Dear Little Girl…Rest in Hope

Dear Little Girl,

You like answers.

You like to know what is going to happen next.

You like plans and timelines and reassurance that everything will be okay.

You want to know the test results before the doctor calls.

You want to know the marriage will stay steady.

You want to know the kids will make good choices.

You want to know the money will stretch far enough.

You want to know the people you love will be safe.

And when you don't know, you start working.

You think about it.
Pray about it.
Research it.
Plan for it.
Prepare for every possible outcome.

As if enough effort could somehow create certainty.

But lately God has been teaching you something different.

Not through answers.

Through peace.

The kind of peace that shows up before the situation changes.

The kind that arrives when there are still questions on the table.

The kind that whispers, "You don't need to know everything. You just need to know Me."

In Acts 2, Peter stood before the crowd and quoted David's words:

"My body also will rest in hope."

Rest in hope.

Not rest in certainty.

Not rest in guarantees.

Hope.

Because hope is not confidence in an outcome.

Hope is confidence in God's presence.

It means trusting that even if the path twists in ways you didn't expect, you will not walk it alone.

So, dear little girl, stop striving for certainty.

Stop demanding tomorrow's answers before you've lived today.

The Spirit of God is already with you.

The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead lives in you.

And maybe the miracle isn't finally getting the answer you've been waiting for.

Maybe the miracle is discovering you can rest before it arrives.

Rest in hope.

Not because you know what happens next.

Because you know Who goes with you.

Dear Little Girl…You Can Trust Without Overworking

Dear Little Girl,

For a long time, you believed safety was something you had to earn.

If you worked hard enough.
Planned well enough.
Saved enough.
Prepared enough.

Then maybe you could finally relax.

But lately, God has been gently showing you a different way.

The truth is, fear has a sneaky way of disguising itself as responsibility.

It tells you to work a little harder.
Plan a little more.
Carry a little extra.

It whispers that if you let your guard down, everything might fall apart.

And if you're honest, there are still moments when you believe it.

Moments when you worry about the future.
About your family.
About your business.
About whether you'll be able to carry what tomorrow brings.

But fear doesn't get to lead anymore.

In Genesis 35, God called Jacob back to Bethel—the place where he first encountered Him while running for his life.

This time, however, God wasn't calling Jacob to run.

He was calling him to return.

To settle.

To trust.

Before he left, Jacob buried the idols he had been carrying and set out in obedience. He didn't have all the answers. He didn't have guarantees. He simply trusted the God who had been faithful before.

That part stops me every time.

God didn't need Jacob to be perfect.

He needed him to show up.

Maybe that's what God is asking of us too.

To bury the idols we've built out of control, striving, money, productivity, and self-reliance.

To stop believing that our safety depends on how much we can carry.

To trust that God's provision is bigger than our plans.

Because God's provision is not a paycheck.

It's His presence.

It's His promises.

It's His peace.

For years, I thought I had to prove my worth.

To earn love.
To earn rest.
To earn safety.

But that isn't the Gospel.

I am worthy because He says I am.

You are worthy because He says you are.

Not because of what you produce.
Not because of what you achieve.
Not because of how much you carry.

Just because you belong to Him.

So today, dear girl, you can loosen your grip.

You don't have to earn your safety.

You don't have to overwork to be protected.

You don't have to carry tomorrow before it arrives.

God is already there.

And He is with you here, too.

Love,

Amy

Dear Little Girl…Put Down the Bricks

Dear Little Girl,

You've always wanted to get it right.

To make sure everyone is okay.
To keep the peace.
To solve the problem before it becomes a crisis.
To build something strong enough that nothing can fall apart.

So you pick up another brick.

A brick of responsibility.
A brick of worry.
A brick of control.
A brick of "what if."

And before you know it, you're carrying a tower God never asked you to build.

In Genesis, the people of Babel gathered with one goal: to build a tower high enough to secure their future and make a name for themselves.

Brick by brick, they trusted their own plans more than God's purpose.

But then we reach Pentecost.

Again, people gathered.
Again, many languages.
Again, uncertainty about what would come next.

But this time, they didn't build.

They waited.

They prayed.

They trusted.

And when the Spirit moved, what human effort could never accomplish, God did.

Do you see the difference, Little Girl?

One group tried to force the future.

The other trusted God with it.

Maybe that's the invitation for you too.

In your parenting.
In your marriage.
In your healing.
In your business.
In the questions you keep carrying around long after you've handed them to God.

Put down the bricks.

You don't have to manage every outcome.
You don't have to fix every problem.
You don't have to carry responsibilities that belong to God.

You don't have to build the tower.

You simply have to stay close to the One who already sees the whole picture.

The same Spirit who filled that upper room is alive and at work today.

He's not asking you to strive harder.

He's asking you to trust deeper.

So breathe.

Put down the bricks.

Step away from the tower.

And listen for the whisper.

You are loved.
You are seen.
And you never had to build the tower to prove your worth.

Love,

Your Older, Wiser Self

(The one still learning to put down the bricks too.)

Dear Little Girl…You Don’t Have To Chase God

Dear Little Girl,

The busy season is ending.

The performances have happened.
The schedules are shifting.
The deadlines that felt so urgent are beginning to loosen their grip.

And yet...

You still find yourself carrying things.

The questions.
The worries.
The hopes you have for people you love.

You thought peace would arrive when life finally settled down.

But peace was never waiting on a clear calendar.

Peace has always been a Person.

You keep thinking you'll meet God in the next season.

After the trip.
After the decision.
After the answer arrives.
After everyone is okay.

But what if He wants to meet you here?

Not in the finished version of the story.

Not after you've figured it out.

Here.

In the ordinary summer morning.
In the quiet cup of coffee.
In the walk around the neighborhood.
In the empty chair waiting for you to sit down.

You don't have to create a spiritual breakthrough.

You don't have to chase a feeling.

You don't have to prove your faithfulness.

Simply show up.

The same God who met Jacob while he was running.
The same God who met Hagar in the wilderness.
The same God who met the disciples in their fear.

He still meets people right where they are.

And He will meet you too.

Not because you've earned it.

Not because you've finally gotten everything right.

But because He loves being with you.

So take a breath today.

Let the pressure leave your shoulders.

You do not have to force the next chapter.

You only have to take the next step.

God is already there.

Waiting.

Love,
God

Dear Little Girl…For the Baby I Never Held

Seventeen years.

Seventeen years since I said hello and goodbye in the same season.

Every year around this time, I find myself sitting in the strange collision of two sentences:

Happy Birthday.

And Happy Death Day.

What a strange place to visit year after year.

A place where love and grief sit side by side.

A place where I celebrate a life I never got to hold and mourn a child I never got to know.

It's also a place that can be hard to explain.

Unless you've walked this road, it's difficult to understand. There is a sacred sisterhood made up of women who carried babies they never got to raise. It is a club none of us wanted to join, yet somehow the women in it understand one another without many words.

We know what it means to love someone we barely met.

We know what it means to miss someone whose face we never saw.

And we know what it means to carry both grief and hope in the same heart.

I still don't know if you were a boy or a girl.

And if I'm being honest, I still wonder.

Would you have had blue eyes like your daddy?

Would you have loved sports like Graeme?

Would you have been creative like JP?

Would you have been driven like Will?

Would you have loved dance like me?

Would you have had my laugh? My stubborn streak? My tender heart?

Or would you have marched to the beat of your own drum and surprised all of us?

Sometimes I imagine a little girl in a tiny tutu twirling through heaven.

Other times I picture a little boy running through fields, laughing and exploring.

The truth is, I don't know.

But I love you all the same.

I think that's one of the hardest things for people to understand about losing a baby.

Love doesn't wait for a birth certificate.

It doesn't wait for first words or first steps.

Love began the moment those two pink lines appeared.

And seventeen years later, that love remains.

I remember the day I found out you were gone.

Some memories fade with time.

That one never has.

I remember driving to the hospital.

I remember exiting Walnut Hill.

I remember riding the elevator.

I remember the ultrasound technician smiling.

And I remember watching that smile disappear.

"I am so sorry," she said. "There is no heartbeat."

Those words changed everything.

I remember tears streaming down my face.

I remember mascara streaked across my cheeks.

I remember walking through a world that suddenly looked exactly the same while feeling completely different.

I remember hoping they were wrong.

Praying they were wrong.

Believing a miracle might happen.

I didn't want to let you go.

I wanted one more chance.

One more heartbeat.

One more sonogram.

One more miracle.

But it never came.

And so I joined a club I never wanted to belong to.

The club of mothers whose babies live in heaven.

Years later, I learned my Grandma Foley belonged to that club too.

Nobody really talked about it.

I don't even know if all of my siblings know.

By the time I lost you, she was already gone, and I felt very alone.

Because here's what people don't always understand:

I knew you.

I carried you.

I heard your heartbeat.

You heard my voice.

You were real.

And you still are.

If you're reading this and you're part of that club too, I want you to hear me:

You are still a mother.

From conception to death, you are still a mother.

Even if you never held your baby.

Even if you never got pictures.

Even if nobody else remembers.

You are still a mother.

And I am still your mama.

One of my favorite memories happened after you were gone.

Your brother JP was sitting on the top bunk one night and decided you needed a name.

"Trece," he said.

Number three.

The third child.

I don't know if I would've chosen that name myself, but I loved the heart behind it.

I loved that your brother already loved you enough to name you.

And somehow that small moment has stayed with me for seventeen years.

Today, I still wonder about you.

I wonder if you've met my mom and dad.

I wonder if you've met Grandma Foley and the baby she never got to raise.

I wonder what your laugh sounds like.

I wonder what it would feel like to hold you.

I wonder what you smell like.

I wonder if you know how often I still think about you.

I wonder if you know that every June, I remember.

I remember the loss.

But I also remember the love.

And maybe that's what healing really is.

Not forgetting.

Not moving on.

Not pretending it didn't matter.

Maybe healing is learning how to carry both.

The grief.

And the gratitude.

The ache.

And the hope.

Because after all these years, that's what I feel most.

Hope.

Not the desperate hope that asks God to change the past.

But the quiet hope that trusts He is holding what I cannot.

The hope that believes heaven is real.

The hope that believes I will know you when I see you.

The hope that believes love does not end at death.

So today, Baby Berry, I want you to know something.

I never forgot you.

Not for one year.

Not for one day.

Not for one moment.

You are still part of our story.

You are still part of our family.

And you are still deeply loved.

I loved you the moment those two pink lines appeared.

And seventeen years later, I love you still.

Wildly.

Always have.

Always will.

Love,

Your Mama on Earth

Dear Little Girl…He Trusts You With His Sheep

Dear Little Girl,

You’re going to make mistakes.

You’ll say yes when you should’ve said no.
You’ll lose patience.
You’ll look back and wish you slowed down.
You’ll second guess yourself and wonder if you’re really equipped for all of this.

Motherhood.
Marriage.
Leadership.
People trusting you with tender things.

But listen closely…

He knew all of that before He ever chose you.

And He still trusted you.

To raise those boys.
To love people well.
To teach.
To nurture.
To lead.
To shepherd hearts.

You were never chosen because you would do it perfectly.

You were chosen because you would keep showing up with love.

Yes, there will be hard conversations.
There will be seasons where your heart aches watching your babies grow faster than you’re ready for.
There will be tension, hormones, fear, unknowns, and late-night Google searches trying to make sense of it all.

But you are not doing this alone.

You sit with the Shepherd.

And He is guiding you as you guide them.

You do not need to have all the answers.
You do not need to carry every outcome.
You do not need to parent from fear.

You simply need to stay close enough to hear His voice.

Because women were never created to be small.

Women were trusted to carry life.
To nurture faith.
To show up first at the empty tomb.
To carry hope back into the world.

And you, Little Girl, are still being trusted too.

Even when your voice shakes.
Even when you’re uncertain.
Even when you wish you were doing better.

You are still the one He chose for this season.
For these people.
For this life.

So breathe.

Sit in the chair again.
Open your heart again.
Ask again.
Trust again.

He will speak.

He always does.

🩷

Dear Little Girl… You Can Take This One Step at a Time

Dear Little Girl,

It’s been a lot lately, hasn’t it?

So much noise.
So many moving pieces.
So many things you wish you could fix…
but can’t.

And if you’re honest…

You’re tired.

Not just physically tired…

But soul tired.

You’ve been holding tension.
Carrying questions.
Trying to prepare for outcomes you can’t control.

And somewhere in all of that…

You started to wonder:

“Is this just my life now?”

Sweet girl…

Come closer.

You don’t have to figure out the whole story today.

You don’t have to decide how it all ends.
You don’t have to predict what might happen next.
You don’t have to brace for every possible outcome.

You only have to take…

One step.

One breath.
One moment.
One decision at a time.

Because here’s what you’re learning, even if it doesn’t feel like it:

You are not in control of how everything unfolds…

But you are held
As it does.

And I know part of you wants to run.

To escape the tension.
To step outside of it all
Just to breathe again.

But another part of you knows…

That running won’t bring the peace you’re looking for.

Peace isn’t found in escaping your life.

It’s found in how you walk through it.

And right now…

You are walking through something hard.

But you are not unraveling.

Even if it feels like it.

You said it yourself…

Your word this year is whole.

And sometimes becoming whole…

Doesn’t feel like everything coming together.

Sometimes it feels like things falling apart
So you can see clearly what is yours…
And what never was.

So today…

Don’t rush.

Don’t force clarity.

Don’t try to solve tomorrow.

Just come back to this moment.

You are safe right now.
You are supported right now.
You are strong enough for today.

And whatever comes…

You will not walk through it alone.

One step at a time, sweet girl.

That is enough.

Love,
God