Waiting, Trusting, and Watching God Move
This season has taught me that waiting is rarely passive. It is active trust — daily, sometimes hourly, choosing to place what I cannot control into the hands of a God who can. There are several verses that have been anchoring my heart lately.
Proverbs 3:5 (Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not rely on your own understanding) reminds me that I can try endlessly to find answers, but peace doesn’t come from understanding everything — it comes from choosing to trust the Lord instead of leaning on my own understanding.
Psalms 40:8 (I delight to do your will, my God, and your instruction is deep within me) has been another verse I have held close, even before we received any difficult news. It speaks to a posture of surrender — a heart that desires God’s will above all else. I’ve clung to that truth through every appointment, phone call, and sleepless night.
And Jeremiah 32:17 (Oh, Lord GOD! You yourself made the heavens and earth by your great power and with your outstretched arm. Nothing is too difficult for you!) continues to echo loudly: Nothing is too difficult for You. Not this diagnosis. Not this uncertainty. Not this waiting. Not ours or anyone else’s.
I’ve also found myself returning again and again to John 11, the story of Lazarus. There are moments in this chapter that have profoundly shaped my prayers. In verse 3, Mary and Martha send Jesus a message that is only seven words long:
“Lord, the one you love is sick.”
That’s it. No requests. No instructions. No outcomes attached. Their trust moves me deeply — and it has become my prayer as well. I have not prayed, “Lord, heal her,” or “Lord, do this or that.” Instead, I’ve simply brought the truth before Him and rested in His will, whatever that may be:
“Lord, the one You love is sick.”
Later in the chapter, we come to John 11:35 — “Jesus wept.”
The shortest verse in Scripture, yet overflowing with meaning. Jesus — fully God, with all authority and power — still wept. Why? Because He loved Mary and Martha. Because He entered into their grief. He didn’t stand distant from their pain; He felt it with them. Jesus knows sorrow. He understands the weight we carry. He folded Himself into humanity, experienced emotion, and walked among us in love. And yet — tears were not the end of the story. Jesus thanked the Father for hearing Him, modeled trust and obedience, and then with complete authority spoke: “Lazarus, come out.”
And life followed.
That truth has shaped how we are walking forward.
A Medical Update
After many phone calls and coordination, my fetal MRI was originally scheduled for December 23, with hopes of being moved up if a cancellation opened. On December 18, we received a joyful call — an opening was available for December 19. YES!
Then, on the morning of the 19th, we received another call. The pediatric neurosurgeon we were scheduled to see on January 15 asked if we would like to review the MRI with him that same afternoon. Again, YES!
This date felt significant. December 19 marked one month since the original devastating news, and it also happens to be my stepson, Alex’s, birthday — a reminder of life, celebration, and God’s timing.
We headed to UNC for the MRI, praying that Gianna Grace would rest long enough for clear images. Anyone who knows her already knows she is a wiggle worm. She gives ultrasound techs a run for their money — hands up, hiding, moving nonstop. During my amniocentesis, the doctor even commented, “She’s doing acrobatics in there — that’s awesome.” Scary, I know.
She did not nap for the MRI — but God answered a more important prayer: they were able to get the images they needed.
Later that afternoon, we met virtually with the pediatric neurosurgeon. After walking through the images, he shared findings that felt almost impossible to process. Below are excerpts from the letter he sent to my care team:
“The fetus most likely has a meningocele, not an encephalocele. This is a fluid-filled sac that does not contain brain tissue and generally portends a very good developmental prognosis. This typically requires surgical repair, sometimes shortly after birth, or later in infancy.”
“Given the risk of rupture, I would recommend a C-section to reduce the risk of complications.”
“Regarding the ventriculomegaly, it is too early to predict how this will progress or whether it will result in developmental concerns.”
A very good prognosis developmentally.
Another change. Another moment where the ground beneath us shifted — again, towards hope.
Holding Both Hope and Trust
It has been a whirlwind month. Gianna Grace still has time to grow, and there are still unknowns ahead. But I serve a mighty God whose plans are far greater than my own — and I trust Him completely with my life and with my daughter’s life.
I want to be clear: my trust in God did not begin with good news, and it does not hinge on outcomes. I trusted Him when the prognosis felt unbearable, and I will trust Him now. Science plays a role, yes — but God is the Author of this story.
If I’m being honest, I’ve struggled to fully settle into the good news. Fear has tried to creep back in. Doubt has whispered. But the same God who held us in devastation is the God who holds us in hope.
So we will continue to fuel our hearts with Scripture, walk forward in obedience, and trust that He has gone before us, walks with us now, and follows behind us — guarding every step (Isaiah 52:12; Isaiah 41:10).
Thank you to everyone who has prayed, reached out, shown up, and walked with us. Every message, conversation, coffee date, meal, and moment of presence has filled our souls in ways we can’t fully express.
We are deeply grateful. And we will continue — one day at a time — to trust the Lord.
If you are here, but don’t know much about our family, head to the “About Us” section to learn more.
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