The True Story

You probably have read the story of my sweet baby girl, Halia, in blogs past, as each birthday I take time to remember her in special ways, recording my thoughts, feelings, and events that mark my love and gratefulness for the gift that was given to me.

But this is the true story.

                     This is the secret story.

                                         This is the hard story.

This is the story that started in light, travelled through darkness, hibernated in peace, but has burst into the brilliance like a star coming into existence.

I’m ready to share.

My story has always been that one day we headed to the hospital to deliver a baby that no longer breathed inside of me. She was delivered into this world with a Mama that couldn’t lay her eyes on her precious body. But I felt my Savior enter that room, filling the emptiness with His peace that surpasses understanding, and He took her home. To this day, that has brought me such peace and joy, knowing she dances in the light of her Savior, and that I will one day see her and hold her in the presence of the One who loves us.

But there is more.

Over ten years later I had to face the secret.

Last October I was participating in a study at my church. One session was on healing wounds and forgiveness. We were asked to look into our lives and find hurts or areas where we may be angry at God. Right away I thought that there was nothing in my life that I hadn’t already revisited and brought before the Lord for healing. I wasn’t mad at God for anything. But Halia’s death came to my mind over and over. I kept thinking, ‘I’ve dealt with that! I felt His peace! I’m okay!’ But it wouldn’t leave me. I tried to ignore it.

The next day, it was there and again I screamed in my mind, ‘I am okay with You taking her home! I’m not mad at You for that!’

Then, He said, “I need you to go back to that day, Child.”

Fine. I will. We went to the hospital. She was delivered. You took her home. I felt Your peace. I’m okay.

“Go back to the beginning.”

So, I did.


April 10, 2009:
My contractions stopped and the nurse asked me to push. I was numb with exhaustion at 2:00am on Good Friday morning. Push? My body didn’t know what to do. It felt as though it was not even a part of me. How do I push a lifeless baby into the world? 

The nurse looked at me with kind and compassionate eyes. “Perhaps allow gravity to help you. I can put a commode basin in the toilet for you.”

Shaking, I moved my body to the bathroom, processing the reality of what was about to happen.

Jason asked, “Do you want me to be with you?”

No. No. I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together with him present. I felt embarrassment. Shame. I felt as though I was treating my baby like waste.

I closed the door. I sat down. I squeezed my eyes shut. I pushed. The thud echoed in my ears. I choked out a sob. I couldn’t look. My eyes stayed closed.


Is that what you wanted me to see, Lord?

Pain seeped into my heart like a spear.

My heart screamed. ‘Where were You? How could you leave me alone there in that moment?’

“Keep going,” I heard Him say.


Two days later it was Easter Sunday and I was adamant that we would go to the Easter service at church as planned. During the service I had to use the bathroom.

The bathroom was empty as I entered a stall. I sat down on the toilet and blood poured out of me. I closed my eyes to avoid seeing the reminder of my pregnancy. 

The service was being played over the speakers and the congregation was singing “He’s Alive!” 

He’s alive, but my baby is dead.


Where were you? Where were you in that moment? How could you leave me alone again?

I was angry. Not that he took my baby away, but that He left me alone in the darkness behind my closed eyes, as I wished to not see anything more. I couldn’t handle to see anything more.

Where were you?!

His gentle voice washed over me, “Open your eyes.”

In my mind I went back to those two moments sitting on the toilet.

In my mind I opened my eyes.

There was His face.
        Right there.
                   Right in front of my eyes.
                             His eyes loving me.
                                       His eyes weeping with me.
                                                 His eyes holding me.

“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

It was then my heart was healed. It was then I came to the true understanding of who my Savior is.

So often when we go through hardships we can only, in that moment, see directly what is in front of us. It is only about ourselves. And that is only natural. But slowly, so very slowly, if we step back and open our gaze, we will soon realize that He is there with us. There is more to the story. We just fail to see the bigger picture. We fail to see that He is present and walking with us through each and every moment. We are not alone. This is His story and it is beautiful.

I wouldn’t change this story for anything.

It is through the dark times that I not only can feel His peace, but I can also see His face.

I have come to know that I am not in control of what happens in my life. The little I do have control over can be taken away (as we are all experiencing right now) or I completely make a mess of it with my selfishness and pride. But, truly, I have found such freedom in knowing that I am not in control. We live in such a shattered world, but I have a Father who loves me and has written a story where He pieces the world back together again, through the love and sacrifice of a Rescuer.

Thank you, Father, for allowing your Son to die, for allowing your Son to actually feel truly alone and be separated from You, so that He could save us from our brokenness, and give us a future free from pain and filled with Love. Thank you that He IS alive!

Thank you for Good Friday. Thank you for Easter.

Happy 11th Birthday in heaven, Halia.

Halia's flower pot is pretty scarce this birthday, with stores closed, 

but these flowers will grow just like my desire and love for my Rescuer.