MaKenzie’s Story

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin,”
Matthew 6:28

“What does it say?” my husband asked anxiously. “It’s…it’s…I think…it might be…positive?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. After three years of praying and trying and trying and praying, we were parents. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. I felt that God had shown me the Christmas before that I would become pregnant at the same time as my friend found out the gender of her child, and that’s exactly what happened.

We danced. We sang. We prayed. We cried and shouted for joy! We were parents. I was a mom, and the man I love most in this world was a dad. We cried together as my husband kissed my belly and said hello to our baby for the first time, “Will you be Lily or Malachi?” 

Malachi means ‘My messenger’ and Lily comes from Matthew 6—the lilies of the field. Either gender, we knew each time we said their name it would be a small prayer of praise and thankfulness to the One who provides. 

I began a pregnancy journal so one day I could share the good, the bad, and the ugly with this precious soul inside me when he or she was older. I wanted to remember everything, and that leather journal is now one of my most prized possessions. Many of our most tender moments memorialized in print, eagerly waiting to greet me whenever I open it. 

The first trimester of my pregnancy wasn’t easy. I had intense morning sickness coupled with food poisoning, and was hospitalized multiple times. I lost 15 kilos (around 30 pounds), but every doctor and nurse that came in said the same thing, “Your baby is just fine.” 

Through the next trimester, we discovered that we were having a precious baby girl—our Lily Green. As Daniel hit the piñata open and pink flew everywhere, I could see a future of bows, purses, headbands, shirts, and blankets flying all around a teenage Lily’s room as she tired to find something, music blaring. I could hardly wait! She was growing right on schedule and looked perfect.  

Daniel played solo concerts for his biggest fan, prayed with her daily, and told her everything he had planned. He joked that since I got to carry her for nine months, he would get to carry her for the first nine months of her life outside of the womb. We laughed without fear of the future, and decorated her nursery with elephants.

In the last few weeks of pregnancy, I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and we began taking extra precautions. I rested, but couldn’t relax with the excitement that our Lily was coming soon. I took my blood pressure daily and sat in my rocker, imagining what it would be like to hold our sweet girl in just a few short weeks. I sang her songs and told her about her family that lived halfway around the world—how her aunties and uncles had sent goodies to the Middle East for her to enjoy until they got to meet her in person. She would jump and roll with anticipation. 

We went in one Saturday and heard Lily’s heart beating, and were asked to come in again on Tuesday to check back in and potentially be induced. We went home and packed our hospital bags and sat the car seat and stroller next to the door. ‘‘Our arms will be full the next time we walked through this door,’’ we thought.

At my next appointment Tuesday afternoon, I heard the doctor say, “What?” I asked if it was twins. That was more conceivable to me than her not having a pulse. He apologized and said that this sometimes happens. I screamed. I shook so violently that my husband, the doctor, and a nurse had to help me down from the table. They’re wrong! This is a mistake. She is a miracle, and those don’t just stop breathing. 

We prayed all the way to the hospital. “God you gave us a miracle baby, perform another one. Wake our child! Call her name, and raise her from the dead like Lazarus.” Twelve hours of labor later, we waited for her cries. We were met with silence. Deafening silence. In all His sovereignty, Jesus kept our baby girl in His mighty arms.  

I remember being surprised at how much peace filled the hospital room. We held our precious Lily for two and a half hours before we had to say goodbye. She looked exactly like her daddy, but had my nose and eyelashes.

Instead of walking her down the aisle on her wedding day, my husband carried our daughter through the cemetery. The smallest casket I had ever seen was also, somehow, the heaviest. As we laid her down, not in a bassinet, but in the open earth, I too wanted to join her. I felt like all my hope and joy were being buried with her, never to be felt again.   

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
Revelation 21:4

Grief isn’t a competition. Whether miscarriage, stillborn, or child loss—loss is loss. Sorrow is sorrow. Grief isn’t a competition, because if it were, God would win, every time. He knows the sorrow of parting with His son. He knows the grief we have, because He has felt it too. Jesus was perfect, blameless, and pure, and His life was paid as a ransom for many. 

“He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds.”
Psalm 147:3

The world tells us that death is the end, but we know that it is only the beginning—the beginning of eternity with our Creator. How beautiful, wonderful, and powerful His life is. Sorrow is heavy, often causing us to fall, so why not fall towards Jesus and let Him hold us and heal us? His presence is the best place to be whether in joy or sorrow.

There will be pain in this life; we don’t get to opt out of that. However, we do get to choose the way we respond. Our response to pain determines the quality of our life. Sorrow will come, but will we choose to weep with the world or in the strong, capable arms of our Savior? 

In the seven months since Lily was born, I have felt every emotion I can name in both of the languages I know, and I still find myself surprised when I’m met daily by joy. That doesn’t mean I’m not well acquainted with anger, grief, or frustration, it just means through it all, I know Jesus sees me and walks with me in every emotion. I’m not cast aside or forgotten because I’m struggling; I’m embraced by our great Comforter and He breathes life back into my dry bones. 

I have had to tell my lungs to breathe, my eyes to blink, and my heart to beat, but I haven’t had to ask my King to come to me. I know, without a doubt, He is with me through every scream of pain, cry of sorrow, and shout of anger. The One we worship never leaves us or forsakes us, even when we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. His is with me.

Lily Green, your short life is more precious than rubies. Every tear, every pain, every emotion—you are worth it all. Thank you, sweet one, for giving me a new name, Mom, and for making the gift of heaven even more sweet. I love you yesterday, today, and always.       

“God, who foresaw your tribulation, has specially armed you to go through it, not without pain but without stain.”
–C.S. Lewis

MaKenzie and her husband Daniel live in the Middle East and work with refugees. She is an alumni of Sam Houston State University and lived the entirety of her life in Texas until moving to the Arab World in 2017. She drinks too much coffee, sings too loudly, and has an affinity for books.

We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog. On Saturdays we feature Hope Moms’ stories in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow. If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose, learn more and submit here.

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