“While he was saying these things to them, behold, a ruler came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” And Jesus rose and followed him, with his disciples. And behold, a woman who had suffered from a discharge of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his garment, for she said to herself, “If I only touch his garment, I will be made well.” Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And instantly the woman was made well.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭9:18-22‬ ‭

Faith is not something that I ever thought I would struggle with. There was nothing that life could throw my way that would make me doubt that God could do anything for me. That is, until John & I buried 2 babies & never even got to see our 3rd.

Full transparency, I struggle believing that the same God I’ve seen bless others with miracles, could do the same for me. Or would even want to do the same for me. That’s a battle I don’t want because what’s on the other side of that is hopelessness. What do you have if you don’t have hope? I’m just gonna pause here & ask whoever reads this to pray for me because I am not using the word struggle lightly…sometimes it feels like I have no faith at all…

Grief is weird & causes contradictory emotions because what I don’t doubt is what God will do for John.

I am hemorrhaging. My heart at least. The little bit of energy that I can muster up is being directed towards just brushing past the One I’ve heard heals. My cry is not for me but my husband. I’ve been told of so many miracles for other people & see so many dad’s just gushing over their earth side kids. I know that what God has done for other bereaved father’s, he can do for John. He doesn’t love them more than him.

I’m just waiting for that moment that I can cut in while He’s on His way to heal someone else. I know there is healing & blessings all around my family. I. See. All. Of. It. Almost makes me feel like the goodness & mercy that’s followed them is being rubbed in my face. Pause for prayer. I am fighting against bitterness.

I don’t even need to be seen. This healing that I’m crawling in the dirt for is not for me. It’s for the daddy who has had to watch his babies come into this world silent. It’s for the daddy who knows he’s a father but doesn’t understand how he fits in with this holiday. It’s for the daddy who can’t speak his children’s beautiful names because it would break him. It’s for the daddy who holds his breath with each pregnancy his wife endures, just hoping he gets to meet at least one of his children alive. It’s for the daddy who holds his wife together in the middle of the night when the weight of her grief feels like it will crush her. It’s for the daddy who has watched his life flash before his eyes each time one of his children runs ahead of him. It’s for the daddy who carries on because if he stops moving, he isn’t sure he if he will ever move again. It’s for the daddy who would lay down his life for his kids. Over & over & over again but never got the chance to.

If not me, than him.