angle of the door in our craft room. There was so much fabrication to be done. Little corners, toilets to navigate around, and doorways with weird angles were all obstacles Wesley had to fabricate special pieces for.

We also learned just how quickly little problems could turn into bigger problems that would derail our progress by multiple days. We started pulling out the vinyl in our bathroom and discovered that underneath the flooring was…more flooring. The original flooring in our 30 year old home was a laminate wallpaper-like flooring. The vinyl was easy to pull up. Tearing out the 30 year old laminate sheets… not easy. The one hour project of pulling vinyl quickly turned into hours. I found a small scraper in my craft supplies that worked well for scraping glue. Wesley found a razor blade for the tough corners and together we worked into the night.

At some point in all of this I tweaked a muscle of some sort that lead to some significant pain, my forearms and the top of my legs were burning from chaffing, and I was having severe hip pain from working while 20+ weeks pregnant. I could barely move. I ended the day by literally crawling into the bathtub to try and soothe my skin and muscles.

The next day hit Wesley hard.

In the process of prepping the bathroom and fabricating the pieces we needed, the toilet reservoir tank cracked and by the end of the day, we accidentally put a hole in the bathtub trying to move the damaged toilet.

What a mess! We spent most of our day fixing problems we created. We were more behind than ever! We recalibrated our plans AGAIN, and started fresh the next morning. Over the next 24 hours or so, we got all the tile laid. At this point we had a good groove going. I would lay the mortar on the concrete and on the tiles, hand them to Wesley, and he would set and space each tile.

The guest bathroom and hallway went similarly. We removed all the vinyl again, prepped the area, laid the tile. It was extremely time consuming in the small areas of the home, but it was such a rewarding moment to finish each section.

At this point, I began to grout the sections while Wesley worked on fabrication. It was starting to come together—even if we were way behind. It became clear that the tile would not be done by the end of the week. It was at this point we found ourselves with the most tension in the house. Everyone was tired of construction, frozen meals, and late nights. We just wanted to be done. However, to finish, we had to just keep moving through.

Living Room and Dining Room (Main Living Space)

Once the bathrooms and hallway was in motion, somewhere in the middle of it all, we started the largest chunk of space. Our living and dining area. This was the easiest and, often, fastest moving sections—even if it took us almost a week. We had to leave a walking space to the bathroom and the boys bedroom while the mortar dried. The boys turned this into a race track. They had a blast while we continued to work across the room.

This section was the fastest because we could get a lot done at one time. It was also the slowest because Wesley had to return back to work. We could only work for a few hours each evening. We could no longer sustain the 1am nights. We were exhausted, our bodies hurt, and lour responsibilities were catching back up to us. We had our summer events, vacations, and other little things that needed to be accomplished—all while living in a nonfunctional home. We steadily worked despite it. I would clean floors during nap time and prep it for grout. Before bed Wesley would make the grout, I would spread it, and in the morning, I would mop the floors until the grout was nicely cleaned up.

I would also check our freshly mortared sections for any pieces that didn’t adhere well. If loose, I would hammer the piece out and scrape up the glue. When Wesley got home from work, we would mix up more mortar and get to work again.

The struggle came as we reached the last two rows of tile work. The room wasn’t perfectly square, and we were tile rookies. The rows had somehow become too tight and we couldn’t fit the last pieces in. We were forced to remove tile, replace, cut down, and puzzle those last pieces in. This took us several evenings of work. It was a sweet and glorious moment as the last piece fell into place.

We finished up the grouting the next day and celebrated with a nice hot meal out.

Walls & Baseboards

We had finished the tiling, but we were not even close to finishing. We had removed walls, dealt with mold, and removed almost every baseboard in our home. We painstakingly began the project of reinstalling walls, replacing baseboards, and painting. This took us from June through August. Wesley’s free evenings were mostly spent with baseboards and mine were spent spackling and painting those baseboards. I decided we needed to repaint all of our doors as well. I spent many afternoons painting through Behr’s nap time. Although it was a pain, it was well worth it.

Once we got baseboards into our living room, my brother came back and helped move all the furniture out of our craft room. We reset the living room and dining area. We added a keyboard for the family to learn on, a new rug, and bought a new couch (our first couch to ever buy!), and even rearranged a little bit. Things were coming together!

Slowly the guest bathroom, hallway, and craft room got baseboards. We repaired the walls in the craft room, but before replacing our wall we had some fun adding our names and a few verses to the frame of our home.

Wesley chose Ezekiel 22:30. This verse meant a lot to him because he wants to be the type of man that stands in the gap for the Lord and for his family.

Ezekiel 22:30, “…and I sought for a man among them that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before me for the land that I should not destroy it…”

I chose 1 Corinthians 15:58. This verse summed up the year for me and had been one I’d clung closely too in many areas of life, especially in the work of our home renovation and pregnancy.

1 Corinthians 15:58, “Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.”

Lastly, we added Proverbs 24:3. This verse was a sweet one to place and a reminder of what makes a home and what we want our home to be—a small reflection of Heaven and hope for us and our children.

Proverbs 24:3, “By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established and by knowledge all the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.”

Lastly, we officially finished our home renovation in our master bathroom. We installed the last baseboards, painted the last walls, and rehung the hooks and curtains that had once hung there.

What a great feeling! Our “one week” home renovation was finished—it only took about two months longer than we intended.

Other Notes and Thoughts

Renovating a house with a five year old and a one year while 20 weeks pregnant was an insane idea. Still, it was a necessary task in a home where the floors were literally crumbling beneath our feet. We laughed, we cried, we fought, we worked together better than we ever have before. By the end of it all Wesley and I found ourselves better friends than when we began. There is nothing like a home renovation to bring you together or tear you apart!

Isaiah had a blast. We let him watch more television than he has ever been allowed to watch in his life. Behr on the other hand felt this was a horrible project. His usual reign of terror in the home was not allowed anymore! We had to confine the poor fella to pack n plays, play pens, and sometimes his bedroom to keep him out of the mortar. One year olds and home renovations are not exactly compatible roommates. Thankfully, we were able to keep him appeased for the most part. Still, no one was more pleased than Behr to have our home back in its usual functioning space.

We learned a lot in the process. By the end, I was well into my third trimester. My hips survived, my tweaked muscles healed, and for the first time in years I felt like our home feels like home. What a gift it will be to bring this baby into the world, and introduce him or her to the place we love most.

Here’s to the adventure of making home a little piece of Heaven you love to be in.

If you want to read my thoughts on grief and home renovations feel free to read this post I wrote as we finished the process of tiling.

Thankfully, we are finding our way through most of th…

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I am learning to be comfortable with the idea that two things can be true at one time. Joy and sorrow can coexist. Happy events can contain tears. Sadness can involve laughter.

Grief is not a singular feeling. It is a part of life that encompasses who we are simply because we live in a fallen world.

During the last few weeks I have struggled with this. I have the habit of trying to push away the sad feelings where I feel they don’t belong. It doesn’t take long for the unprocessed grief to take over, my sleep to fall away, and anxieties to occupy my mind. Over the course of these days I have been reminded by the people close to my circle that grief will always have its place in the threads of my life—and there is nothing wrong with that.

Two things can be true.

Bringing new life into the world is one of the greatest joys of my life and the grief of a child in Heaven is still just as devastating as it was the day she left us.

I have found myself asking the Lord to bring me peace in the midst of the “gray" parts of life where I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When Aurelia died, we spent many of the following weeks surrounded by family. There has never been a season in my life that contained so many tears, and yet, the Lord often provided so many moments throughout the day to laugh. I don’t take those moments for granted because in a desolate time, it was what we needed to make it through the day.

I am beginning to see in the transitions of life—even the good ones—that I still need to recognize the range of emotions, the unprocessed feelings and circumstances, and the fears and joyful anticipations. All of this requires me to sit still.

After a summer of home renovations, preparing for the beginning of our homeschool journey with our oldest, and preparing to deliver our new baby I find myself coming back to Psalm 46:10.

“Be still and know I am God; I will be exalted…”

No matter our circumstances, the Lord has victory. Despite our tapestries of life, woven together with the threads of joy and sorrow—God will be exalted.

God is big enough to handle the overwhelming feelings that seem to overtake our hearts. All we must do is have a willing heart to trust and fix our eyes on our Creator.

Psalm 51:12, “Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.”

There has been a bit of grief as we realize that time is moving forward and Aurelia is not with us. It surprises me because I thought that we would get used to life without her. we never do. We look at our expanding family and see a whole new set of people that will not know Aurelia in this life. Each child will outgrow their sister and only a few of us will remember the days when her presence enriched our lives. I have cried many tears wondering if our next baby is a girl, and if so I imagine introducing her to her wonderful brothers and her sister being no where to be found.

This week Behr did something particularly cute and after saying goodnight and closing the boy’s bedroom door a strange set of words left Wesley’s lips.

“How could we live without our Behr?”

It is a strange phenomenon to experience pain so excruciating and so unimaginable that even though you’ve been through it, you can’t imagine it again.

Death never settles well in our souls. God created us for life, not death.

Even still, our lives over the past two years have graduated past the season where everything we did revolved around death, grief, and rebuilding every aspect of our lives. Grief has become an old friend that has woven itself into our lives creating a tapestry filled with rich dreams, sorrow, joy, and an intimacy we have never experienced before with each other and with the Lord.

The sorrows and joys we experience are more balanced, and many times I welcome the tears over our sweet Aurelia. It reminds me how much I love her, even in the midst of caring and loving all the other little children God has blessed us with.

Often I hear in the grief community that guilt comes with this phase of life, as though moving forward means forgetting the one we loved so dearly. I have felt the opposite because for the first time since Aurelia’s death I am able to smile with the memories of her sweet smile and it is not always a struggle to look at photos of her sweet face.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Healing doesn’t always come here on this Earth. My arms will never be full enough and my heart always a bit cracked. However, I know the Lord can bring me perfect peace despite all the pain. There is some healing that comes with intentional focus on learning to navigate the ocean of grief. There will be some healing as we cling to scripture, sleep well, eat well, and walk often. There will even be healing when we choose to face the sin issues that have been revealed in our hearts along the way.

Still, more than healing, I want peace. I want the Lord to remind me every day when I wake up in this tragedy filled world that I am not alone, and He is enough for me.

I want to remember that He is good.

Psalm 119:68, “You are good, and do good; teach me Your statutes.”

One thing I’ve learned through Aurelia’s loss is that we are all grieving something—even if it’s simply that we live in a broken world.

Grief, often left unspoken, reverberates like a tension through our culture. If we want to cut the tension, we must begin to build and lean on the communities around us. We must communicate our pain to allow others to hold us up and do the same for them when they are in need.

If you do not grieve an intimate loss, I want to persuade you as a believer that it is our job in the church community to encourage and edify the believers around us. This is a labor never done in vain. Wesley and I have been held up by our community in so many ways. I don’t believe we would be where we are without them—so encouraged, so edified. Even on the night of Aurelia’s death, our church surrounded us so beautifully. Life was shining out of a situation with so much darkness. I look back at those moments and the holiness of God that was displayed through the people who held us was comparable with the moment a baby is held in your arms for the first time.

It is hard to know if you have the right words, but it has been those with very different stories from mine that have spoken so deeply to my heart. The Lord is always willing to give us and the people around us the right words in any circumstances. Never think that you cannot be used in the dark pit of someone else’s life. God uses any willing heart that desires Him.

Life is never easy, but I am finding myself in love with a God who is always restoring. He is never surprised but my circumstances and He loves me in the midst of them. He hears my cries and brings healing to my soul. His burden is light, his yoke is easy (Matthew 11:28-30).

May our weary hearts rest in him—in every season and every circumstance.

Psalm 34:4, 8, “I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears… taste and see that the Lord is good.”

You've already been in this desolate place
You've already been here, and You've made a way
Pinpricks of glory strung out across the sky
Memories of darkness undone by the light
Reminding me You are right here by my side…
You find me and bring me back home

—Constellations, Ellie Holcomb

One year ago I found myself in a very dark place. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. The weight of our losses were too heavy for my body and mind to carry. The ache for Aurelia was deep—and still is. I was watching Behr grow past Aurelia’s earthly age and I could find no joy in it. There was a dark place in my heart and mind wondering if I would have another child live past the age of one.

At Behr’s 9 month check up appointment, the pediatrician joked, “He’s almost a toddler, all you have to do for the next few years is keep him alive.”

The words were like a knife in my already bleeding heart. The damage exposing every dark lie and anxiety I had stashed away. I lived life as though tragedy was around every corner.

I was in counseling every week, I was asking for help from friends, I tried herbs, supplements, and eventually medication. Some things helped. Some things didn’t. The truth I finally had to face was this: There is nothing that can heal a heart speaking death to itself.

Over the last year I had to begin the process of unlearning the way I allow my mind to speak. The unfiltered and intrusive thoughts, the anxieties that ruled my very soul were (and still are) unacceptable. All I was doing was speaking death.

During those dark days I read two verses that the Lord used to transform my heart and began to show me there was a path back to life.

Genesis 2:7, “…then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature.”

The words of this scripture, spoken at the beginning of time grounded me. They gave me something to compare my thoughts too. When a new anxiety came in the night, I could ask myself a very simple question.

Is this thought bringing me life?

It wasn’t a quick fix and it didn’t teach me how to combat the thoughts and anxieties I had, but it was the first step to identifying the lies I was telling myself. It forced me to see the errors in my heart and my mind. It didn’t take me long to see that this was more than grief, it was a battle for my mind between darkness and light.

My prayer life began to change. A common thread of the conversations I had with the Lord were asking Him to help me breathe in life and breathe out death. I found the panic begin to lessen as I chose not to entertain the anxieties of life.

Isaiah 26:3 was always on my mind.

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”

It’s hard to believe God’s Word when it comes to anxiety. Is it simple to keep your eyes stayed on the Lord? Is it easy to trusts God in a world that is filled with so much bad? A resounding no comes with both questions to me, but this is what is necessary for perfect peace.

It was a crushing moment to finally admit to the Lord that maybe I didn’t trust him. I felt like he was standing by watching bad things happen to me and doing very little to stop it. In these moments it became clear that I had a choice. I could choose to cling to the truths and promises God made us—whether I could feel them—or not.

I spent a lot of my time in the Psalms reading verses of David as he cried out to the Lord in his distress. He seemed to feel like me. Death encompassed him (Psalm 116:3-4), and yet he still trusted God. I began to feel comforted by the idea that I could feel crushed by death and also believe that God was trustworthy. I asked God to reveal to me his hand in my life. I wanted eyes that could see and ears to hear (Isaiah 6:9-10).

This lead me to the second verse that began the transformation of my mind during that dark season.

Isaiah 42:1-6, “Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my Spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. He will not cry aloud or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice. He will not grow faint or be discouraged till he has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands wait for his law.

Thus says God, the Lord, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what comes from it, who gives breath to the people on it and spirit to those who walk in it: “I am the Lord; I have called you in righteousness…”

These verses, talking about Jesus, described a gentle and faithful God who always gives life. There was something beautiful in the imagery of a God who would not break a bruised reed and wouldn’t quench a faintly burning wick. I began to see God less as a bystander and more as the comforter the Bible claims Him to be.

I was a bruised reed. I was a faintly burning wick. Everything about me and my life felt broken. Yet, there in my Bible was this reminder that the Lord would never grow tired of me. He would not be discouraged by my dark seasons and my questions. He could welcome Aurelia into His arms with joy, and wrap a comforting arm around me on a broken Earth. He is big enough, powerful enough, and good enough to hold us both in exactly the way we needed it.

A year later, I can see the battle for our minds is a lifelong fight. Yet, I have seen such beautiful restoration in my heart and mind even from where I was a year ago. The Lord has drawn near to me and I have become confident in something I haven’t always been: God fights for me.

I’ve learned what it means to be still, focus on the Lord, and let Him do the rest. He is not trying to break me, He wants to restore me. I think He wants to do the same for you.

I still see a counselor (or two) and after putting my kids to bed you can almost certainly find me sitting in the kitchen steeping a hot cup of tea filled with delicious chamomile, lemon balm, and a variety of other helpful herbs. God gave us things on this Earth to help us heal, but I have to remind myself that God himself is the ultimate healer.

Hebrews 4:16 says, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

May we all, with confidence, draw near to His throne of grace in our time of need.

Psalm 36:5, “Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the clouds.”

June began and we started the month with our six year wedding anniversary and a house renovation that desperately needed to be finished. We celebrated our anniversary with a family dinner out and a trip to Lowes.

We didn’t have much more to do, but it still felt overwhelming. We still had walls, baseboards, and a home to put back together. All the furni…

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No one is immune to grief and children are no exception.

There was no question that our sweet three year old was grieving the loss of his sister. He was confused by permanence, he couldn’t understand that heaven was not a place we could drive too, and over the years we have seen the grief induced rage that comes all to easily for those of us who face intimate losses.

The day we lost our daughter, Isaiah lost his best friend.

When we began our grief journey, we had so many people flippantly say things like, “Maybe Isaiah will forget about all this”, or say, “Kids are resilient, he’ll be fine.”

Yet we had so many questions.

Was it really for the best not to speak of our tragic circumstances and hope he would forget? Are children really resilient or do they just not have the words to express the emotions and the wounds playing out across the story of their lives?

It didn’t take long for Wesley and I to come to the conclusion that (1) there are very few resources for young children walking through tragedy and (2) children desperately need their parents to help them name and process their grief—which is hard, because even as an adult we struggle to make sense of our own losses.

I think this is why so many wished the memories away. No one wants to watch a child face difficult questions. We want to bubble wrap our children and pretend the sorrows of the world are not their problem. However, we had to face the truth that to develop in a healthy way Isaiah had to learn how to process and cope now with the story our family faced.

Wesley and I often find ourselves discussing the fact that the tragedy we faced is not a burden or sorrow carried solely by us as a couple, but a story our family carries together. We have learned not to fear our children’s suffering, but instead, ask the Lord to give us courage to step into the race that has been put before us.

Colossians 1:9-14, “And so, from the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him...”

Colossians 1 has become personal in our parenting journey. I rephrase it this way:

“And so, from the day his sister died, I have not ceased to pray for Isaiah, asking that God may fill him with knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so that he may walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him…”

Let me add this: May God give Wesley and I all the wisdom, understanding, and knowledge to raise our children, sharing with them, in word and deed, that there is no darkness that the Lord cannot overcome.

I don’t know all the hardships my children will face, I don’t know how they will “turn out” in adulthood, but I am certain that these are not the worries God wants constantly churning in my heart and mind.

I believe God is far more concerned with how we steward the hearts and minds of our children today as we raise them in a home that acknowledges the Lord and power of the gospel in their lives.

Deuteronomy 6:7, “You shall teach them [the laws] diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise.”

This leads me to the argument that “children are resilient”.

I have come to find most of us are resilient in our circumstances—but resiliency does not mean a wound has been processed and dealt with in a healthy way. We have all found ways to cope and survive the things we thought impossible. There are many adults with wounds from their childhood that have left them unable to cope with different aspects of their life. Our wounds have great power for good or for bad. They not only impact us, but have the power to impact our children’s children.

It didn’t take us long to decide that we wanted more for our children than resiliency because our goal as parents is not to raise resilient children, but to raise children who are dependent and obedient to Christ.

We want them to live their day by Joshua 1:9 and go face their nights in light of Psalm 3:5-6.

Joshua 1:9, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

Psalm 3:5-6, “I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the Lord sustained me. I will not be afraid…”

In our daily lives we try to live this out practically by creating a home where our children feel safe to bring the concerns on their heart to us. We ask questions and give them the opportunity to share their wounds. We try to find answers to their questions when we have none. We’ve committed ourselves to teaching and sharing the gospel with our children through word and deed, and skills or hobbies that will serve them throughout their lives.

During the past couple of years Wesley and I have come to the conclusion that raising children who carry sorrow is a beautiful opportunity for us to fully rely on the Lord as He equips us to share the good news of the gospel and to walk with our children through any circumstance they may encounter.

On Aurelia’s gravestone we have engraved the words, “He turns graves into gardens” paired with Matthew 19:14 across the bottom of her stone.

Matthew 19:14, “Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as there.”

When we visit, I am reminded that Aurelia is with the Lord. God did not hinder her from entering the kingdom. He met us there, in that moment, and carried our daughter home, while still holding our hands through impossible hardship.

Still, Aurelia was not the only child we gave up to the Lord that day.

We walked out of that hospital still parents to living children. Could we give them up to the Lord as well? We had to choose that day to give the Lord all our children, because in the end they were never ours anyways. They are a gift the Lord has given us to steward well.

While I watch my children stand in the middle of a cemetery, I know that the graves God is turning into gardens are here on Earth. It is through those gardens Jesus is drawing in the hearts of my living children. They will never by forgotten or forsaken.

There is a freedom in our parenthood journey as we acknowledge that we don’t know what the end of the story is for our children. We have no idea the mistakes they’ll make, the trials they will walk through, or the legacy they will leave. It is not our job. It is simply our every day task to faithfully walk with the Lord, stewarding our children and guiding them through the stories of life they are walking through.

The good news is this: God will not be surprised by a single bit of it. Each day He gives us new mercies, equipping us to be the best we can for the tiny souls He has placed before us.

And what a honor and privilege it is.

This is part one. Wesley will give his perspective on this same topic this summer as well.

When we began this project, it completely halted our lives. Every moment, every conversation, every action we took revolved around our home. Our children’s lives were altered as we had to change up their routine to tear up our home and bring it back into order—something we’re still doing.

Grief is similar. Time stops. For a long time, everyone around us was living their normal lives, but we were not. Every moment, every conversation, and every action revolved around loss. I think it’s good for the griever to remember that it is okay that everyone else’s lives move on. Although there was a time where our worlds stopped, time didn’t actually stop.

I think of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

When we were in the depths of grieve, especially the very first year, it was both a time for us to break down and begin the process of building up. These things take time. They are skills that most of the people around us don’t need.

For us who have grieved deeply, the world stopped, and it needed to stop. Our hearts are in a construction zone and it must be attended to until order begins to returns.

Another, and rather unexpected, part of the renovation process was finding out what was under our floors. We found a lot of dirt, water, mildew, and mold. We ended up tearing out most of our baseboards which revealed multiple portions of the walls that had damage we had not seen or known about.

Likewise, when the bottom of our lives fall out, it exposes and exasperates problems that were already there, and now, they can’t be ignored.

We can choose to continue to let the mold, the mildew, and whatever else we find continue to disrupt our lives, or we can tear it out along with the floors

Of course, when you're in the worst of circumstances, all you want to do is ignore the new problems and find a way to get to the other side. Cover the mold back up. Ignore the mildew. Cut corners so that the misery is over as soon as possible. It is always the hardest choice to tear out the bad and rebuild. Literally and metaphorically.

A week ago, Wesley and I tore the moldy walls out. In the long run, we knew our family’s health depended on it. We would literally breathe better. Not only that, we plan to save some money for an air scrubber next year to monitor our air health and quality in our home.

Grief has been the same. When grief arrived at our door it exposed and exasperated a few heart issues we already had. For me, it was anxiety. It was (and arguably still is) a major concern to be attended to within my heart, mind, and soul. At the time of Aurelia’s death, I had hidden it well. I had even convinced myself that it wasn’t so bad. Yet, in the first months after we faced Aurelia’s death, and later as we welcomed sweet Behr into our home, it could not be hidden. The effects physically took over my body, controlled my mind, and fear was the posture of my heart.

There was no hiding from it anymore.

I was exhausted, experiencing a range of postpartum hormones, and I didn’t want to deal with it. Still, I had to come to the conclusion that to be a functional wife, mother, and servant of the Lord, it was necessary. I had to process through the grief and all that bubbled up with it. Anxiety is something I may find God always sanctifying in my heart. Maybe it is a cup he will eventually relieve me of—no matter the outcome, I know my job in the here and now is continuing to step forward in faith and asking him to transform and renew my mind each day disciplining my thoughts to the words of Philippians 4:8-9.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.”

Renovating our home has taken long nights, aching bodies, monotonous work, many trash loads (Wesley says 1,860 lbs. and counting to be exact), a whole lot of frozen meals, pizza, and a lot of time laying mortar and tile.

At first, the process was shaky. We made a mess. My arms were chaffed from my fingertips to my elbows from the rough mortar. We walked out in the dark every night to dump water buckets and clean out other buckets of old mortar. We knew nothing about the process. Simply trial and error as we worked our way through. Some nights we found ourselves bleeding, every day was filled with sweat, and it was common to find tears at the end of the day.

Still, somewhere near the end of the first week, we began to find a rhythm. The work became cleaner, our routines became smoother, and suddenly, we were one unit—albeit in pain—working swiftly and efficiently together as one. One room was completed and another, and then suddenly, we were looking at the end of the project and seeing all the hard work we had done.

Somehow, our floors had gone from cracking and broken vinyl to beautiful porcelain wood tiles. The hard work brought something beautiful.

I keep thinking about that in our grief.

In all the misery, I so often forget how ugly the beginning was and how beautiful restoration can be, not just in Heaven, but on Earth too.

This past week, Wesley and I met with a therapist we see together. We were sharing with her about the crazy month we’d had and mentioned how we were actually supposed to replace these floors the year Aurelia died. We began to talk about several other things we had planned to do in 2024 that we are just now getting to.

Death halted our lives. For two years we have spent our time picking up trash, clearing the floors, and laying one tile at a time across the foundation of our lives.

Everything was cancelled. New routines and rhythms were formed, and now we’re almost in the same place in our grief as we are in life with our renovation—beginning to see the restoration God is doing in our lives.

“Does it feel like you’ve come full circle?” the therapist said.

“Yeah, it feels like time is moving again,” I said.

Wesley agreed.

Grief in the beginning is certainly life stopping, life altering, and goes on for longer than most of us can imagine. Yet, God is always restoring. Each tile laid is just a little more progress and moving a little bit closer to learning to live in a broken world again. It’s the practice of holding joy and sorrow together. It’s slowly and painfully allowing God to sanctify every corner of your broken, cracked, and sinful heart.

I am thankful that I have the hope of seeing my family whole again one day, but through this project, I am thankful for the reminder that even in our pain and suffering God is still restoring our lives in the here and now. He does not abandon us, He comforts us in our afflictions. He brings joy and strength when we need it most.

Psalm 23 comes to my mind often over the last few weeks. The same short line echoing in my heart.

“He restores my soul.”

And, oh, I am so grateful to it.

My own screams echoed in my ears. I watched my own trauma unfold. My body hunched over Aurelia’s as I begged God for a miracle. My daughter was dying. My hands moving, doing everything they could to save her life.

Two years down the road, I already knew the end of the story. This was no dream, it was my reality.

My eyes opened.

I was tucked in bed. Wesley beside me. I was safe, but nothing felt safe. The darkness was heavy.

Lord, bring my mind to peace.

I rolled over, but I couldn’t shake the memories. The wires of my story had been exposed and I wasn’t quite sure how to ground them again.

Finally, I grabbed the remote and turned on light hearted television show to distract my mind and drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, the light shone dimly through the curtains. Behr banged on the door. I let him in and crawled back into bed. His warm little body curled up beside me as he tucked his head under mine.

Two years after Aurelia’s accident, and that dream had made me feel as though only hours ago I had been holding her in my arms. At the time, Behr was a small new discovery in my womb.

A few minutes later Isaiah joined and curled up on my other side. The darkness I felt during the night was almost non existent.

The Lord had given me rest and I woke up with peace in my heart, mind, and body. I was distinctly reminded of the supernatural presence I felt the night we said goodbye to Aurelia. It was as though the Lord himself was walking beside us through every tragic moment. There was peace beyond understanding in circumstances much too great for comprehension.

Anyone who grieves deeply can tell you: the nights are no friend. They can be dark and they are not afraid to haunt you. However, over the years, I have learned they don’t always tell the whole truth.

The darkness, the heaviness, and the grief, it is real, but there is much more to the story. Our dark nights leave out the most important part: God was present and He is more powerful than the grave.

God can redeem our darkest hours. God can restore the brokenness that death surrounds us in. Only God, and God alone can lay us down to sleep and awaken us with peace.

When the stories of my life haunt me, when death pounces, and when sleep does not bring rest, I know—wherever I am, no matter my circumstances—I am safe in the Father’s arms.

And so are you.

Psalm 4:8, “In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.”

We kicked off May with a little tea party. I was supposed to have guests for a small MOMCo/MOPS event, but the event got cancelled an hour before its start. I had already set the house up. I didn’t want the fun set …

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There may be things I haven’t remembered or thought about in a year and suddenly, my week is spent processing and working through that memory, the emotions, and navigating the challenges that came with it.

Personally, I have found I rarely process more than one little memory or moment at a time. I am a very slow processor and sometimes there are many parts of the same memory that must be processed, again and again and again. Grief is not a linear path that leads to healing, it is a maze where you take the days one at a time knowing that God is with you every step of the way.

We live in a fast paced culture, and to grieve well, we must force ourselves to slow down, drop the reigns on the controls of our lives, and step into the dangerous and unknown waters of the ocean. Our lives, for a long time, will simply be learning how to swim. Our muscles will ache, the exhaustion will wear us down, but it must be done if we want to build muscles that know how to grieve well.

There is often the misconception that “time heals all wounds”. It is not true. Wounds can heal with proper patience and treatment. Some wounds last a lifetime. The point I want to particularly make here is that time itself is not the contributor to a healthy life. Someone who places their feet on the firm foundation of Christ, learns how to let go of their bitterness, process their emotions, and prayerfully walk through their days will find peace. They will find a degree of healing and rest, but the complete healing will come when Christ returns and all is made right. Our tears will be wiped away, our relationships restored, and death will be no more.

If we live our lives trying to create the life we had “before” we will only be disappointed.

During moments of grief we have the opportunity to ask the Lord to do something new in our lives. We want him to create something beautiful out our pain, and let our needless tragedies find purpose—and he will! These are promises He makes to every believer.

He will make things new:

Revelation 21:5, “And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

He will work all things for good:

Romans 8:28, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

While I process our losses and our tragedies, the devastation of relationships, the brokenness, and consider it all as we raise our children I often come back to Joseph’s story in Genesis. Particularly Joseph’s words in Genesis 50:20:

“As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.”

It is this story that rings in my ears as I write to you—about the things I’m processing, how our grief is experienced, the scripture that is speaking to me, and the road we are walking—may God use the evil in our story to bring life. He is the only one powerful enough to do so.

Lately, pregnancy has led me down a road of processing many little memories I forgot. Our current baby’s due date is only a week different from Behr’s due date. I am experiencing the milestones of our loss this year along the same timeline of pregnancy. I have found myself taking life slower and adjusting my schedule accordingly so I can survive the waves of grief that want to overtake me. I must remind myself to slow down and feel the ache as I build my muscles. Trauma and loss are deep wounds I am treating, it takes much of my time and energy, but it is not who I am. I must ask the Lord to remind me that my identity is found in being a child of God.

All of this said, if I can encourage you today, I would say this: Don’t busy yourself away from the grief, don’t walk around it, or choose to sit in it. Instead, lean into the pain, embrace it, walk through it. Slow down to feel it and learn to work through it. It may take years, but one day you’ll look back and you’ll see how far you came—even by those slow, careful steps.

Exodus 33:14, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest."

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In May, I find myself pulling back from the world. All our commitments are closing out for the summer, my schedule is settling, and all the busyness seems to come to a sudden halt. I am left to reflect on joy, sorrow, and everything in between. There year, I have found myself wistfully staring out the window at the birds, watching my boys wrestle and play, and finding different corners of my house to clean out. I think about motherhood and all that comes with it—the cost, the sacrifice, the unknown.

Motherhood, in any capacity is always worth celebrating. God giving life is always a gift—even when it doesn’t feel like it. Something I feel quite often. It is in these times that I find the Lord drawing close to me and tilting my gaze back up. He brings Heaven back to my mind. He reminds me there is a greater story at play that is healing and redeeming the deep wounds this fallen world has left on me.

Where has God sanctified me more, but here in the depths of motherhood?

Motherhood has introduced me in the most intimate way to the Holiness of God. The lives of my young children has held me captivated with the love. The death of my daughter has shown me the steadfast love our Maker has for me.

I am praying, no matter your circumstances, that tomorrow, the day is sweet and you feel loved, not just by the people who surround you, but by the God who created you.

Isaiah 43:4, “…you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you…”

We began the month with Wesley’s birthday and Aurelia’s birthday (which was also shared with Easter Sunday).

Wesley really handled the week well. Emotionally, his was in good spirits.…

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We’re a couple years down the road since the day I wrote these words.

Don’t waste the waiting. Live present. Try to sleep.

There is hope in bereavement. We are not waiting for healing on Earth. We are waiting for an eternity where all is made right once more.

Today is Mother’s Bereavement Day. Happy Bereavement Day? I’m not sure how to approach this day except to be thankful God gave me days on Earth with our sweet girl. I can’t take a single one for granted.

In the waiting, I will treasure every day that the Lord blesses me with each of my “Earthlings”—my living children who I can hold in my arms.

Today,I am grateful I can look at another bereaved mother, one newer than I, and say, you’ll make it. You’ll learn to breathe again, you can rebuild, and although your baby is no longer with you, still count their life a blessing. Life for any amount of time matters. It’s worth grieving the loss, the bond, and the time you thought you’d have.

Today, we reflect on the tragedy that has left our arms with a little more room than we’d want. Yet, as believers, we have great hope and the responsibility to share with those left behind the hope we have in Christ despite our circumstances.

One day, our tears will be no more.

Until then, let’s trudge along, moment by moment, step by step, and rebuild with our eyes set on heaven above.

1 Corinthians 15:58, “Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.”

Am I going to be shaped by my earthly experiences or am I going to be shaped by the one Who made me, the Lord and Creator of all?

When we choose to be shaped by the Lord, we get to encounter something much greater than the best this world can offer us. We begin to have experiences beyond the scope of this world. We experience joy and we experience glimpses of Heaven before we ever arrive there. We can see with clear eyes, God working, despite the brokenness.

This week I have felt overwhelmed. Wesley has been in a busy season at work and I find myself lonely with too much to do. Anxiety creeps in as we pass the half way point of our pregnancy. Food sensitivities have been a great struggle. Behr broke in 6 teeth at once—which has just about brought our whole family to the end of our wits). The last month has felt like one thing after another. Add a bit of grief to what feels like death by 1000 cuts and I find myself exhausted in its wake.

Experience is teaching me life is unpredictable. It can be bad. We live in a violent culture permeated with fear. Words are short and lack gentleness. It seems mercy and grace are not even a thought in the world around me.

It can be good. Sweet moments with my children or husband will fill my cup. An unexpected kindness. Sharing a warm meal around the table with friends or family makes me happy.

Yet, still, each morning I find myself asking the Lord to hold onto me. I want to be shaped by the Heart of God, not the bad or even good circumstances around me. I want the Lord to bring light and life, even when I am experiencing darkness and death. His mercy and grace are ever present. His love is steadfast. His goodness is forever.

His Words have more power than any experience I’ve had on this Earth. His joy brings strength to my weary body. This is something happiness can never deliver to my soul.

I’ve spent the last week reflecting on the people who shaped me. There are so many people and events who have made me who I am today—by the graciousness of God or by the brokenness of the world. Yet, in the last few years I find myself clinging much tighter to the strong foundation of the Lord. Everything else changes. Seasons come and go, but God does not. His word is true. His word redeems. His word remains forever.

He is timeless.

It is my prayer for my family and the generations to come that we choose to be shaped by the one who gave his life in the first place.

Isaiah 40:8, “The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever."

It's the long surrender
On our knees where Heaven gets found
We will wait with the lost and weary
While You turn the weight of our sorrows into a crown

— The Long Surrender, NEEDTOBREATHE

Grief forces us to surrender more than just our loved one. In the wake of Aurelia’s death, we were forced to surrender our living children too.

New fears rose to the surface. There was a desperation to keep our children innocent despite the horrors they’ve experienced, and as they spend their lives processing the loss of a sibling, there are questions we find ourselves wanting to be prepared for.

We want to understand Heaven well enough that we can explain it to a child, we recognize that we must be confident in the Lord’s goodness, we know we must learn to work through our sin so that our children can see that broken circumstances don’t need to have the last words.

I am learning that parenting is simply one long ongoing conversation about what it means to live in a broken world.

It’s taking each child’s heart into consideration as they ask questions and learn to live in a fallen world at particularly young ages.

Sitting with a three year old and trying to explain that his sister is not coming back is excruciating. There is dread that comes over me as I think about the next year or so when Behr begins to recognize that he has an older sister who isn’t here.

And so, God asks me again and again to surrender my fears, my doubts, and every feeling that comes to my heart. In the midst of it, we find ourselves constantly asking the Lord for wisdom and discernment with each conversation.

It is easy to worry about their futures and allow anxiety to rule when you hear statistics of children who experience trauma at a young age. I have to constantly remind myself that God is bigger than statistics, that he loves each of our children, more than we do, and that in the same way he is drawing us near, he will draw our children into his arms as well.

Lord, would you give my children ears to hear and eyes to see your holiness? To see truth?

I don’t know the future of my children. I don’t know how they will process their pain. I don’t know how they will respond when God calls them by name.

In the surrender of my children, I’ve had to recognize that I am not God. I cannot control the adults they will become. I can only do the job that the Lord has set before me. We shall teach the laws of the Lord diligently to our children. We will talk of them when we sit in our house, and when we walk, and when we lie down, and when we rise. We will bind them to ourselves as a sign that can’t be ignore—not by our children, and not by us. (Deuteronomy 6)

Our job is to live out the gospel and always be ready to share the hope that we have despite the circumstances in which we find ourselves. (1 Peter 3:15)

The outcome is a result that must be left to the Lord.

It is here we surrender.

We didn’t have a choice when we surrendered Aurelia, but with our living children, it is a daily choice we must walk in. It is a choice that requires a life of prayer.

Genesis 33:5, “Then Esau looked up and saw the women and children. “Who are these with you?” he asked. Jacob answered, “They are the children God has graciously given your servant.””

I hope this can always be the response of my heart when it comes to my children—a gift, graciously given to us, no matter the amount of days, no matter their futures, and no matter the circumstances of their lives—may we steward them well, do the job God has put in front of us, and surrender the rest to Him.

Wesley and I hold a deep friendship, and this has held true through the past (almost) six years we’ve been married, and has been especially true as we’ve faced tragedy and obstacles of every kind. We have worked very hard for this to be true. Early on in our grief journey, we were warned that the things we say to each other even in the midst of pain and suffering matter, and we can’t take back the things we say. This is a warning Wesley and I have adhered to.

It has been with great care and intentionality that we have navigated our relationship in a post grief world. We found ourselves to be different people while facing different traumas within the same tragedy, but we served the same powerful God. This recognition has carried us through many hard days and nights.

While I’ve reflected, I thought I would share a few thoughts about marriage and navigating grief as a couple.

There were three things Wesley and I grasped in the first couple days of our grief journey. First, we had to be okay with grieving differently. Second, we had to recognize we were not capable of carrying each other’s burdens. Third, our job in marriage (and as a family) was to learn how to have fun again.

I am no marriage expert, this is simply wisdom we were given on how we would survive our tragedy. They have proved to be extremely life giving. Grief is extraordinarily hard in and on a marriage. Death has touched every part of our lives and the Lord has been very kind to guide and teach our hearts as we have chosen to cling to each other in doing the hard work of rebuilding our lives together. I hope these thoughts are encouraging to your marriage as you grow and build a beautiful life with your spouse—despite the life circumstances you may find yourself in.

It’s okay to grieve differently.

This was the first conversation we had about Aurelia after her death. We sat outside an Airbnb watching the first sunrise since we had said goodbye to our little girl and life as we knew it. We had no idea what was in store for our next few days. I still struggle to comprehend the awfulness of the days sifting through little memories, horrible words, and conversations I only want to forget. Yet, in that moment, before the world would drop upon us, we sat before God’s new mercies.

We were staying in a home surrounded by the construction of new homes to complete the neighborhood. Construction workers drove by, Spanish music played around us, the sound of hammers echoed through the streets. There was a chill in the air as we agreed we would not put expectations on the each other. We would communicate how we felt, but we would not be angry if the other did not feel the same.

This agreement has given us each the grace and compassion we need on hard days—for us both.

Practically, that has given us freedom in our grief.

Sometimes I grieve one holiday, while he grieves another. There are days when he wants to visit her grave, and I decline. There days where he holds a memory with joy, and I hold the same memory with tears.

This year, for the first time, Wesley enjoyed the day of Aurelia’s birthday while I struggled to stop the tears.

We are both confident in knowing that we loved our Aurelia deeply, and in missing her, our love will be grieved differently.

We cannot carry each other’s burdens.

Some wise words that were shared with us, and is something I’ve tucked away in my heart and not forgotten, “You have your whole lives to grieve. Don’t rush.”

This advice has an abundance of application. Even days ago, I stared at the top dresser in our children’s room and the closet full of three children’s clothes.

We have a fourth child on the way. Is it time to take the rest of Aurelia’s clothes from the room?

I reach up and feel the fabric of one of her dresses. I don’t think I’m ready. I dropped my hand and shook my head remembering the last time I said that to Wesley—shortly before Behr’s birth.

“There’s no rush, we can simply buy another dresser.”

Our marriage has felt the same. There is no rush.

Our pastor had sat us down within days of our loss and shared some simple and practical advice we could cling too. Part of that included the fact that we couldn’t handle our own grief, and therefore we could not expect the other person to carry us through.

Wesley had to deal with his own grief.
I had to deal with my own grief.

We could not fix each other’s pain.

There was a patience that had to be extended while each of us worked (and still work) through our separate traumas, our various pains, and the people we needed to forgive. Our grief was experienced differently, therefore the solutions and tools we needed would also be different.

We were two people who had to first be fully dependent on the Lord before we could share our burdens with each other.

This did not mean that we were cut off emotionally from each other. We are very aware of where the other person is at on a day to day basis. It is much more practical than that.

It means that if I wake up in the night in tears, I do not wake up Wesley to comfort me. That is not his job. I turn to prayer. I expect the same in return. Maybe this sounds cruel to you.

We let each other cry in the night without comfort?

No. We are never without comfort. It is in Psalms that we read, “…even the dark is not dark to you.”

In the literal darkness, God has brought light, comfort, and assurance of his presence to both of us.

This mentality has deepened our dependence on the Lord, and over the years, we have the confidence to know that it is only the Lord who heals—Wesley and I can be the best of friends, but neither one of us can fix this sort of pain.

We couldn’t fix each other, but we hold a deep and sacred friendship in our marriage. Our friendship–adjust all the grief—needed to know enjoyment again.

And so, as we rebuilt our lives, part of that process was learning to have fun again.

Intentional calendar planned fun is one of the best things we did for ourselves in the midst of our grief.

It was (and still can be) hard for me to leave our children, but we made monthly date nights a priority. Generally, on a weekly basis, we take our whole family bowling. We planned movie nights and game nights—sometimes the whole family, sometimes just the two of us. No matter the context or the difficulty of the day, we would choose to have fun for a few hours.

We have a lifetime of grief and if we’re going to survive it we need the laughter, we need the joy.

For Aurelia’s first birthday, we went on a train ride. We ate a small picnic lunch under the hot sun and, on our way home, we ordered some fries in her honor. It was sweet, it was fun, and there was, of course, still a few tears throughout the day.

Our choice to have fun has transformed days that should have been filled only with sorrow. It has lifted days that we struggled to shake the dark cloud from. It has offered us new and good memories which have felt like a kind blessing from the Lord in the middle of our chaotic lives.

There is hope in the heartache for our marriages. There is peace in the broken heart who doesn’t put their trust in the soul who lays beside them in bed, but in the One who made them both.

It is my prayer for us all in the context of our marriages that we are steadfast, immovable, and always abounding in the Lord’s work—never crushed by the suffering of this world, but asking the Lord to take our circumstances, to take our hearts and do something beautiful within our marriages, our homes, and the generations that come after us.

1 Corinthians 15:58, “Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.”

Grief this year feels different. It feels less intense, as though it has settled into the crevices of my soul. Less swollen, a bit healed, but forever a wound that can easily open once more. The sorrow flows through my veins like an old lifetime friend. I cherish this sorrow because I always want to have tears for the little girl I am missing from my life. I am thankful the sorrow has become a friend, it is easier to feel and see the joy that flows right beside it.

I have learned from our first couple years experiencing grief that our mundane rhythms matter. I can see the importance of walking through the dark valley of death with the Lord instead of trying to go around it. I am beginning to breathe again.

If you are reading this, and you are in the beginning of your grief journey, I hope to encourage and edify you with this note: You will learn to breathe again. Grief is a muscle you build up as you learn to swim in its waves. It’s not easy, but it is worth it.

To those who do not grieve an intimate loss, but know someone who does, let me encourage you as well: You don’t have to be an expert of grief to love the one who experiences it. All you need is to ask the Lord for wisdom and discernment. Take time to understand that it can take someone years to learn how to breathe again. Grief will become a close friend to those who have buried their loved one, so befriend it as well. Jump in the ocean, don’t avoid your own thoughts and fears brought on by their tragedies. Don’t let the waters your friend swims in be foreign to you. I promise, if you wade in and grasp their hand, you will be richer for it.

It is often those who have never experience such intimate loss who often encourage me the most. I treasure the gift of a story or hearing Aurelia’s name from the lips of a friend or even, the occasional stranger.

Last week, I introduced myself to a young woman.

“You must not remember me,” she said.
”Oh, I’m embarrassed, I’m so sorry, I do not,” I said.
”I used to care for Aurelia in the nursery. She was a perfect baby.”

That night I went home with a few tears in my eyes. Tears of sorrow and joy. Sorrow that I did not have that perfect little girl anymore, but joy that this young woman was brave enough to say Aurelia’s name and then to share with me that she loved the time she spent with her.

The grief is sweet in these moments. Not intense. Not overwhelming. Simply part of our rhythm, the life we live, and the moments we experience.

In-between these moments, I savor the rains and the rainbows it brings. God is faithful, in spite of the storms. He is teaching and guiding my heart to withstand the horrors we have faced, and He will do the same for you.

Psalm 23:4, “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.”

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When life begins in the womb, a woman’s heart rate increases. It is a quiet symptom. It happens before a test could tell you of conception, it happens before the baby even implants in the wall of his/her mother’s uterus.

Yet, in the days following conception, the mother’s heart knows and it begins to beat faster, preparing to support the blood flow of two lives.

When the baby implants, you will often find that sweet child near the uterine artery—the vessel that the baby can most clearly hear his/her mother’s heartbeat. The new soul, so small, is already drawn to the heart of their mother, and her heart is fully aware of the baby’s presence.

Four months ago, I got to experience seeing this very thing in real time after the conception of our newest sweet baby.

I wore a ring in the months prior to our baby’s conception that tracked my vitals. I knew my heart rate, and days before a positive test could tell me of the life inside my womb, my heart rate increased, sharing with me the possibility of life within.

There are so many broken things in this world, and yet, I find myself in awe when mercy arrives at my door. I have the honor of watching God work perfectly before my eyes. The sorrow momentarily melts away, and I’m struck by the holiness of God.

It is a small glimpse of life in Heaven one day.

God is in the business of life, even when it feels like death is constantly winning.

This sweet baby has been a reminder that God knew me and thought of me before anyone else knew I would exist. He thought of my husband and my children. He knew us all well before we were held and known. When Jesus arrived, 2,000 years ago, flesh on earth, his heart beat for me, for you, and for all. Today, God draws me in again and again to His heart here on Earth: His Word. I find comfort there, and I find a God who loves me and will never forsake me.

In a few months, I will hold this baby against my chest for the first time. It will only be natural to draw this sweet soul up and hold him/her against my chest to be calmed and to be warmed by a sound this child will know oh so well. The sound of my heart.

May I know the Father’s heart as well as my children know the sound of mine.

Psalm 8:3-4, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?”

Carry me when I’m holding
On to me, oh when I’m hopeless
Heaven help me, yeah, make your move
I know you’ll see me through
Nice and easy, take control
Teach me as I walk through the strangeness of it all
—Strangeness Of It All, NEEDTOBREATHE

A few days ago, I was preparing to share my testimony of loss at a MOMCo/MOPS group a few towns over from us. I’d had a couple months to prepare and for some reason, I could not string a single sentence on what I would say.

How can I tell a tragic story and still leave a group of people feeling encouraged and edified by the work of God in my life?

When I asked the question to Wesley, he asked me another question and gave a wise piece of advice.

“What do you want people to know about God? Answer the question and tell the story from that perspective.”

It was like a light bulb sparked in my head. If I’ve learned anything about God, it is that He is faithful.

It was with this perspective that I began to weave the story together. While I did, once again, I was surprised at how faithful God has been to us. The Lord prepared Wesley and I, through His Word, and through the people around us, for the sorrow we would walk out in our adulthood.

Still, as I continue to share the dark places I’ve been, I see the light shining through as I remember how faithful God has been to our family.

He has been trustworthy, steadfast, and dependable. Our needs often met before we knew it is needed. People and places are set before us in a way we could have never planned for—even still, years after our day of tragedy.

When we share about our heartache, joy, and the work He is doing in our hearts we are encouraging and edifying the people around us. We get to know the Lord a little bit better. There is hope sparking all around us. What a gift it is that God, when asked, will take our difficult stories and restore them into something beautiful.

My heart echos the words of the song above as I think about His faithfulness—Lord, carry me, as you have before. Don’t stop holding me when I’m hopeless. Lord, I am confident you’ll see me through. Teach me as I walk through the strangeness and the sorrow of it all.