I used to think I’d already faced the worst thing to ever happen to me. I used to think I knew what pain was. What betrayal felt like. What the absolute darkest, hellish pit was like. And maybe at one point that was true.

​Having to escape an evil man who hurt and abused me, who made my life hell was a terrible thing to overcome. But I did. 

I thought nothing could ever hurt me as badly after living through something like that. Even everything that came after, the serious injury that derailed me, the friends who I loved deeply rejecting me for my beliefs, the family I lost. It was all hard. It all hurt. But nothing felt as big as what came first. I knew how to heal, how to rebuild, and keep pressing forward.

And then I miscarried my first little baby.

​I did not conquer the grief that came after. It almost swallowed me whole. I did not feel the same invincibility I gained after surviving my trauma and overcoming the years of abuse. I barely made it through this. I did not come out stronger. I simply survived. I told my husband I made it through by the skin of my teeth. Surely, I would not be asked to shoulder any more hard things. Not for a while. Not while I felt so rickety and fragile still.

​And then I lost my second little baby. 

Many people have commented on my determination and my tenacity. My resilience. I’ve gone through a lot. But this . . .

​I do not feel much like a warrior this time, able to dig in and hold the line.

I feel forsaken for the first time in my life. I’ve walked through so many fires and never once questioned his love for me, never once doubted. Never once faltered. But now, I feel abandoned by the God I’ve followed my entire life. I’m ashamed to admit it. I know that He has not. I know He is good. I know, I know, I know.

​But I do not feel that confidence anymore.

​And that is hard. 

I feel weak and broken. Faithless. Shattered. Bewildered. Angry. Lost.

The fire in me that allowed me to press on through all of the things that came before feels brutally smothered, and I’m left lying flat on my back, choking on the smoke.

​I remember being that woman in the dark, abused, terrified, broken. I felt then as if my dreams had been taken from me. Yet, I was restored. Redeemed. Made new. Given a beautiful new life with a good man and a healthy son.

​Then I lost two babies. 

Why? Haven’t I already suffered enough? I feel like I can barely breathe before something else happens that tries to destroy me.

But I realize that even if nothing good ever happens to me this side of heaven again—if all I know is heartache and grief. I’ve won.

​I’ve won. I’m victorious. 

​Not because of what I’ve been given. Certainly not because of what’s been taken away. 

I have Jesus. I know Jesus. Even in the deep, dark valleys. Though the shadows are long, there is another walking beside me.

That I can cling to. Even though I feel abandoned and at a loss as to where to go next in my faith—he meets me there. In the darkest of places. I know Jesus knows.

Man of sorrows. He knows grief. Betrayal. Pain. He knows what it’s like to feel forsaken.

I see him there, in my mind’s eye.

Look, I say, look how I suffer.

He looks back at me, equally firm and compassionate and simply says, I know.

​Slowly extending his hands so I see the scars. 

I know, he says, tears in his eyes.

I know.

I know.

​I may feel abandoned. Adrift. Lost alone in a sea of heartache and disbelief. 

​But the reality is, I’m not. 

He was here first.

*we welcomed our rainbow baby spring of 2025. If you are walking through the season of the storm just know, you will carry them in your heart forever, but you will learn to bear the weight. Keep going. You will survive this. There is hope on the other side. 🤍