After my first miscarriage, I continued to “do life” as if nothing ever happened. I thought, who really mourns the loss of a 6-week fetus anyways. It felt as if this pregnancy only existed for my husband and I. It was short-lived but we had enough excitement to last a lifetime. Even after the loss, we were extremely optimistic that the next time we would hold our baby in our arms and not only our hearts. I mean, what kind of God would allow me to experience such sadness twice, right? That same year I was pregnant again but only made it as far as 16 weeks when once again my world came crumbling down. My water broke early and on December 21st, 2016 I found myself on a hospital bed, canceling my Christmas vacation because I now had to deliver my baby. At 12:01 am my son passed away during delivery and a piece of my heart died as well. Even though we had prayed, God still took our son away. At first, I tried to accept it. But after arriving home and having to deal with the physical reality that my son was gone, I wanted to so badly point my finger up at heaven and say “God, how could you?!”.

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The grieving process became unbearable and I was full of shame. I could not bring to full term what my husband and I desperately wanted. For the first time in my life, I felt I had no control over what was happening. Nothing in the world could replace the piece of my heart my son took with him. Every sermon I ever preached and everything I ever believed about God was put to the test. I can not lie and say the scale was favoring faith, my grief and hopelessness were consuming me. At times, it felt as if I was healed and found comfort through serving at my church but I still needed more. Without realizing, I was living a works-based life. I expected good to come out of my “good’ behavior. I was completely exhausted and could no longer keep up with the demands of life. I was in desperate need of a miracle. I needed a certain type of healing and nothing else could cure my hurt.

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Jan 1st, 2017, I walked in through the doors of High Place Church as a routine and honestly as a last resort. It was my second visit here and had already forewarned my husband that  I was going to be manipulated through a sermon and then return home to my grief. It was as if God had whispered to Pastor Edgar every word I needed to hear that morning and it was as if the worship team selections were exactly what I needed to hear to prepare me for the word of God. I spent a whole year searching for healing in empty wells and finally,I found healing, all within one service. As the pastor spoke, I felt as if someone had lifted one thousand bricks of my shoulders. I felt relieved, I felt hope again and I felt my faith increase.