May 14, 2017. My first Mother’s Day post miscarriages. I felt okay, until a few days before when I realized I wasn’t just celebrating our twin girls, but our babes in heaven as well. First our girl, JOY. Then the name I never shared for my second miscarriage, EZRA. Even now writing his name makes the hurt come to life. I stuffed the pain so hard with that loss. With Joy it was different - there was shock; I overanalyzed every detail of the pregnancy - what went wrong, what I did to contribute to the loss.

Ezra was different. I remember the shock of finding out I was pregnant so quickly after the first loss. I was angry that my body could recover and move on while I was still grieving the loss of my Joy. But our gracious God quickly helped heal my heart and the dream giver gave me all the feels for Baby #4. I named him Ezra. His name means help. In the Old Testament Ezra taught those who didn’t know God about his ways. My sweet helper. I had so many dreams for his life. I experienced something with him that I never got to with Joy. Joy couldn’t even be found. She looked like a grain of rice inside of me, never maturing past 5 weeks. But Ezra. He was 8 weeks strong and I heard his heart beat. I saw it flutter. The beating of his heart matched the fluttering of mine and the tears that fell from my face. So much hope. And so much death just 3 days after hearing his healthy heart beat. Ezra passed at home while I was alone. And for many months I felt terribly alone in this world.

It made me sad, the way people looked at me with sorrowful eyes. The way they didn’t know what to say. The way I made everyone uncomfortable when someone had good news to share…mine was too fresh and raw and painful. I withdrew. Have you ever been so angry with God that you literally turned your ears away from him and refused to sit in silence? I drowned him out with every auxiliary noise I could. Because sitting in pain and admitting defeat, the bloody gruesome death of holding your child’s undeveloped body and disposing of it in the most unholy and painful of ways is not how things ought to be. It still hurts and I have never openly discussed how raw and painful it was.

And yet I have my two girls. I have the greatest privilege of submitting before the Lord everyday asking Him to guide me in teaching them, discipling them, pointing their hearts towards our Maker, finding joy in Him and to enJOY this life he has allowed us to make. My heart longs to know my lost babies. My arms ache to hold Joy and Ezra. My strength and my help.

And I know I am not alone. On big holidays as I grow a little wiser each year, I am acutely aware that every joyous occasion for me may be someone else’s time to mourn. May our eyes see what Jesus sees in others. May we not only rejoice with those who rejoice, but mourn with those who mourn.

While my heart aches and longs for my babies, I have made peace with this part of our story. I find true rest in believing the Lord has blessed me with 2 incredible earthly children and I find peace in fulfilling His plan, path, and purpose for me as first His child, second a wife to Alan, and third a mom to my girls.

And to my sweet littles, already sitting with the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, His arms are wide enough, strong enough, gentle enough, full of love, compassion, grace, and I know how much He loves you, and He loves this mama. He weeps with me on my weepy days and He rejoices with me when I remember the truth, that I will meet you again one day. I imagine Him cradling me in my darkest moments while He still cradles you, my sweet Joy and Ezra.


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