I Didn’t Hold It All Together and That’s Where Faith Found Me
3 month old with RSV, the messiness, the breaking point, and the quiet way Jesus met me when I stopped pretending I was fine.
I started this entry a few weeks ago and finally finished it today. I noticed my writing used to be neatly pocketed in a window of unconstrained time and now has become something I do in the in-between moments of life. It’s not what my ego prefers but somehow I’m finding that I’m falling more in love what I write that way. It’s honest, it’s real. I don’t have time for anything other than what’s real. This piece here is the most honest and important thing I’ve ever written because it highlights my faith as a mother. I hope you have a cup of something warm to soothe you while you read or listen because it’s a long one. I’m going to write another post on the practical ways we made it through navigating RSV with a 3 month old and a toddler because there are truly some practical things I know will help other mamas so make sure you subscribe for when that comes out.
But for now, enjoy this one and Happy New Year friends!
I never imagined my next writing piece would be from a hospital bed, beside my three-month-old breathing through an oxygen tube next to me after a day but being pricked and prodded—but here I am.
I just had to pause for a moment, tilt my head up towards the sky, close my eyes and take a deep breath because my oh my has this week been the epitome of hard.
In a world that constantly projects a picture perfect,
“I’ve-got-it-all-together” kind of life and sharing only when it looks easy,
I wanted to write about what it looks and feels like when you’re smack dab in the middle of what’s hard.
A few days ago before all of this went down, a friend knowing everyone in our home wasn’t feeling well reached out to ask how we were all doing and I asked her if she wanted the honest unfiltered version or the I’ve-got-it-all-figured-out-it’s-fine version.
Because on the surface, I want to say “I’m fine, everything’s fine.”
But the honest version would sound like:
“I’m having a hard time keeping my head above the water,
it’s been a hard week and I feel like i’m barely holding it together.
What it really looks like is our Maytag laundry machine that
probably came original to our 1970’s house broke - luckily my husband
figured out how to patch it up but by the time it started working again,
we had piles of clothes on the laundry room floor and all over the house.
It was one of those weeks where there wasn’t anywhere we could go in our
home that didn’t feel like chaos.
Dishes were piled up in the sink.
Stuff scattered all over the island countertop.
Even inside the car looked like rampant chaos.
We have been tending to our daughters who got sick,
got sick ourselves and everything else fell to the wayside.”
We were hanging on by a thread and just looking forward to get to the weekend so we can wrap up work, go get our Christmas tree cut and start decorating for the season. I imagined we would bring our girls to see the annual holiday parade, trail the city in the double stroller to see the beautiful lights and slip in the very merry season.
But instead, we noticed the symptoms worsen in our 3 month old.
Being a breastfeeding mom allows me to be completely in sync with the baby. I am intimately in tuned to her breathing rhythms, when the inside of her mouth is warmer than usual, and any other new symptoms.
I noticed her breathing was off,
her pacing was abnormal and when the retraction in her belly started to suction deeper- we knew she needed to be seen by a doctor.
We brought her to the ER and they put her on oxygen right away noticing that her oxygen intake was dropping down to dangerous levels.
After some labs, she tested positive for RSV and needed to stay on the oxygen and get transferred to the hospital for admittance. My husband took our 2.5 year old home to nap and suddenly, I found myself alone with our baby getting ready for her car seat to get strapped on a stretcher for a ride on the ambulance.
The hard that we experienced during the week kept getting harder.
While our daughter was in the ambulance, her tiny carseat nestled in the midst of a long stretcher, I sat there with her to ride to the hospital. It was quiet in the back but loud in my mind.
There was all kinds of thoughts I watched like a storm rolling through the dark sky.
I noticed after a while that my body was so tense, I wasn’t breathing so I took some deep breaths, closed my eyes and centered myself for a moment as I tenderly listened to that small still voice,
“Jesus…
Jesus…
Jesus…”
His name appeared in my mind like a prayer without ceasing that broke through every shadow.
My attention was brought to the stiffness in my neck and the heaviness in my shoulders.
I began to roll it, stretch it, lower it and relieve it.
Dave, the EMT who buckled Lani safely into the stretcher, started filling out information on his tablet in the back of ambulance. He looks over to me and says, “Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”
I said, “I’m okay, thank you.”
I asked him, “how long have you been doing this for?”
“45 years” he says.
“I can’t imagine everything you’ve witnessed in your line of work.
How do you process the things you’ve seen?”
He says,
“Well I don’t shove it down.
I don’t numb it.
If I try to numb it, it will go away temporarily but
it will come back even harder with the next call.
I give myself a chance to be frustrated and angry.
Because none of that is healthy and you numb it out but when the next call happens, you’ll feel it all over again.
It’s important you let yourself go through it. And when I do that, I never lose my compassion for others.”
I said, “God bless you. You are doing important work.”
He had a small smile on his face and his eyes widened as he said,
“the Lord does bless me. I keep doing what I do because I just love people.”
His eyes began to well up in tears.
I said “Well you’re doing a good job and you love people very well, thank you. Your love shows up in the work you do and you embody God’s love very well.”
He says, “Thank you. I try but i’m not perfect. I’m a work in progress and under construction and I always will be. He continues on,
You know a lot of people say they love Jesus but they live like they don’t.”
I sat with that for a moment before I said anything.
I asked him “how has He blessed your life?”
He said,
“He changed my heart.
He taught me patience and compassion.
He rescued me from arrogance, ego and anger.
He’s merciful and he forgives me no matter
how many times I mess up.
I have two boys and being a dad is a high calling and I have a lot riding on me.”
He is 74 and has two sons are in their forties.
In the following days of being beside my baby girl in the hospital, Dave’s words continued to linger in the back of my mind through every time she screamed from the discomfort, through every conversation with changing nurses and doctors walking in and out the door, through every nursing session where I had to untangle wires attached to her just to feed her comfortably.
It posed the question, how do I love like Jesus did? How do I trust like Jesus did? How do I live like Jesus did?
When Jesus was in the garden, he knew the weight of the cross that was coming. He openly expressed anguish, he cried out to the Father at what he about to endure and yet He still submitted his will entirely to God. He demonstrated complete trust and obedience even when he knew the outcome would involve that he would suffer.
Jesus demonstrated that trust doesn’t equal the absence of fear — trust means choosing God’s will over our own no matter the outcome.
“Yet not as I will, but as you will” - (Matthew 26:36–46)
That night she spiked a fever of 102.4 and a few hours later it came down.
The next night, she spiked another fever of 100.4 and a few hours later it came down. They said sometimes RSV patients this young are there for 4 days sometimes 4 months. There is no telling but to wait it out and do what needs to be done to support her.
All I could think about was how I just endured birthing her 3 months ago
and here she is in the hospital with tubes attached to her.
It broke my heart but the fear was not strong enough to break me.
The waves of worry kept ushering in and out but I was reminded who was at the center of it all.
One of the best things that happened to us this year was finding a home church that we could call ours, that we could see ourselves growing in and becoming a part of and we’re so glad we did.
That Sunday, a friend told us to tune into our church service and as we watched; our Pastor led with mighty strength and humility and the entire church prayed fiercely and faithfully over our baby girl. Our Pastor reminded me that God has a special purpose for her. That this past summer when the Lord called me back home to Him through baptism in the ocean (a story I’ll share another day), that she was in my very womb- 8 months pregnant.
I held Lani in my arms that night and felt the fire of the Holy Ghost take over me.
I felt my back bone strengthened.
My mind became more sharp and narrow.
When Lani woke up later that night at 1 am, she was wide awake.
Instead of just holding her, I turned on instrumental acoustics and started to worship.
I closed my eyes and lifted one hand up in reverence while the other one held her as I continued to pray over her body to miraculously and fully recover.
A rush of gratitude washed over me for the first time since this whole event took place. Gratitude that we went to the ER at the exact time we did and gratitude for the incredible hospital staff, community, family and friends surrounding us with their support.
I felt the warmth settle into my body in the midst of a cold room.
When I opened my eyes and looked down,
her little face was smiling so big back at me.
Her eyes twinkled like she knew a little secret I didn’t
and I smiled so big back at her. It was like God talked to her
and told her everything was going to be okay.
I couldn’t stop smiling and just knew, just knew, that she was going to be okay.
The doctor came into the room and said she was going to remove the oxygen to see how Lani would do.
She turned off the machine and Lani’s breathing remained over 90%.
'A few hours later, she came in and said “I’m happy to report that we can remove her tubes and she seems to be breathing fine on her own.”
It was a big moment for us, a big hallelujah!
On the fourth day, after breathing for a full 12 hours on her own by afternoon, the doctors felt confident that she could be discharged and finally go home.
When we told Lani, “we’re going home! we’re going home!”
She belly laughed and gleamed with joy bursting through her tiny face.
We were able to catch it on camera and sent it back to our church community so they can see the power of their prayers manifesting in its purest form.
The doctors said the RSV caused bronchitis so the symptoms of wheezing and coughing will likely last for at least another 2 weeks.
We came home and when we opened the door, my husband had a surprise waiting for us. Somehow, between taking care of our toddler, keeping our business running and checking on us daily at the hospital, he managed to get the entire house spotless, hung lights around the living room and in the very corner of the room, A CHRISTMAS TREE. The smell of pine splashed my face and the Christmas spirit was alive and well.
4 days later, Lani had her follow up at the doctors office.
As they listened to her chest, they said “wow, no wheezing. she sounds amazing.”
She confirmed that all her symptoms from RSV and the side effects were gone. Praise. the. Lord.
We celebrated that weekend by bringing our girls to see Christmas lights and Lani was able to join us in our holiday tradition of watching movies under the stars that started when it was only Zach and I. We packed a picnic blanket, chairs, a throw and watched The Grinch.
While the movie was playing and the city was buzzing
with noise and lights all around us, I felt a stillness inside of me.
A small but mighty moment of peace in recognizing the way God delivers on His promises.
The way He answers prayers and the way he gives us even more than we will ever know to pray for.
After such adrenaline filled weeks, especially while still in the early postpartum window, I felt the come down happen in my flesh.
I was emotionally and physically exhausted.
I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling because I’ve never felt it before.
It felt like a pendulum swinging from one extreme to the opposite.
The exhaustion was constant, yet there were moments of inexplicable joy.
It felt like sometimes my tank was too full and I was so stimulated that I wanted to burst out then other times, it felt like I was too empty, my own nutrient reserves giving everything I’ve got through the breastmilk to the baby, breaking down in bone density, losing hair, shifting hormones and all.
Running on little hours of broken sleep.
Sometimes I questioned how I even have any left to give at all.
It was as if my body was a living paradox - one moment overflowing yet others, slowly depleting in ways I couldn’t always see.
Then Dave’s words came to me again, “don’t numb it, you have to give yourself a way to express your frustration.”
I went to the bathroom floor and I let myself break down completely.
I belted out in cries and laid it all down.
I let myself unwind to feel the beat of emotion that needed to be felt.
To see the hidden parts of me that needed to be seen.
And just like I cradled my baby as she was going through her suffering,
I felt God cradle me as His daughter as I was going through mine.
Jesus tells us,
“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” - Matthew 11:28-30
In allowing myself to break down, I submitted to His Will.
I liken this process to a lotus flower.
The seed of a lotus can stay dormant for decades. In order the flower to grow, the outer shell of the seed much be destroyed enough to allow the water in.
Once the seed absorbs the water,
the nutrients that have been stored inside transform to energy.
Then a baby root grows down as a shoot shows upward towards the light.
Once conditions are right, the lotus seed doesn’t hesitate. It grows fast.
Despite the fact that lotuses grows through murky water,
it blooms clean and untouched above the water.
Sometimes we’re so scared to slow down, to pause long enough to feel all of the pent up energy because we’re afraid that we’re going to lose control. But it’s in losing control, our will that we submit to His Will.
It was in my breaking down, that I let the water in.
The Holy Water that took everything inside of me and transformed it into something new, a new creation.
It was in my breaking down, that His grace poured into me.
Motherhood is teaching me that breaking down is not the opposite of faith.
Sometimes it is the doorway to it.
Sometimes the surrender looks like collapsing on your bathroom floor and letting God do what He’s always done best - bring life from places that look undone.
This is how we grow.
Not by numbing.
Not by holding it all together.
But by allowing ourselves to break open — trusting that what’s inside us was always meant to rise.
As I’m wrapping up this entry, it’s December 31st.
I can’t believe it’s already the end of 2025.
My two girls are napping and the sun is peeking through the blinds of a room that didn’t exist this time last year. It was a room we built earlier this year for my toddler, now holding my little desk and Lani’s crib. She’s moved to what was once a guest bedroom. And now this room has become an office, a nursery, a quiet place where life keeps unfolding in small and sacred ways.
I tilt my head back. I close my eyes and let the warm sun touch me through the window. I take in a breath.
And again the gratitude comes in softly, like it always does when I finally slow down enough to notice.
I’m grateful for the community He wrapped around us this year — the hands that held us up when we were tired, the voices that reminded me I wasn’t alone.
I’m grateful for the way God shows up through strangers like Dave, how He ministers to my heart even in moments when fear tries to speak louder than truth.
I’m grateful that Lani got to enjoy her first Christmas and that it ended up being the best one we’ve ever had.
I’m grateful for every emotion, every trial, every triumph because each one has shaped me, softened me, opened me as I continue to tend to the fire that is my life.
Everything keeps changing and rearranging.
Nothing stays still for long.
Life moves fast around me.
But in this moment—this quiet,
still,
loving moment—
I get to pause.
I get to marvel.
I get to be overwhelmed in the most sacred way by the season I’m living right now.
Even in the thick of marriage and early parenting stages, even in the thick of early motherhood—raising two little ones under three, a business to steward, two mortgages, endless logistics, and all the in-between spaces—
I can count my blessings.
Because this life, as full and heavy and holy as it is, is not something I merely survive.
It’s something I get to do.
I get to live this.
Like the lotus, I’ve learned that growth doesn’t always look graceful while it’s happening.
Sometimes it looks like treading under the murky water and tired bones and whispered prayers with whatever energy there is left at the end of long days.
But life is such a beautiful gift and God keeps drawing life upward—toward light, toward beauty, toward ways that He will continue to prosper us as we submit to Him.
And tonight, as this year closes, I don’t rush past it.
I stay here.
I breathe it in.
I thank Him.
This is the life He’s given me.
And even in its fullness, it is good.
It is so so good.
And I’m so thankful to live a life that’s beautiful, wholesome and good.
I pray this new year brings you what’s wholesome, prosperous and good.
Warmly,
Beautiful. Thank you. I found the livestream prayer from your church very moving. It is things such as that, that really bring home our family in Christ. Bless you.