Healing for Moms this Mother’s Day


Do you know the origin of Mothers Day? Anna Jarvis officially founded Mothers Day to honor her mom Ann, who experienced the death of 7 of her children. Now it’s totally commercialized and bereaved mothers are left alone to struggle through the day. Do you know someone who has struggled with infertility? Or maybe you know someone who has had one or multiple miscarriages. How are you reaching out to those mothers this Mothers Day? Perhaps send them a card or pick them out a gift. This list of ten gifts for bereaved moms is a great place to start.

So even though International Bereaved Mother’s Day has come and past (it was May 4th), use this Mothers Day to reach out. Bring Mother’s Day back to its roots. Let’s celebrate all moms on one day. Check out the movement here.

Happy Mother’s Day, may God bless you and your family. May He heal you in the only way He can. Xoxo


Sometimes Tears Are The Best Healers.

Tears are the best healers. Isn’t that sometimes the truth? I’ve always hated crying. In my eyes it was weakness. I didn’t like people seeing that I hurt or that I was vulnerable.  Once I got pregnant I turned into a ‘hot mess.’ Now after having my son I can cry at the drop of a hat. I usually am fighting back tears as I watch sappy movie/tv shows or even commercials! But I’ve learned when I hold them in, I’m not allowing my heart to feel the pain. And sometimes we need to feel that so we can heal. As I’ve written previously about my friend who has had several miscarriages. Since then, I like to follow blogs/facebooks on people who have as well, so that maybe I can get a glimpse into her pain, so maybe I can say something to help. I always feel useless having never been through the experience myself. I love how she ends it with, “I’ve learned that God doesn’t protect me from pain, but He walks right by my side as I struggle through it. And I’m amazed at His grace. “ I came across this blog and thought I’d share. Natural Fertility and Wellness. If your struggling to conceive or infertility-check them out. Photo courtesy of the website.


“It was only a photograph.

Our church had long ago decided to create a pictorial directory, updated every five years, to keep track of the growing families in our community.

And it was only a photograph.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as we sat in the narrow hallway awaiting our turn.

Five years before I had cried over the picture that showed my face with a pasted on grin covering my quiet fight against the heartache of infertility. The me that had been taking chemically-made hormones and was miserable and depressed.

But I had moved on. I had faced my infertility with the most grace that I could muster, written down my story in a book, traveled to half a dozen churches to share my story in person, and testified boldly about God’s presence in the midst of my pain.

I walked into the hallway, five years later, with confidence. After all, it was only a photograph.

But somewhere between the hallway and the moment when our pictures came on the screen, it stopped being just a photograph. It became a witness to my years of suffering and the deep emotional scars that marked my life.

It had never occurred to me that I would still be childless when this next directory came out. It never occurred to me that I would still be fighting the PCOS and thyroid issues that had so sharply marked my body. It never occurred to me that I would still be staring at a photograph of just my husband and I and would still be feeling that sense of utter helplessness.

And the realization left me breathless with sorrow.


We left the church and my husband received a phone call. I quietly told him that I would start walking, would he please pick me up when he was finished? He nodded and I quickly made my way across the parking lot, onto the street.

The sobs hit me just as I turned on the side road. I shook and walked and ran and the tears made my cheeks sting.

My husband pulled up beside me, opened the door and said, “Are you okay?” And I nodded.

And it was the truth.

Because I’m not just like I was five years ago. I’ve grown and changed and God has reached in and touched me and held me tight in my sorrow.

But I do still cry. Harsh blinding tears.

And sometimes tears are the best healers.


There is no way to predict when hard days will come. There is no way to avoid the mourning of loss. So I’ve learned to cry. Hard. Sometimes with hands shaking and groans of pain.

And I’ve learned to stand up afterward. To allow my husband and my church family to surround me and hold me tight.

I’ve learned that God doesn’t protect me from pain, but He walks right by my side as I struggle through it. And I’m amazed at His grace. “
Read more at Infertility, five years later.