Tag Archives: A Mama’s Heart


My sweet Noah,

This past year has been the sweetest with you yet. With your brothers at school, we have so much time together. Just us.

When I was bedridden with morning sickness for several months last year, you were my faithful companion– watching youtube while I grew a baby inside of me.

When we lost that baby, you were a grace. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you during those months of heavy grief. You reminded me of His good gifts and you kept me going.

I remember when it was you I was growing inside. I was stunned when that pregnancy test turned pink, because I was not expecting you at all. Wes wasn’t even crawling yet and I was overwhelmed.

Then you came. And we loved you with all our hearts. Because you all were so little (you plus a 1, 3, and 5 year old), I felt like I was drowning and someone handed me an infant (that’s part of a joke that daddy heard at work and I related to so well!). The first year you didn’t sleep through the night. The second year we were trying to figure out how to accommodate your allergies. By year three, I felt less overwhelmed and started to breathe normally again.

Too much is a blur, really. But I do remember this past year and I remember how sweet it’s been to have your endless chatter with me day in and day out. You say the funniest things, ask the best questions, and love me in the sweetest way.

You can’t sleep without your regular pillow, smiley face pillow, and green blanket. And unless you have one of your stuffies, you won’t sleep well through the night. Something to snuggle is necessary 🙂

Your most requested meal is still hot dogs. When we are out running errands, our favorite lunch spot is SAMS club where we can each get a hot dog and share a soda. I love that.

Whenever we get in the van, you rush to the front and buckle up quickly. You think you’re hilarious. So do I.

You still ride in the front of the cart and hug me as we walk down the store aisles. You still walk sleepily to me every morning and snuggle in for a hug before you do anything else. We have a “secret kiss” before bed at night and then you say, “Goodnight! See you in the morning!”

You call me your “sweet baboo” and open the door to “your majesty.”

We watch Curious George or Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood together after the boys go to school in the morning. We go to the library often and read so many different books together. You always want to look out the head roof when we are in carline at school. You are so excited for kindergarten in the fall.

I’m not sure how that will be. Honestly, I dread it. Having you all gone almost everyday is just the worst thought to me. It’s gone too fast. There’s so much that I wish I’d done better hindsight, but I just have to throw myself on His grace and trust you got what you needed.

You are a determined, strong-willed, stubborn, social, so sweet, lovable little man.

You have my heart.

All my love,




I’m thankful there is a story beyond my own. The hard in this life would be too hard unless He was bigger than my story.

I’m thankful He’s writing it. Because in spite of he parts I would write differently, I know He’s weaving something beautiful.

He took a womb and four times grew amazing precious people. Unexpectedly to us, he gave us a fifth precious person that we dreamed about, planned for, and loved wholeheartedly as she grew for four months.

Then the doppler was silent and the screen showed her still.

To be empty when you are supposed to be full, to feel death when there ought to be life is to know brokenness in a wretched, personal way. The curse has hit full-force and I reel with grief.

As I move forward, I want to keep the grief close. If the grief is near me, I haven’t moved past that child. She’s real. She exists. And even if she is never mentioned by another, she is still loved and thought of. Miscarriage is cruel like that. You lose a child but have no shared memories with others of that child. So there’s nothing to say– nothing to reminisce on– no way to easily mention that name. And so it seems the rest of the world has forgotten. I make sure I don’t.

Today is Wynne’s due date. But really it isn’t, is it? We thought she was due here, but that was never His intent. He created her, I grew her, and then she went Home before knowing this broken home we know. For her sake, I rejoice. For my sake. . . well, I’m still trying to get used to the idea that for the rest of my life, I’ll be desperately missing her.

I’m reminded of the uncertainty of life as we know it. With that, I’m reminded of the grace that accompanies every sunrise. I know the faithfulness that He folds me in from the moment my feet hit the floor. I know the power of Truth being broadcast into my ears, eyes, head, and heart in a steady flow all day long. I know His Presence because even in my darkest moments, He moves in with Truth and steers my heart toward Him. I know His comfort– as I sit behind a closed door weeping from a broken heart my mind never drifts to despair. He nudges me with hope.

I know this small piece of my story isn’t the end of His.

This knowledge is a grace. Though I wish today that I was kissing sweet baby cheeks, I am confident that He is good. And perhaps because this good is so painful, it urges me to constantly look up rather than at my own small story. And you can’t complain about something that pushes you to Him.