Posted in eternity

What’s Right With This Picture?

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

Over the past month, there’s been a particular word I can’t seem to get away from. It’s been in my devotions, in my Griefshare videos, in my conversations… it’s almost become comical. That word is perspective.

Perspective: a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view.

I’m sure you’ve heard countless times how powerful perspective can be. While this truth is not specific to grief alone, I would dare to say it is a truth that grievers must be hyperaware of. Here’s what I mean…

When we suffer an unexpected loss, confusion and anger can be natural responses. We search for answers. We wonder all of the why’s. We pinpoint what we should have done differently. And if we aren’t extremely careful, we spiral…

We start to believe God loves us less. We convince ourselves that there’s no hope or happiness left in this world. We’re consumed with our sorrow. It affects how we think, interact with others, plan (or don’t plan) for the future… everything. We watch the calendar for any “milestone” days (holidays, anniversaries, etc.) and fill ourselves with dread, wishing all of that precious time away. We live in a permanent and inescapable state of pessimism.

Why? Because our perspective shifts. It becomes painfully distorted as we repeat the lies of grief and begin to shape our entire life around them. The worst part? We usually don’t even realize what’s happening until we’re too far deep in the hole of despair.

If I’m being honest, I’ve found myself in this hole more times than I can count. It seems to happen when I become too fixated on my grief – when all I can see is my loss. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Of course my perspective is going to be warped if all I can think about is death and disappointment.

So… what do we do about it?

I’m going to share a short devotion with you that I find myself going back to often. The title is “Eternal Perspective” and is found in through a season of grief by Bill Dunn and Kathy Leonard.

When you begin to see heaven as your true home, you can develop eternal perspective that sees all sorrows as passing.

“It is possible to trust God in all things,” says Dr. Joseph Stowell. “You may have a hard time getting there, but you won’t get there unless you believe in the world to come. If this is all you have, if it’s just this world, then bitterness is your only option.

But if you believe that there is a God who is higher than you are and wiser than you are, and He has a world prepared for you where all Christians will be together again and be with Him in absolute joy and bliss, then that brings strength to your sorrow.”

Place your trust in God and in His preparations and plans for you.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:1-3).

Lord and Savior, I trust that You will someday bring me home to live in heaven with You. For now, I need to try and look at my sorrows in light of eternity. The things of this world are much clearer when I have a higher perspective. Amen.

I know what you’re probably thinking. “That’s a lot easier said than done.” You’re absolutely right, it is. So, let me offer you a simple exercise to try whenever you catch your perspective doing the dreaded spiral.

Ask yourself – “What’s right with this picture?”

For me, I think about how right it is that my mama was spared from this world. No more pain. No more tears. No more burdens. Just pure heavenly joy. I think about how right it is that she made sure we were taken care of. I think about how right it is that I’ll get to meet my sweet Parker as soon as I enter heaven’s gates. I get to meet my child, y’all! Also, how right is it that my mama gets to worship at the feet of Jesus beside one of her grandkids?! I love to imagine that beautiful, holy sight.

If you can’t think of anything right with your picture yet, ask yourself again. Ask however many times it takes. Because I guarantee you God is not letting your pain go to waste. Even in the worst circumstances, there is something right with this picture.

**Dana, if you somehow come across my blog – THANK YOU for sharing this exercise in Griefshare. It was truly one of those pivital moments for me.**

Posted in church

Would You Choose To Live?

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

There’s a particular question weighing on my heart this Easter, so I’d like to ask you…

Would you choose to live?

Let’s pretend that before you were born, you were given a “preview” of what was in store. After this preview, you could choose if you’d like to live the life shown.

You would see all of the beautiful things life offered. Maybe that includes a spouse, some children, a nice home, a steady job, a community of friends, some dreamy vacations… Anything you’d consider good. Encouraging stuff, right?

Then the bad starts to play. You see all of the loss, hardships, and instability scattered in. They seem immeasurable and so unfair. Worst of all, you learn that your final moments are a far cry from peaceful. Your death will be excruciating, at best. It’s one you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. Yikes…

What would you do? On one hand, you’re overwhelmed with all of the joy and blessings awaiting. On the other, you can’t imagine facing such an agonizing death. No one could blame you if you decided it wasn’t worth it.

I think about this question a lot for my mom. I often wonder if she would have chosen YES to her life knowing how it would end. She died with her body smashed and broken and bleeding. She took her last breath confused and alone, with no loved one nearby to hold her hand. While I’ve visually seen the damage and reports, I’ll never truly know the amount of pain she felt or the final thoughts she had. What I do know is that it was a death that would make me question everything. Did she question it too?

You may be wondering what the point of this question is. Why torture ourselves with hypotheticals and “what if” scenarios? After all, none of us are given a preview. The saying holds weight… “We play the hand we’re dealt.”

But here’s the thing.

Someone WAS given a preview. He knew exactly the life he would live, down to the very second. He knew every good his life would hold. The friendships, the healings, the miracles, and the eternal impact. But he also knew the bad. The betrayals, the brutality, the cross, and the grave. And guess what? He still chose YES.

Wrap your mind around that for a second. Jesus knew it all before it even happened. Imagine getting a preview like Matthew 27 and still choosing YES…

“What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” Pilate asked. They all answered, “Crucify him!” “Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate. But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!” When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!” All the people answered, “His blood is on us and on our children!” Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified. Then the governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole company of soldiers around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand. Then they knelt in front of him and mocked him. “Hail, king of the Jews!” they said. They spit on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again. After they had mocked him, they took off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

I don’t know about you, but I would have taken one glance at that passage and eagerly declined. Flogging? Mockery? Thorns beaten into your skull? Nailed to a cross? That price is too steap for me. Who would willingly choose a life that would end in such a way?

Jesus. That’s who.

Jesus chose that for me. And He chose that for you. He looked at His impending crucifixion and decided our sinful souls were worth it all. You and I were worth the blood. You and I were worth the beatings. You and I were worth the cross.

What love to choose YES.

Now… While we didn’t get a preview of the life we’re currently living, we do get a preview of the eternal life that’s waiting. And good news! This time, we have a choice. John 3:16 proclaims,

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

Easter can quickly become all about the baskets, egg hunts, and family gatherings. For many, it’s just another church box to check off for the year. But my prayer for you, friend, is that you take some time to really dwell on the YES your Savior chose for you. And may you choose to say YES right back to Him.

Posted in Parker

Everyone I Love Dies.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

I’ve dreaded sharing this part of my story. Partly because I’m often still numb to the loss. But mostly because I just can’t make sense of it… why babies have to die.

*This post will discuss miscarriage. If you’re not comfortable with details – consider stopping now.*

Are you experiencing any bleeding or abdominal pain? It’s the routine question asked at every prenatal appointment.

I answered with little concern. Bleeding seemed to be my new normal since my pregnancy with Sadie. Having a 10 cm subchorionic hematoma means you see a lot of blood. You almost get used to it. You have to. Because of that, my answer didn’t scare me like it should have.

“Yes, I have been bleeding a little bit.”

For a couple weeks now, I had convinced myself I was pregnant. I was having all of the beginning symptoms that I had experienced with both Ellie and Sadie. I was just waiting for the test to turn positive. It finally did Sunday morning (Aug 11, 2024). This baby wasn’t planned, but I was already over the moon with joy. Three under three was going to be pure chaos. But it would be the most exciting, fulfilling chaos. I couldn’t wait.

After Mom died, I pretty much swore off the idea of ever having another baby. In my mind, I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world that she would never know about. I also couldn’t bear the thought of anymore loss. I told myself that as long as I didn’t get pregnant again, my heart would be spared from any possible pain of losing a baby. I was letting grief dictate how I lived my life and how I grew my family. I hated myself for it. But I was convinced it was the only way to survive.

So you can imagine my surprise when I started experiencing pregnancy symptoms. I was terrified at first. I started running through all of the worst case scenarios. But I quickly pushed them away with confidence that surely this was meant to be my healing baby. This child was going to be what pulled me out of my grief rut. In no world would the Lord deem it necessary for me to experience more death and loss and pain. Surely.

We immediately started thinking of names. Some people would think that’s crazy at 4 weeks. But it was par for the course with us. With each pregnancy, I wanted to be settled on a name right away. Having a name always made it more real for me. More meaningful. I loved being able to rub my belly and call them by name throughout the entire pregnancy. It reaffirmed the reality that God was entrusting me with a precious little life.

I called my midwife’s office the Monday after getting the positive test. They got me in for my initial blood test appointment later that day (Aug 12). This was just supposed to be the appointment that “confirms pregnancy”. Little did I know, that would be as far as I’d get.

The receptionist called the next morning to confirm I was pregnant and needed to schedule my first ultrasound. I took a sigh of relief. That relief lasted for a good two hours. A second call came in around 11 AM, but this time, it was my midwife’s nurse. She wanted to see if I was still bleeding or experiencing any discomfort. I told her yes to both. The bleeding wasn’t too heavy, but it was enough to need a liner. And the pain felt similar to a period.

She hesitated. There it was again. The hesitation I’ve become so familiar with. She informed me that my levels were lower than what is expected, so they needed to be checked again tomorrow (Aug 14). As of now, my HCG level was only 13, which was considered “borderline” for pregnancy. My progesterone was also low, sitting only at 3.59.

And so the spiraling began. I 10/10 do NOT recommend googling if you’re trying to stay calm or optimistic. But I couldn’t stop searching. Everything I read indicated this pregnancy would not last. How could this be? How was this happening? This was supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel. But all signs were pointing away from that hope.

I went in Wednesday to get my blood drawn. The tech informed me I wouldn’t hear anything until tomorrow, so off I went to play the waiting game. I asked Riley that evening if we could name the baby Parker if I ended up miscarrying. It was gender-neutral, and I wanted to be able to honor the baby’s life with a name. Plus, I wanted to know what to call them in heaven. He agreed. I already knew in my gut what the results were going to say. All that was left was to hear the words. And on Thursday (Aug 15), I heard them loud and clear.

“Mrs. Walker, I’m so sorry to be the one to inform you that your pregnancy is no longer viable. There’s nothing at this point in pregnancy that can be done. You should be able to pass this at home since it is still very early. We’d just like to check your numbers again next week to make sure everything happens smoothly. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

I was covering my mouth trying to contain my screams. I had to say something though. What are you supposed to say to that? I squeezed out the quickest response just so she knew I’d heard her. “Okay.” I hung up and hit my knees. For the first time in my grief journey, I was angry at God. Furious, actually. And I let Him know it.

“What have I done to You that is so wrong? You’re taking everything from me! Why is this happening? Everyone I love dies!“

Those next few days were brutal. Don’t believe the lie that an early loss is just like a bad period. It’s not. My body was painfully aware I was losing a baby… losing a life. I experienced minor contractions, severe pain, and heavy bleeding. The postpartum hormonal shift was very much there. I remember screaming at one point as I felt another contraction, “I am watching my poor baby come out in pieces!” That wasn’t entirely accurate, of course. But it definitely felt that way.

This seemed like the final straw. I had nothing left to give. I was confused, bitter, and broken. I closed my heart off that day. I was numb. What was the point of being faithful if God was just going to keep adding to my pain? All I could see in my mind was the “list of losses”. There was no hope or light for me. It was just darkness.

I lived in isolation from God for weeks. That doesn’t really sound like a long time, but I felt every second of it. Up until this loss, I had come to depend on Him for every moment. But I was in a tricky stage of grief now. I felt like I couldn’t trust Him. Parker felt like a betrayal… like a broken promise.

There were so many times I’d cry out, “I don’t want to be angry at You, God. But I just can’t get past this.” Parker was too personal. Riley and I were the only ones who would really grieve what was lost this time. With Mom and Bruce and Mamaw, so many others grieved. Each of them lived a life full of love and purpose. But my little baby never got that chance. And like I’ve said before, you can’t miss what you never knew.

I shared a piece of this in my post, Meaning Behing The Name, but it wasn’t until I heard a particular song that things started to shift for me. That song was none other than “I’ve Witnessed It” by Passion.

You’re good, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re strong, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re constant, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

You love, and I’ve witnessed it. You heal, and I’ve witnessed it. You save, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

There it was. The truth blaring in my ears. No matter how much I wanted to ignore it, I couldn’t. God hadn’t betrayed me. He hadn’t turned His back on me. He hadn’t broken any promises. God had been GOOD to me. Every step of the way. I had just been too angry to see it.

Look at my husband He has blessed me with. Look at my two living children He has provided and protected. Look at the home He has handed me. Look at the family and community He has surrounded me with. Look at grace and mercy He has shown me. Look at the love He has displayed for me on the cross and every day after.

God, even in my consuming pain, You are GOOD. God, even in my weakness, You are STRONG. God, even in my unsteady faith, You are CONSTANT. God, even in my anger, You LOVE. God, even in my brokenness, You HEAL. God, even in my sin, You SAVE.

So, where does this truth leave me? I still don’t have the answer for why babies have to die. I doubt anyone does. But that’s the beauty of Christ, isn’t it? He holds all of the answers. 1 John 3:20 reminds us,

… for God is greater than our hearts, and he knows all things.

While my grief is heavy and abundant, I take great joy in knowing I’m on the side of the One who knows it all. I pray you can too.

Posted in August 6

The Price You Pay For Answers.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

I’ve always had a habit of getting invested in the most irrelevant things. Once my curiosity is peaked, you can bet I’ll be doing an internet deep dive for all the details. My husband used to joke with me and say, “Okay, Google…” anytime he knew he was about to get me started on something.

My brain does something like this…

“Holy cow, why are cashews so expensive?” *Googling…* “So that’s where cashews come from? Wait, what’s cashew apple? Why have I never seen a cashew apple at a store?” *Googling…*

Yes, I’m insane. I recognize this. But seriously, if you didn’t just stop to google a cashew apple, WHO are you? And HOW are you just content with not knowing something? I need to know your secrets.

Usually, this characteristic is completely harmless. Knowing random information about cashews never hurt anyone. In fact, I’m counting on this to help me win at trivia night one day. But there’s a reason for the saying, “Curiosity killed the cat.” Sometimes, the information isn’t what you expect. Sometimes, you see things you may be better off turning a blind eye to. Sometimes, you cause more harm than good.

But that’s just the price you pay for answers.

**If you haven’t read my post, The Call, pause and do that now. It’s good context.**

Caught up? Okay, on we go.

When Riley spoke on the phone with Dr. Nelson, she told him the wreck was an accident. There had been a terrible rain storm, and the other driver hydroplaned, resulting in a head-on collision. At this point, no information was disclosed about this driver. I didn’t know who it was, if they were dead, alive, in jail, in a coma… nothing.

One of the first questions I asked Dr. Nelson at the hospital – “Is the driver alive?” I had to know. I thought I was prepared for the answer. I thought I knew what she’d say. Because how could anyone walk away from a wreck like this? There’s no way, right? Wrong.

“The driver was a young man. He’s completely fine. He sustained no injuries.”

She went on to say that it was just a terrible accident due to the weather. Nothing could have prevented it. And she wanted to believe that Mom and Bruce did not suffer.

At that moment, I didn’t have the capacity to really stop and think about all she said. My brain was just trying to keep up. So much was happening.

On the way home, I received a phone call from the local sheriff. He asked me if I had spoken with anyone else regarding the wreck. I told him what little information I collected at the hospital, but that was all I knew. He informed me of the driver’s name – Nicholas Sponholz – and the charges they gave him. And that’s when it happened. The curiosity peaked.

It’s almost funny to look back now. Had my curiosity not gotten the best of me, I would have believed the wreck was just a freak accident. I would have clung to the words of Dr. Nelson, thinking Mom never suffered. I would have lived the rest of my life in ignorant bliss. Sounds kind of nice. But that’s not how this story played out. Because once I started digging, I couldn’t stop.

The short version is this…

The wreck was not just a freak accident. It could have been prevented with a touch of common sense and courtesy. Nicholas was accelarating… in a monsoon… 65 in a 55… passing a vehicle that was probably just being mindful and cautious of the rain. His speed caused him to hydroplane from his lane, over a grassy median, into a street sign, across another lane, and into Bruce’s car. Bruce took the direct hit and died on impact. Mom survived an hour, confused and in pain, before she died.

What that story doesn’t tell is the fight it took to get these answers. The lawyers. The bills. The phone calls. The EMS reports. The medical examiner body diagrams. The witness statements. The expert opinions. The depositions. The disappointments.

For over a year, my brother and I clawed our way to the truth. We wanted answers. We wanted an apology. We wanted justice. I’m not sure we ever fully got any of those things. Just limited answers, half-truths, and no apology.

Was it worth it? I’m not sure, really. I guess that depends on how you look at it.

So many people told us to move on – Mom wouldn’t want this for us. Those words fell on deaf ears. Our minds had already been made up. We needed this guy to take some responsibility and own up to his carelessness. Our criminal system is weak, at best, and it was failing us tremendously. This felt like our only shot to hold him accountable. But, in order to do this, we had to pay a steep price.

We had to read and see, in grueling detail, the final moments of our mom’s life. What she felt… how her body responded… what she looked like. We had to sit in depositions, answering 100’s of questions from a lawyer that did his best to minimize the value of Mom’s life. We had to listen to Nicholas push aside every. single. question. about that day with a ridiculous, repetitive response of “I don’t recall.” These are all things we’ll never be able to unsee or unhear.

But would I do it all again? You bet.

She was my mother. She was worth the fight. She always will be.

We didn’t get everything we’d hoped for. Of course, Mom would’ve had to walk through the doors for that to happen. Even in the disappointment, I cling to the hope that our fight will be the very thing that prevents this from happening again.

Throughout this journey, there was a particular verse I repeated over and over (and over) again. I wrote it on note cards and mirrors, highlighted it in my Bible, and even sang it in a catchy tune to make sure I always remembered.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.

Psalm 46:1

On the days I felt I was drowning, I clung to these words. God was my refuge when I was consumed with anxiety. He was my strength when I was too weak to move forward. He never wavered, even when I did. He was my constant. My calm.

The good news – He still is. Our God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. No matter the valley you find yourself in, you can always cling to that truth, friend. I know this because I’ve witnessed it. And you will too.

Posted in the girls

What They’ll Never Miss.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

Grief has layers. LOTS of them. It makes me think of that line from Shrek. Yes… I’m actually about to quote a Shrek movie. Please don’t leave. “Ogres are like onions. They have layers!” To me, that’s grief – an onion (or ogre) with endless layers.

There’s a list a mile long of things I miss about my mother. She was so deeply woven into every aspect of my life, like any good mother would be. I miss her voice. I miss her high-pitched laugh. I miss her obsessive need to check in every couple of hours. I miss her calling everyone a “goober”. I miss her asking to pray for me. I just miss her. But this particular post isn’t about what I miss. It’s about my girls… and what they’ll never miss.

There are very few memories I have from my childhood that don’t include my grandparents. Summers spent fishing and four-wheeling at Miller’s Campground… Sundays spent in Siler City listening to Papaw preach… Never hearing the word “No” come from their lips (well, minus the times Mamaw Fletcher would chase me with the flyswap for being too sassy). Core memories at their finest. I can’t imagine what my life would have looked like without them.

Insert onion peeling.

The layers of grief seem to just keep appearing, no matter how much I peel. And the worst layer is grieving for my children. It is… hard. I don’t really have a better word for it. It’s just hard.

They’ll never get to have sleepovers with Mimi. Or go on “Girls Trips”. Or get spoiled with her random gifts. They’ll never see her in the stands. Or hear her tell stories. Or call her with questions. “Secondary Loss” is what professionals call it… The ripple effect of the primary loss. Something about putting a name with it makes it sting a little more.

I remember the very moment the ripple effect became reality for me. I realized Sadie would never have a picture made with Mom. Not a single one. Ellie was only 11 months when Mom died, but at least she had pictures she could look back on. Sadie was robbed of that. And the thought of her never getting to see herself with Mimi crushed me.

Secondary loss doesn’t feel so “secondary” if you ask me.

But here’s the punchline of it all. They’ll never know. They’ll never know what they’re missing out on because they’ll have no reference point. She was gone before she even had the chance to make an impact on them. She didn’t have the time to make lasting memories. Ellie was too young. And Sadie wasn’t here. And the ugly truth is – you can’t miss something you never knew. And that’s the hardest part. I’m left to mourn all of the “could have been” memories with Mimi for them.

So what’s my ray of hope here? Truthfully, I’m still searching for it most days. This particular layer of grief keeps a dangerous hold on me. I often struggle to see how God can use this layer for His good. My mind will fill with thoughts like, “God wouldn’t have taken her if He really loved you.” Or, “You must have really messed up for God to let this happen.” When these lies slip in, all I can do is cling to Psalm 118:1,6:

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
for his steadfast love endures forever!

The Lord is on my side; I will not fear.
What can man do to me?

In my darkest moments, these verses offer two simple, powerful truths. First, God loves me. No matter what my spiraling thoughts say, I cannot deny God’s love. It says it right there in His Word! Second, God is not against me. He is not out to destroy me or see me in ruins. He can’t be because, once again, His Word says so!

I don’t know about you, but I find so much comfort in those truths. To never have to doubt my Savior’s love or question where He stands – what a relief. I may not have this particular layer of grief figured out. I doubt I ever will. But I can move forward with the knowledge that God is holding me and my girls in His loving arms.

And He’s holding you too, friend.

Posted in church

The Turning Point.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

Have you ever read Lamentations? No, I don’t just mean 3:22-23. I mean in its entirety. Don’t get me wrong, those verses offer a wonderful reminder – His mercies are new every morning. Praise the Lord for that! But, what about the rest of the book?

To lament means “to express grief or sorrow; to mourn.” That’s exactly what the book of Lamentations is… grief, sorrow, and mourning. In fact, Lamentations 1:1-3:20 is utterly d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-n-g. The author describes destruction, starvation, wickedness, and death… yikes. It’s not a book people often turn to when looking for joy-filled encouragement. But maybe we should. Because Lamentations offers something beautiful to believers. It offers a turning point.

Riley and I were not faithfully attending a church when Mom died. Since the beginning of our marriage, we were your typical “church-hoppers”. We never stayed at one church for too long. We had a bad habit of missing a handful of Sundays and were too embarrassed to go back. We didn’t want the guilt-trip of explaining where we’d been. The answer was never justifiable. So, instead of facing our faults, we just… hopped.

By the time we had Ellie, we pretty much gave up on going completely. I was a clingy, anxious, breastfeeding mom who refused to go near a church nursery. We did try a couple services with Ellie on my lap, but it was a trainwreck. No more than 5 minutes in, I’d be off to a bathroom stall trying to nurse her to sleep… which didn’t work. So up and down the halls I’d go, not catching a single word of the sermon. It was terrible. After that, we just avoided the church subject altogether. **Not-So-Fun Fact: One of the last things I ever got to say to Mom was a lie. She asked if we had made it to church that morning. I was too embarrassed to admit we hadn’t been going, so I lied. Sorry about that, Mama. Guess you know now.**

It was an awful feeling, really. Because we knew better. We were both saved at a young age. We had grown up in good churches. Basically all of our family faithfully attended. But we had fallen into the dangerous trap of complacency. We had convinced ourselves that if we just cut the Sunday livestream on in the background, we could check off our “church box” and carry on with life. Boy, were we wrong.

Fast-forward to Mom’s funeral. Dr. Corts said something during the sermon that hit me like a ton of bricks.

She was strikingly grateful and thankful for the salvation He had won for her on the cross. She was saved from her sin and given a new life. But what was so distinctive about her was that she NEVER got over it. It was almost as if she couldn’t believe it. Which I think is always a sign of a genuine follower of Jesus.

There it was… The truth I had so desperately been hiding from. I had lost my gratitude. I had overlooked His sacrifice. I had gotten over Jesus. What was I doing?

Back to Lamentations for a minute. In the first two and a half chapters, we see how God’s people are paying the price for their sin. The author outlines the absolute state of darkness they were facing. But then, there’s a turning point. Lamentations 3:19-24 says,

Remember my affliction and my wanderings, the wormwood and the gall! My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in him.

In those few verses, everything changes. The trajectory shifts. Darkness is met with light… with HOPE.

The wreck was our turning point. It’s when our life of darkness turned to a life of hope. When Mom died, heaven became overwhelmingly real. I don’t know if anyone can relate, but heaven kind of felt more like a fantasy before. It’s not that I thought it was fake. I guess I just struggled to fully understand the reality of it. But once I knew Mom had entered those pearly gates, everything changed. It’s as if I could see her worshipping at the feet of Jesus. I could hear her singing “Holy! Holy! Holy! To the Lord God Almighty!” I could envision her whole and perfect and pain-free, no longer burdened by this world.

This realization brought us running back to the place we should have been all along… We had missed out on YEARS of spiritual growth and opportunity to serve. There was no more time to waste. I’m not saying church will save you. I’m just saying it’s where you’ll want to be if you are.

Church is prickly. It steps on your toes. It holds you accountable. A lot of people don’t like that. I sure didn’t for all of those years. But, let me offer you the piece of the puzzle I was missing… Church restores my HOPE. It puts God’s goodness on full display. It offers growth. It reminds us why life matters and what we must do with the time we’ve been given.

Maybe you’ve drifted. Maybe you’re running from the truth. Maybe you’ve become complacent and do just enough to check a box. It’s time to face the truth. Let this be your turning point.

Find a church. Call it home. Show up faithfully. Serve your community. Be a light. And never get over Jesus.

Posted in August 6

The Call.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

You’ve seen it in movies. You’ve read it in books. You might have experienced it yourself. It’s the call. The one that stops your heart. The one that tears your world apart. The one you won’t forget… no matter how much you want to.

You’ll have to forgive me. This particular post will be messy. It won’t be “beautifully written.” But I think it’s a crucial piece of the puzzle that needs to be told. So, buckle up and bear with me… Here we go.

*Sunday, August 6, 2023 – just a little after 3 PM*

I was kicked back in the recliner, mindlessly scrolling Instagram, holding Ellie as she napped. Riley had just walked out the door to grab a few things from Family Dollar.

A Facebook message popped up from Cody. “You need to call me now. *insert number*” I was confused… I hesitated. A second message came through. “Your mom and my dad were in a severe car accident.”

I immediately thought it was a scam. He must have been hacked. I had seen a lot of those fake reports going around on social media. You know the ones. “I can’t believe they’re gone! Click this link to see the accident report…” Surely that’s what this was.

I texted Mom. “What’s Cody’s number?” No response. I called her. No answer.

Breathe, Taylor.

I called Bruce. No answer. Panic started to set in just as my phone rang… but it wasn’t Mom or Bruce. It was Cody. I struggled to grasp everything he was saying.

“They’ve been in an accident… They were headed to Brett’s for a birthday party… I know where Dad is but I don’t know where they’re taking your mom… They put her in an ambulance… It’s very bad…”

BREATHE, Taylor.

We hung up, and I called Riley screaming. “Get home now. We have to go. I don’t know where she is yet but we have to start driving.”

While I waited for Riley to pull in, I started making calls to the hospitals surrounding the crash site. “S-c-h-n-e-g-g-e-n-b-u-r-g-e-r.” I spelled it so many times I thought my head was going to explode. No one had record of her yet. I gave them my number and begged them to call as soon as she showed in the system.

I grabbed some bags and started throwing in the essentials. Clothes, toiletries, Ellie’s diapers, phone charger. What I thought would happen was we would get there and not be able to come home for several days. I thought she would be in rough shape and not be able to be moved to a closer facility. I thought she would need me for support.

Riley walked in the door, and I told him to pack fast. My phone started to ring again. This time, it was Watauga Medical.

“Is this Taylor?” Yes, it is. “Okay. This is Dr. Nelson with Watauga Medical. We have your mom here. Where are you coming from?” We live in Walkertown. We’re a good hour and a half from there. But we’re coming. “Okay. Please drive safely, it’s been storming. We’ll talk more when you get here.” Wait… Ma’am noone has told me how my mom even is. Can you just tell me she’s alive at least?

I said that last part as if it were an obvious fact. Of course she was alive… right?

What followed that question, though, wasn’t the obvious answer I was expecting. I swear it was the longest pause I had ever heard in my entire life. The silence. The hesitation. It was deafening.

“Taylor…”

I lost it.

“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could…” I couldn’t hear anything else she said. I threw the phone at Riley and fell to my knees. I screamed. And then I puked. And then I basically repeated the two until I didn’t have anything left to give.

The time between the call and getting in the car is still pretty much a blur. I remember calling Cody and telling him Mom was dead. I remember him telling me Bruce was dead too… That he already knew when he called the first time but didn’t want to scare me in case there was a chance for Mom. I look back on that and really admire him. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been to hold back the emotion.

I remember calling my aunt. I remember calling my brother. I remember calling my dad. “Mom is dead. Bruce is dead. They’re all dead.”

I remember wandering around the house in a daze, still trying to find clothes to pack. It was as if the news hadn’t registered and my brain still thought I’d need to stay at the hospital. Riley finally stopped me and put me in the car… Off we went.

I don’t have many “words of wisdom” to share with this post. Plain and simple, it was the worst moment of my life. It was also the turning point in my faith. As we headed down the driveway, Riley grabbed my hand. “You know where she is now. She’s okay.”

Those words cut me. He was right. I didn’t want to accept it yet, but he was right. She was okay… She still is. She’s better than okay. Those words made me realize heaven isn’t as “far off” as we make it out to be. Death can happen in the blink of an eye. And the way I had been living didn’t emulate that truth. Things needed to change. If only it hadn’t taken my mother’s death to have this revelation.

But it wasn’t too late for me. And if you’re reading this post, it’s not too late for you. James 4:14 says,

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.

We aren’t promised the rest of today. We definitely aren’t promised tomorrow. I pray this post encourages you to stop waiting to make changes for Christ. Eternity can start at any moment. Let’s use what time we have left to make a difference for Him.

Mom’s last picture – taken Sunday morning.

Posted in August 6

Keep. Donate. Toss.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

Inheritance. It will usually make you think of a perfectly planned will. Money. A house. But what about all of the stuff inside the house?

Sure, you’ll think of a certain piece of china that caught your eye growing up. But I highly doubt you’ll think of the 15 tubes of lipstick piled up in the bathroom drawers. Or the hamper of dirty clothes filled from the week before.

Every sock. Every chicken scratch notepad. Every half used bottle of hairspray… Inheritance.

Mom and Bruce had only been married for nine months. That wasn’t much time to collect many “co-owned” items. So that left me to take only what I knew was Mom’s. The house had belonged to Bruce, so it was really just a matter of gathering anything she mingled in since October. The big things were easy to spot – a bedroom set, a china cabinet, a jewelry stand, and an extensive willow tree angel collection. Then came the task of spotting the smaller items…

Anything Disney was automatically claimed – if you know, you know. Most of the seasonal decor was from her personal stash. And then, of course, she left behind a hoarder’s supply of clothes, shoes, and bags.

The house was being sold just a few months after their deaths, so things had to move quickly. There wasn’t much time to sit around and work through the “Keep. Donate. Toss.” system. We basically came in on Sundays after church, threw things into boxes, and hauled them off to our storage unit.

I also had a classroom full of supplies Mom had assembled over the course of her 29 year teaching career. It was chaos, to say the least. The school year was about to start, and Mom’s classroom needed to be prepped for a new teacher. Thank you, LORD, for her co-workers and my precious friend, Becka. They came in, boxed up the essentials (and then some), and off to storage it went.

It’s funny, really. You constantly hear the warning, “Don’t make any rash decisions during the first year of grief.” But I didn’t have a year. Time was not on my side. Rash decisions were the only decisions I had to make.

Now that time has passed, I catch myself looking back on those months with regret. I’ll think of a certain decoration or book and wish I had spent more time searching for it. I’ll think of a particular glass dish and wonder if I overlooked it at the house.

Do I wish I would have paid more attention searching for Mom’s belongings? Yes. Do I wish I would have been more intentional about the things I kept instead of just doing a “throw and go” in the storage unit? Absolutely. It sure would have made sorting through it now a whole lot easier.

That’s the thing about grief, though. You can’t get it all right. Your mind is clouded. Your heart is in distress. Your perception is limited. But you do the very best you can with what you know at the time… And that has to be enough.

So here I am, roughly a year and a half later, sorting through my mom’s life in boxes. “Keep. Donate. Toss.”

It’s been extremely overwhelming. When you closely knit memories into physical possessions, it’s hard to let go of anything. Every time an item ends up in a bin, I question if it’s the right decision. “But should I keep that for the girls to look at one day? Will I ever lose enough baby weight to fit in her jeans? Will I regret not having that bracelet she wore three times?”

When I shared this burden with my friends last week, they gave me some pretty liberating words of encouragement. “Your home does not have to be a memorial site for your mother. You are living, breathing proof of your mom’s life and existence and love.”

Those words set me free. It was as if the words gave me the permission I needed to start letting go of the physical. Because the reality is – no amount of stuff will ever bring my mother back.

Now, by no means am I advocating for getting rid of every single thing tied to your loved one. I’m much too sentimental for that. What I AM advocating for is that you don’t spend so much time trying to keep their memory alive through possessions.

Matthew 6:19-21 says,

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth…But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

When my time is up and I stand before my Savior, He won’t be looking at how many of Mom’s tshirts I saved or how many willow tree angels I passed down to the girls.

He will be looking at what I did for Him. How did I point people to Christ? How many seeds did I sow for eternity? How often did I show His love? How boldly did I proclaim His Word?

THAT is what matters. Eternity.

On August 6, 2023, I’m confident my mom heard, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” So I can’t think of a better way to honor her life than to make sure I live for my Lord the same way she did every single day.

Posted in prayer

When I Couldn’t Pray.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

From the moment I received the call, I couldn’t calm my thoughts. It was like a broken record playing in my mind. I was constantly in a state of trying to convince myself this wasn’t real… she couldn’t be dead. I’d tell myself, “She’s just on a vacation on some tropical island with no internet or cell service. She’ll be back soon.”

That sounds delusional as I type it out. But I think I needed the delusion at the time. I needed to not face the facts. I was trying to keep my baby alive, and the truth was just too much weight to bear. Any time I let reality set in, I was met with sheer, uncontrollable panic. But as long as I lied to myself, I could keep going.

Being in denial is A LOT of work. Especially when you’re surrounded by constant reminders that your mom is, in fact, dead. My mind was working overtime to keep the lie up. It was almost impossible to focus on anything else… including prayer.

It’s not that I didn’t want to pray. I desperately wanted to. I wanted to beg God for answers. I wanted to ask Him for help. I needed to talk to the One who could heal this hurt. But I couldn’t. Any time I would try to pray, my mind was pulled in 50 different directions. I wasn’t able to get out more than a couple sentences before I was swamped with thoughts like, “You can’t think about this, Taylor. You can’t have a panic attack right now. You can’t burden your baby’s health with this grief. Just forget about it for now.” So, I stopped trying.

It wasn’t out of anger toward God. Because honestly, at the time, God was the only one I wasn’t mad at. I knew that He was the reason I would get to see my mom again one day. He was my glimpse of hope. I couldn’t be angry at Him.

I don’t think I realized it at the time. But I know now that I stopped trying to pray out of fear. Fear that prayer would ruin my delusions. Fear that prayer would make me aware of my new normal. Fear that prayer would hurt more than it would heal. I felt so guilty for not praying, especially at a time when I needed to cling tighter to God than ever before. But I was so stuck in fear.

The only way I could really communicate with God was through music. I would hear songs at church or on the radio, and I’d think to myself, “THAT’S what I want to say to God.” And a lightbulb finally switched on in my mind. I closed my eyes and said, “God, please accept my songs as prayers to You until I can get my thoughts together.”

And that’s what I did for about the first six months of my grief.

I would whisper an “Amen” at the end of any song I felt drawn to. When I found ones that pulled heavy on my heart, I’d listen to them on a loop and say, “Lord, this is my cry to you.” Some of my most played songs were Same God, Goodness of God, Hymn of Heaven, and My God is Still the Same (Go ahead and save those to your playlist – you can thank me later).

I’m not saying I took the best approach. It was messy. But I really believe the Lord offers us so much grace in our grief. Scripture is filled with verses about weeping and mourning and sorrow. Look at just about any chapter in the book of Psalms, and you will see those emotions displayed in great detail. The most captivating part about these recurring Scriptural themes is that God’s promise to listen and comfort always follows. And in that promise, I find peace.

If you’ve found yourself in a season where it seems hard to get your prayers out, I hope you’ll give yourself permission to try different ways to communicate with God. Romans 8:26 says,

The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.

Maybe you can communicate through songs of worship. Once again, the Psalms are a great point of reference, as the authors often tell us to sing to the Lord. We are told to use our voices to make a joyful noise and lift up praise to Him. This repeated command gives me complete confidence that the Lord hears the songs we cry out, and He knows the posture of our hearts.

Or maybe you can communicate through journaling. Many, including myself, have found it’s easier to stay “on track” with a prayer when you’re forced to put a pen to paper. It can allow time to pause when your mind may wander. When you’ve collected yourself, simply pick up where you left off.

Journaling prayers also gives a physical way to chart your “progress” with grief. Don’t mishear me – you’ll never get over your loss. However, I know there were days I convinced myself I would never be able to feel happiness again. But through journaling those intense prayers of pain, I have been able to look back and see firsthand that my joy and happiness was not forever lost like I’d thought. And that’s given me so much hope for the days and years ahead.

When you’re in the thick of grief, I think it’s easy to feel like you’re doing everything wrong. The way you grieve, the way you parent, the way you work, the way you pray…

Unfortunately, grieving doesn’t come with a “one size fits all” survival guide. We’re going to get a lot of things wrong in this season, but there’s one thing we can always get right – opening our hearts up to communication with God. He doesn’t expect it to be perfect. He just expects us to do it… in whatever way we can.

Posted in welcome

Meaning Behind The Name

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

When I was thinking of a name for this blog, the song “I’ve Witnessed It” by Passion & Melodie Malone immediately came to mind. Haven’t heard it? Let me do the honors… (And YES, the live version is worth the 7 minute listen)

I was about a year into my grief journey when I heard this song for the first time. In fact, I had just miscarried my sweet baby Parker. I was experiencing what felt like one loss after the other. Good things would happen, but all I could feel and see and remember was the bad. But when I heard these words, it was as if I could feel God starting to break the barriers I had built around my soul.

When I was lost and all alone,
Your presence was where I found home.
You were there, and You’re here right now.


In every high and every low,
You never left me without hope.
You were good, and You’re good right now.

God, even in my consuming pain, You are GOOD. God, even in my weakness, You are STRONG. God, even in my unsteady faith, You are CONSTANT. God, even in my anger, You LOVE. God, even in my brokenness, You HEAL. God, even in my sin, You SAVE.

How can I believe these words? How can I sing them with joy in my heart when so much of what I love has been taken away from me? It’s simple, really… I’ve witnessed it. Time and time again. On my highest mountain and in my lowest valley, I’ve witnessed the goodness of God. And I’m confident that I’ll see it again and again.