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For every woman with empty arms and an aching heart in this season, I pray that she will feel a weeping Jesus near and comforting her. I pray that a miraculous joy will well up within, defy earthly pain, and speak heaven straight to her soul…

Mother’s Day can be so very hard, and I’m over on my friend Christie Purifoy’s blog today sharing my story and my heart for everyone whose arms ache to hold a little one in this season. Click here to read the full post, and if you haven’t yet read Christie’s book, Roots and Sky, it’s a truly beautiful read.

  • Danielle - My favorite line: He held me and didn’t let go. Thank you for sharing your hard and beautiful story.ReplyCancel


The moon travelled close to meet your arrival.

It loomed larger in the sky than any time in the past eighty years. A sparkling lunar greeting. I cannot help but think that even the moon was tempted to swing near to glimpse your fresh-faced miracle.

You are tucked into our lives, new and at home, and a glowing orb hangs out our front door, keeping watch.

This moon whispers, “Wake up wake up, a soul is born!”

An ordinary miracle played out a billion times more. Body meets body, love binds, God breathes, and in the depths a spark is lit. Along with lungs and eyes, tiny kicking feet and sucking lips, comes a fresh soul, a seed. Never known and discovering. The moon stands sentry to remind us with its tremendous face what we are witnessing, what we are cradling.

Then day peeks through the windows. I hold you and eat oatmeal and fruit, scrambled eggs. Drink a cup of tea, grateful. I keep you in my arms and fall into a most beautiful book, all the stars in the universe connecting a story at a time. Gilead sits on the coffee table and finds its way into my hands as you sleep on my chest.

I read, feed you, and nourish myself. Amazed at this moment—you and I, this couch, the book, food, and the sun risen after the moon slipped back on its path to further space.

“Sometimes I have loved the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday. It is like standing in a newly planted garden after a warm rain. You can feel the silent and invisible life.”  I read Marilynne Robinson’s words.

You wake and your dainty feet kick, toes poised, flexing in an unsung dance. We are in the garden, we are speaking to the moon. We are ordinary, and the fact that you and I are here, eating eggs and nursing quiet is a miracle sure.

November 13, 2016 – 4 days old

  • Katie - Oh Sharon, what a preciousness!
    These images of your daughter are SO beautiful. I could not get over how tiny she was in that pretty bassinet and how darling the blue gingham sleeping gown with the pink bow and sweet cap:)And her peaceful face.
    Thank you for sharing these and your heart here.
    What beauty and love!!

    • sharon - Thank you so much for your sweet words Katie! She is truly a treasure and we are so thankful xoxoReplyCancel

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us”

– Hebrews 12:1

Sometimes I get a glimpse of the finish line, I’m flying and the wind is in my hair.

And then I trip and fall, face down in the sand. Too tired, too discouraged to get back up.

For all you homeschooling mamas out there, give yourself grace. This isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon, and you are surrounded by sisters. No matter how this school year feels, you have given your heart and your time. And there’s just a few more months til summer!

For more unplugged images and inspiration head over to

The wound remains.

Time has passed, is passing still, and I hold our long, awaited baby. The pain of the full-term stillbirth and two miscarriages has dulled, but three of my seven children are not with me. The pieces will never be put back together here on earth.

And now, as I hold this newborn bundle growing into a healthy, wiggling child my arms remember the shape of what I have lost. Grief has become tangible, abstract mourning swallowed up by tiny breaths upon my neck, grasping fingers and curling toes…

Today I’m part of my friend Dorina Gilmore’s series on Navigating Grief as Life Moves Forward. I’m sharing about how holding this new precious little one has also brought back memories and grief over my babies that I will never hold. You can click HERE to read the entire post, and I hope it is encouraging to those of you who feel that grief is a long and unexpected road. You are not alone.

“There was no magic formula that took me from the brink of offense to tenderness with Jesus again. It simply entailed daily time with him, reading the Bible, praying, and journaling my heart to him between lines of gray in my notebook. This was the practice I had started, and it became my lifeline. I found that as I kept spending time with Christ, I couldn’t harden my heart against him. It hurt sometimes, reading those stories in Scripture about others who were healed and knowing it wasn’t yet my own story. But Jesus met me in that place, over and over, and I came to terms with my own need for him. I embraced the gift of being his–even if he wasn’t answering me the way I wanted.”

These words by Ann Swindell echo my experience and emotions so closely even though our stories hold different types of pain. I have lived hard seasons of waiting in my life when I walked through pregnancy loss. I have waited to see if a pregnancy would progress, I have waited as I processed grief after losing a child, I have waited and waited for another child only to lose again. I have wondered why God would not heal my body as others held new babies. Most recently God fulfilled my desire by giving me a healthy daughter.

Though I do not have answers for why sometimes God gives healing and other times he allows us to walk through long seasons of heartbreak, I know that He is good, and Ann’s book Still Waiting has been such an encouragement to me. I especially appreciated how she reminds the reader that our faith is rooted in weakness and it is through this brokenness that we draw near to our Savior who is full of empathy. This brave and meaningful book just released this week, and I would encourage you to pick up a copy or listen to it through Audible.

Also here are a couple articles that really resonated with me, that Ann wrote about the message of her book…

What You Lack is Not Who You Are

When Waiting Wears You Down