My journey to motherhood has been bookended with loss. It began with a devastating miscarriage a decade ago. In the years that followed, I welcomed two daughters who are now six and two years old. Then this past April, I experienced another early miscarriage.
Miscarriage is a kind of grief that often lives quietly. Many women carry it silently, wondering if anyone else truly understands the depth of the loss. I remember being in that place — grieving a baby I never got to hold and wrestling with questions I didn’t know how to answer.
If you are searching for hope after miscarriage or wondering how faith fits into pregnancy loss, this is my story.
This is the story of how God met me in that grief, carried me through seasons of loss and hope, and slowly taught me what it means to trust Him in a broken world.
Wrestling With God
About a decade ago, my sweet husband Colton and I were newly married. I was just beginning my career as a kindergarten teacher, and we were settling into our little life together.
Then, to my surprise, I found out I was pregnant.
And just as quickly as I found out… I began to lose the baby.
I had always dreamed of becoming a mom.
And suddenly, my arms were empty.
I remember the shock in those first moments — the confusion, the disbelief. In the months that followed, I remember the loneliness. A heavy cloud of grief seemed to follow me everywhere. It felt like no part of my life was untouched by it.
I think that was the most tears I’ve ever cried.
And honestly, the most honest I’ve ever been in my prayers.
As I grieved losing that baby, I learned what it meant to truly wrestle with the Lord. To lament. To cry out to Him honestly.
- “Where are you in this, God?”
- “Why even allow me to get pregnant just to let my baby die within me?”
- “How could any good ever come out of this?”
- “Will my heart always feel this heavy and broken? Will I ever be a mom to a living baby?”
- “God, would you just fast-forward to the part where I am healed, where my heart is put back together, and I can feel joy again?”
Over time, I had to reconcile that many of these questions may never have answers on this side of heaven. God never promised that we would be exempt from suffering in this life.
Yet even in the thick of grief, He was restoring my hope.
Not because my circumstances suddenly changed.
Not because I finally understood the “why.”
But because my hope was never meant to be rooted in the outcomes I wanted.
My hope is found in Christ alone.
It was in that grief that the Lord met me.
There, in the middle of sorrow, I began to learn — deeply and personally — that God really is who He says He is. He does not leave us to grieve alone. He is near to the brokenhearted.
A Rainbow of Hope
A couple of years after our miscarriage, I became pregnant with my little rainbow baby, Stella, who is now six years old.
I vividly remember how anxious I felt during that pregnancy after loss. I was tethered to hope, desperate for the Lord to carry me through that season.
And He was so faithful.
A few years later, we welcomed our daughter Lucy, who is now two years old. She is a ball of energy — if you’ve ever met her, you know.
Then this past April, I experienced another early miscarriage. And once again, the Lord carried me.
This loss felt different from the first. I didn’t experience the same flood of tears or spirals of questions. Instead, there was a deep, quiet sadness paired with an overwhelming sense of God’s nearness. I struggle to fully put into words just how close His presence has felt. It has been the sweetest gift.
Jesus truly is my greatest friend. He is so good.
Living in a Broken World
We don’t have to look very far to see just how broken this world is. We see it in news headlines. We see people around us who are suffering. Even within our own bodies, we experience the effects of this brokenness.
All of creation waits eagerly for Christ’s return and for Him to redeem every broken thing. We long for the day when death is defeated forever, when every tear is wiped away, and when all things are made new.
Suffering has a way of pulling the curtain back and exposing where our hope truly lies. It revealed what I reach for when I’m desperate for comfort. It confronted my illusion of control. It reminded me that I am not nearly as self-sufficient as I sometimes believe. It also made me ache for redemption in a way I never had before.
Following Jesus means clinging to Him even when it feels like you have nothing left. It looks like wrestling, lamenting, and asking hard questions. Then sitting in the tension of not fully understanding while still choosing to trust Him. Again and again, I brought Him my pain and asked Him to be my comfort. And again and again, He proved faithful.
Learning to Hope
When suffering is fresh, it can feel endless. I don’t know about you, but in my experience, suffering does not feel “light and momentary.” It feels heavy. It feels like it might last forever.
But I kept coming back to these verses in Lamentations 3:20-24 (NLT):
“I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.
Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:
The faithful love of the Lord never ends.
His mercies never cease.
Great is His faithfulness;
His mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in Him.’
The Lord is good to those who depend on Him,
to those who search for Him.”
Hope became less about circumstances changing and more about remembering who God is, remembering how faithful He has always been, and trusting His promise that one day He will redeem it all.
In my deepest grief, I came to know the nearness of God in a way a life of ease never could have taught me. He truly is near to the brokenhearted.
Joy and Sorrow: Learning to Coexist
Walking through loss taught me something about joy. Real joy is deeper than surface-level happiness. Joy is a fruit of the Spirit — a deep-rooted contentment that isn’t dependent on our circumstances.
During that season, one of my prayers on repeat was: “God, would You restore my joy?”
I remember standing in worship and quietly praying: “Help my unbelief. Make this praise true of my heart.” That tension — sorrow and praise in the same breath — can feel strange at first. But Scripture makes space for it.
In 2 Corinthians 6:10, Paul describes believers as: “Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.” Joy and sorrow can coexist because Christ is our anchor. We grieve deeply and honestly, but we grieve with hope. Sorrow reminds us that this world is not yet as it should be. Joy reminds us it won’t always be this way. Because Jesus walked through suffering and defeated death, even our deepest sorrow is temporary.
One of the clearest moments of this tension for me was when Stella was born. They placed her on my chest, and she let out this beautiful cry. I thought my heart might burst from joy. In that very same moment, I felt the ache of never hearing our first baby cry. Joy and sorrow collided in the same breath. And somehow, both were real.
Encouragement for Those in Sorrow
If you are walking through grief right now, I want you to know this: God sees you. He is with you. He cares deeply for you. When it feels like no one else could fully understand what you’re walking through, Jesus understands perfectly. Scripture calls Him the Man of Sorrows.
Bring your hurt to Him. Bring your questions. Bring your wrestling. He can handle it.
1 Peter 5:7: “Cast all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.”
The God of all comfort meets us in the middle of our sorrow. He is not a distant Father wishing we would simply “get it together.” He sees us, weeps with us, and sustains us. His grace is sufficient. His power is made perfect in our weakness.
I don’t have all the answers, but having walked this road, I know this to be true: God is near to the brokenhearted. And in Him, we are never alone.
Walking With Others in Grief
To those walking alongside someone who is grieving — your presence matters more than you know. If you don’t know what to say or do, ask God for wisdom. Ask Him for the courage to step outside your comfort zone and enter into their pain with them. Pray for them. Pray with them. Intercede for them.
If they are struggling to hope, let them borrow yours. The comfort you have received from God in your own suffering can become a source of encouragement for someone else.
Even if you are not currently in a season of grief, chances are you know someone who is. Sometimes simply showing up is the most powerful ministry of all.
A Story Still Being Written
Although I may still not know why things happen that cause our hearts to break, I take genuine comfort in knowing that God hears our cries and that He is working in ways we cannot always see.
Ecclesiastes 11:5: “Just as you do not know how the life breath enters the human frame in the mother's womb, so you do not know the work of God who is working in everything.”
Even in grief, God is still at work. In ways both quiet and unexpected, He began to transform my sorrow into something that would eventually help comfort other women walking through miscarriage and pregnancy loss.
I’ll share more about how that journey unfolded in the next blog post.
