I sit rocking on the eve of my baby’s first birthday. She is sound asleep in my arms without a care in the world. I remember the day like it was yesterday. The day she came joyously into our world. The day so intertwined with pain and joy, I sometimes can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.


This year has been full of ups and downs. Full of surprises and disappointments. Full of all-consuming joy and days of overwhelming pain.

August 19th was the day I welcomed our fourth child into my arms. My second girl. The sister of my eldest daughter. I never knew how deeply I wanted my baby girl to have a sister until the day I lost mine. No one quite understands you like she does. No one gets how you were raised as she. No one can completely understand your look as if you had spoken words clear as day.

The day we found out she was a girl, I knew the bond she and my oldest would share is indescribable.

The labor was long. Not so much intense as slow and steady. The waves came like a steady drumbeat- never really marching closer. Fifteen hours we waited. Fifteen hours full of grief and sorrow, hope and peace, life and joy. Fifteen hours of walking and moaning, tears and sobbing. Never an hour went by without the mention of either my sister or the woman for which my child is named. Emotions ran high throughout her labor but finally, she made her entrance. Her siblings couldn’t have been prouder.


Tyce and Zayd were both offended that she decided to make her entrance while they were gone. They were shocked she hadn’t waited for them to be there! The wonder in their eyes was pure bliss to a mommas heart. The tenderness as they touched her- the love that overtook them in a way even they couldn’t understand.


But nothing compared to the moment that my daughter held her sister. The pride practically bursting from her expression. That moment was like healing oil for my soul. Water to a parched and thirsty spirit.




One year ago, I became a mom for the forth time. But this time was different from the rest. This time I realized the frailty of life and the beauty in the process. This time I cherished every moment more than I had the last three. This time I sit and rock and breathe deep the aroma of fresh life. Maybe it’s because she’s my last, or maybe it’s because she’s a reminder of what was. What is now not here. What is so precious and beyond my grasp. Maybe it’s because every time I look at her, I’m reminded of two very special women who impacted my life in ways too special to form with words.


Maybe it’s because her name is a promise to my very core of His faithfulness throughout the ages. He is my Gracious Help – in every circumstance, in every situation, in every journey, in every ending and in every beginning.


Happy Birthday my Ezryi Jane. I am so grateful God chose me to be your mother.