Mothers are like Jesus.

I heard the bathtub start and the splash of Asher, our 9 year old settle in. He had been at church camp for five days, and I was unpacking his suitcase. The stench of boy sweat and testosterone waiting to blossom filled the laundry room as I heard him say:

” MOMMA! Which one of these soap bottles is for my hair?”

That’s funny. Shouldn’t he have figured that out this week at camp?

I walked into the bathroom to see him holding the very two bottles I packed him.

” Is the red one for my hair?”

” Honey, that’s the body wash I packed you. Did you not use it this week?”

::Sighs, shrugs his shoulders. ::

” They kept telling me to hurry so I didn’t use soap. But gosh Momma! This stuff smells GOOD!”

It was then clear as to why he smelled like a dumpster when I picked him up.


Along with the chaos of four children under the age of 9 , I’ve found that my biggest struggle is feeling like I do not have a voice. Can they even hear me when I speak? Often times I say things five times before I eventually yell out an order.

I play this repeat game all day long.

“Brush your teeth. Wash your hands. Be nice to your sister. Give her her doll back. Get in the van. Eat your food. Get in your bed. Stop fighting. Do I need to call Daddy? Please stop fighting. Don’t hit your sister. Don’t pick up your brother. Go outside. Be nice. Be quiet, your brother is asleep. “

I’m in this middle of the drawing board trying to find the line between giving them grace for their mistakes , and teaching them respect for authority.

It’s really hard. I feel defeated daily. It’s exhausting.

But I know that all of this is necessary to train up children that are kind, responsible and loving.


Tonight after getting a good laugh out of Asher’s camp mishaps, the Lord spoke to me over all the loudness. Over all the fighting and the dirty dishes. The working late husband and the whiney four year old.

” Even when you feel like you have failed, you are more like me than you think you are. Do you know how many times I’ve given directions to my children and they ignore me?”

It was in that moment that I felt closer to Him than I had in MONTHS. It’s been so very loud in my mind that it’s hard to hear him. Hard to hear my own thoughts, much less His words to my heart. It’s not that I don’t let him in and invite his presence to reign, it’s that I am so tired. I am worn out. I am in Mommy mode from sun up to sun down and not one day with children is ever easy. I feel in over my very own head.

In desperate need of refreshment and sustained vision for my life. I understand that this is a SEASON, one that will pass in the blink of an eye, and I will always miss it. I’ll always long for the late night nursing sessions, and when I could fix my 6 year olds problem with a snuggle session. I know I’ll miss back to school shopping and solving my daughters fights over Barbie dolls.

I know my childrens problems won’t always be able to be solved by me. But that doesn’t make this season any easier. It’s my reality now. I’m knee deep in sibling rivalry and refereeing confrontations.

But I may never be more like Jesus than I am in this phase. 

Mommas, we are the most selfless beings there are. We do things without expecting a thank you. Our job isn’t a paid one. We never stop being a Mom.

How many times has God given us directions ( his word ), told us how to live our lives and we turn our backs on him? So many.

The pain we feel for our children when they do not take our advice, and we see them fail or get hurt, that’s the same pain Jesus feels when we sin.

He knows he tried his best to guide us, but we alone make our own choices that come with an end result.


Mommas: When you are having a day where your children won’t take your advice, where you feel like you perhaps could turn blue from repeating yourself, know that HE hears you. He understands what it’s like to be rejected.

Satan wants nothing more than to discourage Mothers who are trying to raise warriors in Christ. He wants us to feel alone, isolated and defeated.

But I say to you today that we are never closer to Jesus than when we are laying down our lives for another.

That’s what Motherhood is, we serve. We give our whole lives to tiny people that will most likely never say thank you. And that’s love.



I was standing there on the Juniors aisle with my four month old in the Ergo carrier and my four year old daughter in the Marshall’s cart. Scanning the American Eagle brand shorts with my eyes, looking for a size that may fit over my new thighs that my son gave me for Valentines day.

The thoughts running through my mind weren’t kid appropriate , so I just was silent trying to find SOMETHING that I could wear. Anything really.

:: Oh hell no, these are V shaped. Ain’t nobody wanna see my crotch in the shape of a V. Too many babies came out of that area, it’s jaded. Things would hang out. Things I don’t even know what to call. ::

:: These are high rise. Cool. They can hide all the extra glasses of Chardonnay I have had. I never work out because I don’t want to. Maybe these would work.::

:: These are low rise. Dear God. People would be able to see my C section scar. Even my husband pretends to not see it. Or maybe it’s just because he ignores it. Either way, these won’t work. I’d look like I was trying too hard to be slutty. I don’t have time for that.::

” Can I help you find with anything Ma’am?”

“” Oh please don’t call me Ma’am, I’m not even thirty yet. I have a few more months of bliss.”

” No, thank you though. I’m just looking.”

:: Actually, I am on a Mommy daughter date with my child who has bucked me since day one of her birth. Could you bring me a Prosecco , chilled? I am out with her tonight to make her feel special and loved, as she has been driving me insane trying to get attention. Thanks for the booze. Can you hold my baby? ::

” Oh ok, let me know if you need any help!”

:: I would love a Nanny.::


I couldn’t try on any of the shorts, as I had my sleeping baby in the Ergo. I held them up,

one by one. Each one I had an issue with. This wasn’t like picking out cheap wine, I mean I had to wear these. Work them. Chase our kids and bend over to wipe tiny butts. They must be durable, yet fashionable.

After about an hour in the Juniors department something caught my eye. It was classy, yet screamed Mommy. My eyes gazed up towards the lights, the lights that would guide me home. Home felt warm as my infant urinated and leaked onto my ugly Mom shirt.

Women’s shorts

What is this area that I am suddenly drawn to? The place where it is sized by number and not by small medium and large. The shorts were classy and not risque. Longer lengths and many of them said ” PTA MOM” on the bottom right side.

All these years I have been living in the past. Living a lie. I am no longer a Junior. Junior is dead. I am now having to shop in the Women’s section of life. I am now Senior. Senior mother just waiting to graduate out of the stage of life I am in, all the while trying to find clothes that I can unload the dishwasher in without being shanked by my husband. I don’t want anymore kids.

Still unable to try them on, I held them up to my growing waist line as my daughter shouted:

 ” Momma, those look like Grandma shorts.”

” Oh honey, Momma thinks these are cute. You don’t?”

Just then my baby woke up and farted like a grown man. The Grandmothers in the aisle with me snickered, then soon became aware of the stench of baby ass. Their swooning smiles soon changed to horrified and I kindly buried my face in a pile of Clearance item scarves. I don’t wear scarves. Too much work. Kinda like bedtime stories. Just please go to bed before I eat my hair.

I mean , can’t we be friends? We are both here trying to find shorts. We all know how undignified and revolting this act is. 

I am convinced that there is a group of women, in a galaxy FAR FAR AWAY that sells shorts that actually don’t give you a camel toe. They fit nicely and you are free to run after your children when they refuse to take a bath after a long day of sweating actual buckets of toxic waste and cow manure.

I walked out of that store with a few cute V neck T shirts. Some coffee. The ugly flip flops my daughter begged me for. Some Epsom salts for my aching everything, and one pair of shorts I didn’t even try on. Cheers to hoping they fit without making me look like a Prostitute.

I just want to publicly acknowledge that I am from this day forward, never going to shop for shorts again. Unless I am childless and can try things on. Which will never happen, so I will be unable to.

If you see me in public , please know that the shorts I have on aren’t supposed to be that ugly, or tight. I am not trying to steal your husband with my ugly shorts. I am wearing them because I sweat like a man laying shingles down on a new roof on a 99 degree day without any lunch breaks. Just sweltering heat , dreaming of quitting time. Add a baby with a piss diaper on his back to that stench.


Dear Husband, I miss you. 

Dear Husband, 

Tonight I realized I missed you standing right next to you. Both of us within arms reach of each other, yet unable to embrace the way we once did. 

You were holding our 4th baby, and I was consoling our 4 year old for the 47th time in an hour. Our eyes met and said what we didn’t have the energy to say: 

I miss you. 

I miss being alone with you. Being able to stand close to you in a crowded room without a child fighting for our attention. Now our social functions are spent making sure our children are behaving and fed. Did they eat their dinner before they were offered a cupcake?

Our life together as parents isn’t always easy. In fact it’s rarely easy. What it is is loud and chaotic and blissfully beautiful. 

Quality time together is something we lack in this season, but I want you to know that I see you in our children daily. I don’t have to look far on the long days of you working late to see your face. 

It’s in our middle Childs smile, the way she comforts her sister and carefully kisses her baby brother on the cheek. I see your affection, especially when I miss you. 

I miss you in the middle of dinner, one of us cutting the children’s chicken in bite sized pieces while the other wrangles a toddler into a highchair. I miss the nights with just the two of us, adult conversation and quiet. 

I miss you when we are in bed after a long day of work and strife between the kids. Too tired to even talk, just sighs between us. Your hand reaches for mine and we drift into a deep sleep until we are awakened by one of our babies. 

I miss the way we were, I always will. I’ll always miss the late nights and constant phone calls. The dates and the heart stopping kisses. The way my heart fluttered when I knew it was you calling my phone. 

But I want you to know that even though I miss you, I love the new us. 

The beach vacations with four kids that go to hell so fast that all we can do is laugh. The middle of the night nursing sessions where you rub my aching back. 

Each time we added a new baby to our family, I loved the new you even more. The joy I witnessed upon your face when I handed you our child.

I miss the old you, but I daily praise God for the new you. The new normal we have. 

Throughout all the newness and the obstacles we’ve faced as parents, I’m loving the new us. 

Honey, this season is hard, but isn’t it what we’ve always wanted? 

I forget that on the long days of parenting. I seem to forget that we are doing exactly what we asked God for.

The exhausted, snack fixing , butt wiping , bill paying , sleepy and or quicky sex having us. 

We just didn’t understand it would be quite this trying, did we? 

I miss you from the moment a date night ends until the next one begins. 

The fact is that our chaos is what other couples may be believing God for. 

At the end of the day, when all is quiet and dirty dishes greet me at the entrance of our kitchen , I miss you. 

But then I remember, I’m washing our dreams. 

Baptism of my babies. All of them.

Today was so emotionally intense for me. Three of our seven children were baptized at the church Matt and I met in and got married in. Each one has been dedicated as an infant. This place is so very special to our hearts.

I awoke this morning already feeling the weight of the Holy Spirit upon my heart. Our middle daughter Rhema ( 6 ) came into our room with a horrific sounding cough. One of those that you wonder if it’s something serious, or just a morning cough trying to break through and recover. Her voice was hoarse, and her forehead warm.

She knew she was being baptized today, and mentioned to me that she felt she couldn’t go through with it. She was too tired. Wasn’t feeling up to it.

I try really hard not to over spiritualize things in our lives, but I am very aware of the spirit realm in a real way. I’ve seen spiritual battles with my own eyes. I knew this was an attack on her little body. The one that was going to be given freely to Jesus in front of friends and family that morning. I knew I needed to pray over her.

We prayed, and I gave her some cough medicine. Put some essential oils on her chest and had her drink a large glass of water. Within five minutes her cough was completely gone, and her little voice back to her normal raspy self.

I could feel that it was the first of many victories that the day held.

At church we had worship first, and the presence of Jesus was strong in the room. I was peaceful and praying over each of our children that was going to be Baptized. I vividly remember my own Dad baptizing me as a young child. The rush of the water on my face, the release of perfection I felt as I came out of the water. I knew then I would choose to follow Jesus, even when life was hard. Especially when life was hard.

Worship ended, and I could feel a shift in the atmosphere. A presence that was different from before. My heart began beating out of my chest, and tears came falling down my cheeks. I knew they were there.

My three in heaven, they were there watching.

A mentor and deep friend came up to me and said:

” Just now a cloud of witnesses entered the room. They are praying over all the children being baptized. Among them are your three children.”

Holding our youngest, Luca ( 3 months ) I couldn’t help but hold him as the tears cascaded down my face. THAT was the presence I felt moments ago, unable to explain it.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,”

Hebrews 12:1


It wasn’t long before I could see all three of my babies sitting patiently on the stage, behind the baptism pool.

Jude looked to be around 12, so handsome and tall, a protective big brother, with his arm around my brown curly headed Haddie who looked to be 5-6 years old. Little Alba, my blonde haired beauty sat silent, soaking each detail in just like her sister Adah. Each one of them with their arms stretched out long and wide to their siblings and Matt and I.

So many days of suppressing their lives to in my memory in order to function came exploding out of my heart. They were there with me. Literally there.

My soul embracing each detail of their faces, the ones I long for each day.

If this was a year ago, I would’ve rushed up on stage just to sit with them. To soak in their presence, to try to at least touch them with my own hands. What my eyes have seen has been a torture and a blessing to my spirit at the same time. The two spirit worlds separating us, yet the kingdom of Jesus connecting us. My children, and yet my brothers and sisters in Christ.

But today I was at peace not being able to embrace them, knowing full well their love for me. Their love for their siblings. My arms still aching to hug them.

A hard concept for me to grasp, even though I try. I let myself cry, wiped my tears and rejoiced that they were here with us! Ready to bless their siblings, all of whom love them with a passion.

We had a time of prayer before each of the children were baptized. It was in that moment that I knew by our children’s faces that they deeply understood what they were consenting to. They wanted life and life abundantly with Jesus. They’ve seen what Matt and I have walked through, they’ve seen their Mother weep after losing a child. They know what pain and hardship looks like, yet they still chose to surrender their lives to Him. Our healer, our maker.

There was a loud celebration in the room. A party! Everyone shouting and rejoicing in new life. Our kids smiles were contagious as they waited their turn to get in the water.

I can truly say that each one of them had a new smile as they were lifted out of the water by my husband. A new joy and a new laugh erupted from their mouths.

As they were all finished, they joined in on the celebration of everyone else’s baptism. Clapping and shouting and praising Jesus for their friends who were experiencing just what they did.

If this is the peer pressure they accept, Lord let it be so!

Processing today will be for me, a release of our children into His will. A trust and a bond that I have chosen with Jesus to keep them in His hands. Whatever his mighty plans may be. I trust Him.

I’ll remember this day forever, and remind them of the joy I could see. The tangible peace that their baptism brought my heart.

All of our children in one place at one time.

My mothers heart is happy for the first time in a long time. I finally feel at peace with their deaths, that were resurrected to life today.

All at once, they are alive in Him.


I thank God daily that our children have a Father that passionately does what Jesus commands and loves them so well. I love him so much.




Rainbow baby.

Since the term ” Rainbow Baby” has made its debut in society, on Mommy blogs and Parenting forums, I’ve noticed that everyone touches on the healthy pregnancy of a baby after a deep loss, and the birth of bringing the longed for baby into the world.

But when life really settles in and the mundane tasks began to take over your joy and relief of a live baby, does this baby still carry the pressure of healing your heart?

This is something I’ve asked myself in these last few weeks after giving birth to our son Luca after three losses.

Do I feel differently about him than I did my others who came before loss?


The moment Luca was finally born after a long and tiring labor at home, I felt instant relief from physical pain. The weeks that followed I could feel my heart mending from the trauma of my last birth, and I became fixated on my new bundle.

The joy he brought to my husband and I spilled onto our other children, everyone was immediately  in love with him. His siblings doted on his every need and movement, their hearts open wide for their new brother.

I began to notice myself in a panic driving down the road, quickly turning to look into the back seat.

Had I accidentally forgotten Luca at home?

Then the irrational fears set in:

When I stopped for gas did someone reach in and take him while I turned my head for 8 seconds?

I admitted to myself that I was terrified of losing him too. This baby that was gifted to me after lives taken too early.


The romantic idea of having a baby after loss is lovely. It’s healing and needed after a Mother says goodbye to a child made in love. I understand the theory, a rainbow after a storm. I’ve lived in that storm three times. I know how the cold rain feels against my face, punishing my need to feel warm again. The umbrella that isn’t there, the comfort you ache for. The constant need to embrace a child that isn’t in your reach. That your arms scream to hold.

I understand why I referred to my son as a Rainbow baby. He is that. He is my Rainbow after my storms.


Color in my life again after the dark shades of gray. He’s my bright light, my morning song.  My proof that Jesus loves me. My hope after my body failed me.

But I have to be honest here, vulnerable with you all.

He hasn’t saved me, Jesus has.

Luca didn’t come to replace my babies in heaven. He came to celebrate the fact that Jesus loves life itself. He loves our dreams and our hopes for our lives. He loves to show us that he is merciful when we are hurting.

My life is blessed because he is here. He’s alive and well. 

But his presence doesn’t wipe my slate clean of grief. 


 How do I know this? How can I sit here late at night when all of our children are asleep and confess all of this to you?

Because three years ago today , I said goodbye to our son Jude. I sat in our bathroom weeping and in great pain. For hours I cried out to God for pain relief, for his mercy to overtake my body and make me feel whole again. I said goodbye to his little body that left mine at 11:04 pm. I felt his soul leave me as he made his imprint on my heart. I instantly felt alone, he was gone.

My curly headed boy.


Today surrounded by our four children and my wonderful husband, in the chaos of the day, I felt alone again.

It’s very possible to feel alone in a room of 50 people. No one knows what your mind is racing with. No one knows what your heart is filtering out as your words reach your mouth. Your smile can be fake and your words can be rehearsed. Your laugh can be genuine while your heart longs to cry.

Today as I held Luca, my precious son who is so loved and so wanted, I missed Jude. Feelings of guilt and ungratefulness tried to plague me. I sent those feelings back to hell where they came from.

I am telling you this because I want you to know that it is okay to miss a child, to not put that pressure on your Rainbow baby to fill that void.

Each child that dwells in your womb is an individual part of your very soul. No new creation can replace that.


Tonight if you are missing a child as you hold another, you are not alone. You are heard. You are loved. You are STILL grateful, Momma.

That’s the thing about us Momma’s, we love each child so deeply. So passionately that we love them all, the big the small. The here, the there.

But they are everywhere aren’t they? Our babies. They are right in front of us. In our mind’s eye.

Loved from the time love exploded in your womb, to the time it left.

Even though I get sad, I know where you all are, you’re in my heart.

I write things in my head all day long. I promise that I have book two written, it’s just not on paper yet. My heart yearns to write and share my heart over and over again, but in this season of motherhood I’m currently doing semi-okay in…

it’s hard.

It’s hard to find time to wash my hair, much less share my heart. I haven’t lost passion for blogging, I’ve just lost the time.

This afternoon my heart was pulled back into it’s rightful place, here with you all , sharing my heart.

God placed two women that I had met once before, years ago to push me to start writing again.

” Have you finished book number two?”

” Oh, in my head I have. “

Then , our six year old said something that made me want to show our children to stand back up when you fall. To fight for the things you love, make time for them, and nurture them. Our passions are so important and life giving. Our children are watching us, focusing in on the things we love and the things that trip us up.


Rhema’s face grew solemn as she held our newest baby Luca, almost three months old. I thought perhaps I had phrased the question wrong, did she not understand me? So, I asked her again.

” How many Grandbabies are you going to give Momma? You know I LOVE babies!”


” I’m not going to get pregnant. I’ll just adopt.”

” Why baby? I think that’s great, but why don’t you want any of your own?”

” I think mine will die just like yours did.”

There are not many words I can describe to you of how that felt for my daughter to say that sentence, much less the minutes that passed by as tears streamed down my face. I don’t know how long we sat there in silence, or what was going through her head.

Rhema is our child that constantly adds in her two sisters and brother in heaven to our bedtime prayers.

” God bless Judie ( Jude ), Haddie and Alba. Kiss them for me Jesus.”


She relentlessly tells me that I have 7 and not just 4 children. She is very invested in their lives, not by my own doing, but by her own sensitive spiritual gifting that she has been given. Constantly telling me that she sees them as she’s playing outside , and how much she loves them.

I’ve never pressed talking about her siblings to her, this has come naturally.

She knows what each one looks like, and their personalities.


What seemed like a decade passed before I muttered the words:

” Oh baby, just because Mommy lost babies doesn’t mean you will.”

” Yes, I will. “

It was the first time in my motherhood journey that I didn’t have an answer for her. I didn’t have anything comforting to say. I felt helpless, with my hands tied behind my back. I wanted to give her comfort, and reassure her that that would NEVER happen to her. That she wouldn’t have to say goodbye to a child too soon.

But I can’t promise her that.

I can pray with all my might, I can bless her womb and I can call life forth. I can pray over her pregnancies and love each child she brings forth.

But I cannot protect her from a loss.

I think my heart broke today. I think I’m finally learning what it truly means to hand your children over to Jesus. Really, really hand them over.

My clutch on them until now has been air tight. It’s coming to a season where trust will have a new name for me.  I can’t control their environment outside of our home.

I’m not meant to.

Life can be heartbreakingly hard, and we can love Jesus with all of our might and follow him, but inevitably things happen that don’t always feel good.

I would never wish the pain of losing a child on my worst enemy, much less my own daughter. But if I can show her anything it’s this:

Life is hard, but Jesus is good. His character isn’t determined by my experiences.

I have to get up every morning and remind myself that though we live in a harsh world, my Father is not harsh.

I refuse to let my grief, my shortcomings, my anger or resentment define who I am in Christ. Who I am as a Mother.

My response to Rhema was eventually this:

” You and your siblings made me a better Momma. All of you. Even though I get sad, I know where you all are, you’re in my heart.”

I will always strive to be real with our children. Show them that when the enemy steals from us, it is NOT forever. We will always get back what was stolen, in this life or the next.

We cannot live in fear of the unknown, or possible outcome. We have to live and walk in his great love that casts out all fear. We have to live boldly.


I’m writing because I love it. I’m writing because it’s who I am. I’m writing to cast out fear. I’m writing for her.

When a man goes to the grocery store.

I want to discuss this text conversation I had with my husband person. Can I get a huge AMEN here:

When you find out your man is at the store, you immediately think of 3,987 things you need him to pick up for you in order to avoid taking any children with you for said things.

The grocery store is a scary place with alcohol you cannot open and drink while you shop.  Hey Food lion , you would get a lot more of my monies if I was drinking Chardonnay while my 4 year old begged for honey buns that she knows I won’t buy because I feed her healthy things like the goldfish she’s currently eating. I would even bring my own glass and opener. Party on aisle 4 for sanity reasons.


For real, Matt loves when I send him my list of grocery items he has no idea where to find. His complaint is usually ” There like a mile apart from each other.”  Welcome to my life. I know the grocery store like the back of my hand. After all, I am there daily for the three things I forgot yesterday and clearance wine.

I remember as a child, my Mom would send my Dad to the store and he would come home with items she would never dream of purchasing. For the most part we were thrilled with the weird items. I always noticed he bought things my Mom hated, which I don’t blame him. I mean, if matt did all the shopping I would never get dry shampoo.

After the picture I did not send him, because after a fourth baby I look like a busted can of biscuits trying to fit into Juniors clothing. Each fat cell holding on for dear life as I eat more and more crap I shouldn’t be eating, but you know.. breastfeeding. You can find me in a wet suit this Summer with a beer in my hand.

His selection was that of various forms of Ramen noodles,  mangos and pickled okra. I swear he isn’t pregnant, I just had him tested.

When the kids went looking in the pantry the next morning for cereal, there were great eruptions of celebration that MOM HAD FINALLY GOTTEN RAMEN NOODLES AND THESE COOL CUPS THAT YOU PUT IN THE MICROWAVE.

Screw mom’s steel cut oats. They taste like shit.

It’s my theory that he is trying to overrule me in the kitchen, and to that I say, please do bro. I’ve spent over a decade trying to feed everyone healthy stuff, all the while treading water holding babies.

I still try my best to feed these tiny people nutritious foods, but this is my white flag. There are too many of them to manage everything that goes into their mouths. Like, I don’t have a business management degree.

After four kids talk of salsa gets us all hot and spicy. Then we have to take a bath to cool off so we don’t reproduce again. That would require more groceries.

The Angels at the Table. 

I found myself standing in the kitchen with my baby in my arms, just staring outside. It was as if I was watching for something, anything to let me feel closer to Him. Nothing came, so I started supper. 
Have you ever thought about what your love language from God is? It is physical touch , where you feel his presence? Maybe gifts, like a sunny day for your wedding. Or it is quality time , just Him and you. 
Just like any relationship , love languages are needed and very real to both parties. 
I’ve found that in the chaos of My life right now I miss the closeness I would feel when he allowed me to see into the spirit realm. For whatever reason in this season, I don’t see as much or as often. 
I notice that I felt more loved by him when I could see the Angelic, and the demonic. I felt like his favorite, his only daughter. 

As a mom of four children under age 9, I find it hard to get a quiet moment to even notice my spiritual surroundings. It’s not as if I’ve wished it away , it’s just not happening right now.
I don’t believe that vision is over for me, but it’s made a void in my walk with God. Once a very special place I held so dear isn’t in my life at the moment. 

My identity as a seer is now quieter. I know who I am, what I’ve seen, and I cannot unsee it. 

It’s made for many sad days, especially right after having a new baby. I’ve felt isolated and alone, desperate to see again. 

Today, asking Jesus if I could see , he said to me: 
” You’ll be surrounded with seers, it will bless you. Just wait.”


Sitting next to our 6 year old daughter Rhema at the dinner table, she coughs and stands up on her chair. 

She was clearly choking and couldn’t breathe. The terror in her eyes was one I felt during the season in the old Mill house where I saw the demonic daily. Even in the moment where I was mother to the rescue/ remembering my past I was able to do both.

I lifted her hands up and she suddenly looked wide eyed up to the dining room ceiling. 

It was a look I had never seen her have before, one of AWE and pure amazement. Eyes still wide, she said loudly:


And the choking stopped. She remained standing, fixated on the Angels. She collapsed into my lap and let out a strong cry. She was terrified. 

Once she caught her breath she explained that several angels were praying over her, singing and telling her food to go down her throat. 

It was like watching someone watch a movie you couldn’t see. I had never seen her so fixated, it gave me chills. 

Though I hadn’t seen what she saw, I still felt the presence of God. I still felt the wonder, the awe of seeing. 

Through my daughters eyes my gift was being passed down. One that I hold so dear. 

In seasons where you feel abandoned by Jesus, I assure you you are not. It’s in the quiet we learn to be still. It keeps us fixated on what he will ask of us next. 

Each season requires you to be flexible with who you are and where you are going. 

The mother I was three years ago is nothing like the one I am today, so why should my relationship with Him remain the same? 

The longing of every soul is to feel loved. 

Let God do it in different ways, don’t place him in the walls of your glass house so you can watch him. 

His predictability is not something you should count on, for if you do you’re sure to be dissatisfied. It’s his wonder and power that you should depend on. 

Four kids.

Luca is four weeks old today, and I’ve had so many people ask me how having four children is going. I am writing this post to raise money for boarding school abroad for at least four out of the four that I birthed.

I also just planted my own vineyard, because even Aldi wine is too expensive for my high demand.

Actually, it’s basically just like having three kids but with one tiny one attached to your boob all day.  He isn’t back talking yet, so no discipline involved, just cracked nips.

I’ve definitely found the following things to be more difficult:

Texting people back. No seriously. It’s been bad. I go to pick up my phone and someone poops. There are so many people here that could possibly poop at the same time, causing me whiplash.

Getting out the door. I have not even attempted school drop off in the morning. Besides, my four year old says I cannot go anywhere until my vagina stops bleeding. This is a true statement. I was tempted to tell her that she will have to do all kinds of things while bleeding, but I refrained and told her she could have her 7th fruit snack pack for the day.

I forget to eat. I know you’ve never forgotten right? Me either. Did you watch the last episode of ” This is Us”? That’s the last time I ate a full meal.


The reality that our family was completed in a way that my heart desired hits me in waves throughout the day.

Like when I watch the older siblings come home from school and go straight to their new brother. I know they had been thinking of him the whole day, just waiting to see him again. It warms my heart when I see our four year old kissing him every five minutes. It also deeply annoys me when she wakes him up from a much needed deep sleep so I can shower.

Finding a routine and balance has been interesting for us , having kids young enough to play together, yet in different stages of life at the same time. Not having a baby boy in  9 years makes you forget their perfect aim in urination. Many a night was spent changing sheets and feeling warm and fuzzy all over.

Watching the older ones care for their brother and try their hardest to help me is sweet and challenging at the same time. The fine line between allowing them to help as much as possible and me keeping my sanity.

The two week post partum point is where I start to feel a little back to normal, and do things I shouldn’t. Like too much housework, rearranging kids rooms and mountain climbing.

Breastfeeding definitely gives me time during the day to sit down and scroll facebook between burps.


I’m slowly learning that I am a house perfectionist. Only my house. The mini van looks like something from a third world country, but my house…. I like it clean.

Learning to give myself a shit load of grace, and let the kids tear up the house so I can have a moments peace… that’s a big deal for me. I’ve figured out that I am a HAPPIER woman if things are in order. If the laundry is folded and put away, if the dishes don’t line the sink.

But with four children this is near impossible. I am in a brand new stage of life where I HAVE to loosen up, or I will literally have a panic attack.

It’s a beautiful , wonderful awfully hard stage that I am learning the ropes in.

When I say the ropes, I mean that I feel like one is around my neck and I am trying to ignore it before I can no longer breathe.

For more helpful blogs that just ooze wisdom, don’t follow mine.

I am failing daily, losing my mind and finding it all at once, and learning to love it.


The homebirth of Luca Reign.

“Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

Psalm 37:4


As soon as the pregnancy test lined turned positive, Jesus said to me:

” Luca. “

Soon after telling my husband that we were going to have a Rainbow baby I looked up the meaning of the name.

” Bearer of bright light.”

Jesus said to me:

” He will be your light after all your darkness. He will restore hope and bring healing to your heart. This child’s birth will be just as much your own new birth. Trust me to reign over this child.”

His pregnancy was different from all my others. Full of peace of mind, yet the sickness took over soon after second trimester on until he was born. Many false alarm labors, braxton hicks and mental battles daily for my mind. My deep passion to birth him at home only grew as he did, and I found myself doubting God’s goodness to me in the end days.

My patience to make it until my body went into labor on its own became so taxing on my emotions. Many nights in my own bath tub crying out to God to help me, trying to wave a white flag in his face.

” Jesus don’t you see me? “

Finally on March 14th at 8 pm , ( ten days past my EDD ) my labor began.

NOTE: Three times my Midwife tried a catheter dilator to start my labor. Each time was a fail. I tried Castor oil twice, each time was a fail. In my spirit I knew my body was supposed to do this on it’s own, and I truly needed to shut up my complaining and just wait. So , I did.

I was in denial that I was actually doing this on my own. Trying to ignore the contractions, I watched show and cozied up in bed. Within a few hours I couldn’t ignore them as just a false alarm any longer. I woke my husband up and called my Midwife.

” I think I’m in labor. They aren’t stopping at two minutes apart. “

I could hear her smile over the phone as she assured me she was on her way.

I decided to start bouncing and rolling my hips on the birth ball, started my very relaxing technique of watching FRIENDS for comic relief. Because FRIENDS is the best show on earth.

As labor progressed I started playing worship music and praying in the spirit as much as I could. Inviting the Holy Spirit to “reign” over our sons birth, keep us safe and sustain my strength.


I tried many different positions during labor to get comfortable, as my husband rubbed my back during each and every contraction. He was my lifeline, my support system. I couldn’t have done it without him by my side.



Around 5 am, my Midwife suggested a bath to relax my muscles a bit, as I was to tense from the pain. Matt turned off the bathroom light, and lit a candle for me. My friend helped me into the bath and brought me some fruit to nibble on. My strength was low.


Matt came and sat with me and prayed aloud for strength and for Luca to come sooner than later. The bath was instant [pain relief and I remember telling Matt I was never coming out. Go ahead and set up camp here, ain’t movin!

In the bath, my legs began shaking and I knew I was in transition. Matt had gone to tell the kids goodbye before they left for school, so I was alone. Being alone during transition was the most surreal feeling for my soul. My body was doing something voluntarily for me, just as I had prayed it would. I could feel Angelic activity around me, and could sense my Angel babies praying over me and for their brother.

The pain was very intense, but a pain that I welcomed. It wasn’t something I wanted to go away until he was in my arms. I kept saying : thank you Lord. Bring him to me.

After my bath my Midwife wanted to check me, as she had not done yet. I loved this about her, so loving and hands off. So much respect for what my body was doing already on it’s own. Not wanting to make this a medical intervention, but knowing that this is something that will change my heart forever. A desire that would never dwindle. Never waiver until I did this on my own.

As I walked up the stairs each of the children kissed me as if they were blessing what was about to happen. They were blessing My blessing that awaited up those steps.

I laid on the bed , and she began to check my cervix. I prepared myself for her to say I was only a 4 or so, but instead to my surprise and relief:

” I feel the bulging water bag, and babe YOU’RE A NINE! You’re going to have a baby soon!”

That sentence is one that will be forever engrained in my memory as a sweet victory of God’s goodness to me in a time of exhaustion, and anticipation of meeting my promised son. I couldn’t help but weep with JOY! I had done this on my own, and I knew it was almost over.

I tried pushing in several different positions for two hours. Nothing seemed to be moving him down as much as I wanted, and the pain was unbearable. I looked at Matt once and said:

” I cannot do this.”

” Yes babe you can. You’re doing it right now. You’re so strong. You can!”

So many tears and warrior cries later , I got up off the birthing stool and said:

” I have to pee.”

Looking back I can laugh at that statement for obvious reasons. No woman at 10 centimeters can successfully walk to a bathroom and relieve herself. I was clearly exhausted, and it was my way of checking out of the situation.

As soon as I stood up his head crowned, ( thank you God and gravity ) !

Cheers from my husband and family shouted into my ears as I got a wave of confidence and knew I could do this.

Pushing through the contractions as they came, he slowly descended. Soon after his head crowned, my midwife told me to get on all fours and push as hard as I could. I was unaware that his cord was prolapsed, and his shoulders were seemingly stuck.

With quick thinking and her massive amount of birth knowledge, my Midwife was about to get his shoulders into position for birth, and she had him out within a few seconds. There was no ” sliding ” this child out, she had to literally PULL him out.

Had I been in a hospital setting they would most likely have cut me to get him out. A big no thank you.


These two women right here. Their love and devotion to me and my child was unwavering. Their knowledge and quick thinking will forever bless me. They showed me that my body was capable of more. They showed me that I was WORTH more. They showed me what birth could be. What I wanted it to be. How God intended it , for me.

His birth did things in my spirit , healed places in my broken Mother’s heart, and opened new doors of wisdom and strength I didn’t know I possessed. 


Born 9:56 am into my loving arms.

As soon as he was born, I knew he was ok, breathing and fine, but a bit lethargic. His coloring wasn’t pink as much as it was a bit gray and dull. I began speaking to him, patting his little butt , but nothing was giving us that good solid cry we wanted to hear.

My Midwife quickly gave him some oxygen, and all was well!

Each time she tried checking his heart rate he grabbed her stethoscope as if he was trying to say:

“Woman! I’m telling you I’m fine, I just didn’t want to come out.”

Sweet relief from the pain washed over me as I processed the fact that my dreams of a home birth had come to life. I had done it.  Holding my Rainbow baby in my arms was the deepest feeling of gratitude for His mercies and grace. He loved me THAT much that he allowed us not only to have another child, but in the exact way I desired.

I climbed into my own bed, snuggled my newborn and nursed him. It was heaven on earth. the JOY and the presence of the Lord was so strong in our room that even our four year old daughter watched the whole process without a peep. She was so calm and gentle, so loving and devoted to her brother she knew was coming into the world.

IMG_4147 2

The sweetest relief! My boy is here!

Several times my sisters would assure her that I was only loud because I was trying to bring her brother out to meet her, and she assured them she was fine. It was as if she grew years in her maturity level just watching new life come into being.


Recovery has been incredible this time. Surrounded by family and friends who are caring for us, and allowing us privacy to bond at the same time.

It’s a beautiful thing when you trust Jesus with your heart, I promise you he won’t crush your dreams. He loves your dreams, he’s the one that put them there.

Jesus helped me birth a 9 pound baby, that was a VBAC. In my bedroom. The way I wanted. He cared that much for me.

He cares that much for you.


9 pound Rainbow baby boy.