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 me. 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 in our hearts.

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I mean, what kind of God would allow me to experience such sadness twice, right?

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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 a.m., 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.

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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 so badly to 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 cannot lie and say the scale was favoring faith — my grief and hopelessness were consuming me.

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At times, it felt as if I was healed and found comfort through serving at my church, but I still needed more. Without realizing it, 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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On January 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 I had already forewarned my husband that I was going to be manipulated through a sermon and then return home to my grief. But it was as if God had whispered to Pastor Edgar every word I needed to hear that morning, and as if the worship team’s selections were exactly what I needed to hear to prepare me for the Word of God.

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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 off my shoulders. I felt relieved. I felt hope again. I felt my faith increase.

And now — here is my update.

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I married my husband in September 2009, and between then and 2025, I experienced a total of four miscarriages — one of which was literally happening while I was hosting our women’s conference. The following year, at the same conference, I would be holding my baby.

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Out of great sorrow, She Prayed Ministries was born.

And now, I can finally say:

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On May 8th, 2025, I gave birth to my beautiful son, Lucas Isaiah.

As the Word of God says, “He has made everything beautiful in its time” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

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Lucas is a living reminder of God's perfect timing, redemptive power, and faithfulness through every season of waiting, loss, and healing.

Dear God, I will forever owe You praise.

Dear God, I will forever owe You praise.