There are some things you never imagine becoming part of your story. For me, one of those things was miscarriage.

Over the years, I lost four babies. Someday I want to write down their stories, but even now, those words feel heavy to write. Time has softened some of the sharpest edges of grief, but it hasn’t erased the love I had for those little lives or the memories of those seasons.

Miscarriage is a strange kind of grief. It can feel invisible. The world often doesn’t know what to say, or even that there’s something to mourn. Sometimes life keeps moving while your own heart feels like it’s standing still. I started writing, desperately hopeful that my pain could help someone else with theirs. I did not have everything figured out, but I needed to remember what was true when my emotions made it hard to see.

I wrote down passages of Scripture that reminded me of God’s character. I wrote prayers when I couldn’t seem to find my own words. I wrote reminders that Jesus is near to the brokenhearted, that He welcomes our tears, and that our grief is never hidden from Him. Those pages eventually became a small devotional.

For years, it has mostly stayed tucked away, sometimes emailed to a dear friend going through the same pain. Today, my mother-in-law called me asking for it for a friend’s daughter, and I realized it would be easier if I had a stable place for it to live, so this post is that.

These pages aren’t written by someone who has all the answers. They were written by a woman who was hurting and desperately clinging to the promises of God. Looking back, I can still see His faithfulness. God has never explained my suffering, but He never has abandoned me in it.

I know there are women reading this today who are in that same place. Maybe you’ve just come home from an appointment you never wanted to have. Maybe you’re waiting for your body to catch up with what your heart already knows. Maybe you’ve experienced more than one loss and are wondering if anyone understands. Maybe you’re grieving quietly because almost no one even knew you were expecting.

If that’s you, I am so deeply sorry. I wish there were words that could take away the ache. There aren’t.

But I can tell you this: your baby mattered. Your grief is real. Your tears are seen. And the God who knit that little life together loves you more deeply than you can imagine.

You don’t have to rush through your grief. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. Faith doesn’t mean never asking questions. Throughout Scripture, we see God’s people bringing Him their confusion, their sorrow, and even their anger. He is not afraid of our lament.

One verse became especially precious to me during those years:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

He is near.

This devotional is available as a hug from me to you. My hope isn’t that it answers every question. It certainly doesn’t answer mine.

My hope is simply that, somewhere in these pages, another grieving mother will find the same comfort I found.

If you’re walking through miscarriage today, I want you to know you are not alone.

If you’re reading this because someone you love has experienced a loss, thank you for caring enough to learn how to walk beside her. And if these pages encourage even one weary heart, then every word I wrote all those years ago will have been worth sharing.

May the God of all comfort meet you exactly where you are today.

With love,

Katie

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