Since losing Mason, one of my daily struggles has been figuring out how to love him well. How are you supposed to love a baby you can't see, hold, comfort, or nurture? At times, it can feel impossible. And if I'm honest, it can also feel frustrating that we even have to think about alternative ways to love our babies. It should be simple. Feed them. Comfort them. Care for them. But for us, it isn't. Instead, we have to lean into our God-given instincts, our love for our babie

After losing Mason, I found myself asking questions I never imagined I would ask. Why did this happen? Could something have been done differently? Will I ever feel safe again? Where was God? For a while, I felt guilty for asking these questions. But then I started noticing something throughout Scripture: God's people asked questions too. David asked:"How long, O Lord?" (Psalm 13:1) Job asked:"Why?" Habakkuk questioned God's justice. Even Jesus cried:"My God, my God, why have

Isolation. Being cut off from the rest of the world. Feeling like you're stranded on an island of pain, suffering, and loss. I remember feeling isolated from the very second we were told Mason's heart was no longer beating. I felt betrayed as the nurses stepped into the hallway, leaving us alone in the triage room with life-altering, heart-shattering news. I thought there must be something wrong with me for this to happen. I feared people would look at me differently—like I w

Friend, I want you to know something vital and never forget it: You are still a mother. You are a mother if: You have living children. You have a child in Heaven. You carried a child for four weeks or four months. You have children to tend to at home. You have a child you dream about at night. No one can take away your motherhood, no matter what it looks like. You do not have to let loss, infertility, miscarriage, or stillbirth become a stain on your motherhood. God calls you