The Story Between Storms
April 21, 2024
There’s a moment in every storm where the rain lets up—just a little. Not because the storm is over, but because your body can’t stay clenched forever. You breathe. You cry. You laugh, maybe, but it’s soft. Hesitant. It was on that day I realized… joy and fear can coexist.
April 19 changed everything. I had gone from back pain and spasms to an emergency C-section. I didn’t have time to panic or prepare. I had barely enough time to pray. But somehow, through the chaos, she arrived.
One pound. Three ounces. Thirteen inches long. Breathing on her own.
And somehow… I smiled. Even after the blood, the rushing, the silence before the cry that never came—I still smiled. My daughter was here. Our daughter was here. And in the middle of that cold hospital room and everything unknown, I felt joy push through my chest like sunlight through cracked glass.
The Room Where It Happened
They whisked her away to the NICU so fast, I didn’t even have time to process what was happening. Nurses were focused. My partner’s hands were clenched. I was numb—body and soul. But then they let us see her.
Her skin was so delicate I was afraid to breathe too close. She was wrapped in wires and monitors, but even with all that—I saw her. Her fingers, her tiny chest rising and falling. Her strength. It was overwhelming and intimate and terrifying and beautiful all at once.
We Named Her… Finally
We had danced around names for weeks but never fully decided—not until three minutes before they wheeled me away into the operating room. It was a last-minute whisper, a prayer disguised as a choice. So seeing her for the first time and actually being able to say her name out loud… it was more than we could have imagined.
She was here.
And now, she had a name.
Hope Isn’t Always Loud
That first day wasn’t easy. I was exhausted. Still recovering. Still bleeding. Still asking God all the things I hadn’t had time to process.
But sitting next to her, whispering to her, being in that moment with her—there was joy. It didn’t erase the fear, but it gave it somewhere soft to land. That’s what joy does. It lets you feel everything without being undone.
If You’re in the Middle of a Storm
If you’re feeling blindsided by something you didn’t plan—grappling with uncertainty while still trying to hold on to faith and hope—I see you. I’ve been there. You don’t have to pretend the storm isn’t real. But you also don’t have to let it steal every beautiful thing.
Even in the chaos, joy can still rise.
Even in fear, you’re still allowed to believe for more.
The Story Between Storms 
Leave a comment