So, I have been asked to speak on recognizing the hand of the Lord in your trials.

And I have always admired Frank Clawson and how he has conducted as an endorser, but I think he made a mistake this time.

This is a really difficult topic for me to address.

I speak often.

With the growth of the Waiting Warriors has presented a lot of opportunities to speak, and I have been asked a lot of hard questions, and this one tops them all.

As I’ve reflected I feel like my story just isn’t one typically shared at the pulpit.

My feelings towards this topic are not the ones

typically shared when we have friends going through trials.

Mine is not a story of unwavering faith and peace.

I can't say I’ve had “the moment” yet in my trial where peace has flooded my heart

and the trial made sense.

I do want to give a little disclaimer, though.

I’m sharing so much of my story simply because of the spirit I have felt in this

room over the last seven years.

And I feel like it is

safe here,

but this is extremely tender.

About eight years ago around the time our first child and daughter Emma was born, I went to the temple. While at the temple, in way that I will never be able to properly describe, I met our son.

The moment was simple, and because Austin and I had already decided

the name of our first son, whatever that would be, as you talk when you’re newly married, I immediately knew who he was and that this was James.

Since that day over the last eight years I have had multiple sacred encounters with James, tender moments where I feel like I got to know him and part of his love for our family.

Interestingly enough, in those eight years Austin and I welcomed four children to our family, each time a girl, not a son.

Chasing around four very young, very energetic and spirited girls is tiring

and I’d be lying if I said I did not want to be done.

But there was a very real somebody waiting on the other side of the veil for us.

In late 2020, we found out we were pregnant again, and soon after the new year we decided to get an earlier than usual ultrasound to know the gender, because we are in the Army and Austin would be leaving for a stateside deployment to Chicago to assist his soldiers as they administered tens of thousands of vaccines to locals there.

To our joy,

we found out it was our baby boy James.

The boy I had already knew and loved was finally on his way to us.

As the weeks turned into months Austin was gone in Chicago when I went to the routine ultrasound at 22 weeks.

And the visit became all but routine because James no longer had his heartbeat.

Just as I cannot describe the love, tenderness, and connection I had

felt all those times in the temple when I had sensed James’ spirit and presence,

I cannot describe that day of grief and the past six months that have followed.

I had given birth when my body clearly did not want to and was left with many injuries and trauma.

As James was born stillborn, I have been left with many questions that our church

does not have a clear and concise doctrine to lean on to,

and get answers and comfort from.

I had to bury my son, and then have my husband return to his mission a few weeks after.

To be honest, recognizing the hand of the Lord in this trial has been extremely difficult.

I have spent most of the last six months struggling to understand everything.

Struggling to understand if those five months of pregnancy was James’ life lived, and now all we had to do was wait for the eternities, or if now was just not the time and he’d return to us some day.

I’ve struggled to cope with the feelings of guilt,

wondering if it was my fault, with confusion, anger, loss, and longing, and both emotional and physical brokenness.

Still, in all that, Jesus Christ and my Heavenly Parents have been there.

Most of my life I’ve been under the impression that to recognize the hand of the Lord in trials requires me to open my eyes so I can see the eternal perspective, as if all I needed to do was to let go of the pain and meet Him where He is.

But, at least for me, and at least for right now, recognizing the hand of the Lord feels more like I have my eyes shut.

Not open, because honestly, it’s just too painful to keep them open all the time.

And instead, I need to open my heart and my arms and just let Christ come to me.

It’s letting Him hear my anger, letting Him weep with me, asking Him all the questions, instead of pretending like I understand how everything will be okay.

It’s holding nothing back and directing it all towards Him, then seeing that He so quickly, so compassionately, so completely and utterly perfectly rushes to me.

Jesus Christ and my Heavenly Parents have not been there the way that I always wanted them to, or expected them to in this trial, but I was never abandoned.

It hasn't been easy to see because I’ve been so deeply engulfed by sorrow and pain. But with intentionality I can see the hand of the Lord in my trial.

Honestly, I probably will never be comfortable with somebody saying that we

lost James for some greater purpose, or that it was an intentional part of God’s plan and He wanted it to happen.

However, I do believe that my Heavenly Parents knew what would happen

and prepared a plan to make it livable for me.

I know They were in that hospital room

and miracles occurred, despite all the medical complications, to include I was complete placenta previa and high-risk.

With very grim anticipated outcomes to his birth,

I was somehow able to deliver James whole before the placenta, which allowed us the tender mercy of having time with our son.

I don't think it’s a coincidence that Austin’s commander is the most caring family-centered and God-loving officer I have ever met -- not including you guys

-- but he was able to get Austin home as quickly as possible so he could be with me during the birth and the few weeks of mourning, the funeral, and of just being.

If you know anything about me, you know I love gardening and flowers.

And I don't think it’s a coincidence that our baby died the week spring began.

So those four long miserable days in the hospital, there were flowers blooming

on the trees in the parking lot.

Because it was spring that meant I could garden and I had one thing that would get me out of bed, it was my “dirt therapy”.

It meant I could have a memorial garden to work on, to look after, and love on.

You could argue that my Heavenly Parents began to set the conditions for me to endure this trial looking farther back and to the influences of my family, my great grandma, then grandpa, and parents all developed in me a love for music.

All of them helped me develop a deep connection to music and how to feel the spirit and realize that I learn best from my Heavenly Parents through music.

Then many women offered me songs to listen to, sing, and connect with during this trial.

Sorry, I just had surgery on my nose, so I can't just like blow.

It’s kind of gross.

In further reflection I realized that a clear impression I received at this conference

would be a huge blessing during this trial.

While talking to a fellow chaplain wife I realized I could not do military spouse

life alone and I needed to create a space where military spouses could learn from each other.

So I did.

I created the Waiting Warriors Podcast, with associate media and blog. And little did I know in that community I would find women whose kindness, service, and support would sustain me.

Little did I know that some of those women in that community who had lost children would be the ones to offer me songs, ones not always of our faith, but that hold deep truths and would help me slowly process my experience.

Little did I know that in this band of women God had called me to find, would include silently hurting mothers

who needed someone like me, just a simple woman on the internet willing to share her hurt and process.

Such a simple action that helped them realize they weren’t alone or broken, and they had someone to talk to about their loss.

Little did I know that from that band of women there would be friends,

fighters, and supporters who would help me make changes for military families experiencing perinatal loss at military hospitals.

Little did I know, but He knew.

My Heavenly Parents knew.

Still, with all these blessings, my heart does ache.

My heart has struggled every week to go to church.

As I’ve been going, still wondering, still angry, still

devastated, and for some reason, week after week the lesson in Relief Society would be about children or women getting their miracle for their children.

And I wondered, “Where was my miracle?”

Then after months a song was sung in church, a song I had heard and even sung

to my children hundreds of times, but taught an important principle.

For months I had struggled with the concept of miracles, but in listening to the song “The Miracle” by Shawna Edwards, I felt so deeply that while I will always long for the miracle I know God could have done, of all His miracles, the most miraculous is that He rescued me.

Long before my heartache He already rescued me from this pain.

He already rescued James, He already made it possible for the miracle that Austin and I can be with our son.

I feel like oftentimes in the tone and talk regarding trials in church is that we should walk through them unscathed.

If only we had the faith, then we would understand and it wouldn't be hard.

In my trial I feel like I’ve learned more and more that most of life isn’t the unscathed experience with the immediate happy ending.

Life is a process, life is the messy times we don't want to talk about or share, life is the times where we wrestle with God in our trials,

and that’s okay.

It’s letting that relationship be full of my vulnerabilities, my hurts, my questions.

It’s keeping the relationship alive, even if only through my hope to believe in a mustard seed of faith.

I pray that we will all have the courage to let God see us as we are in our trials, to let Him come to us, and to let the hand of the Lord be revealed in unexpected ways as we don't always have the strength or courage to come to Him.

And I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.