The Little Miracles God Leaves Behind

The Little Miracles God Leaves Behind

6.5.2026

20 - a personal blog

Truthfully, it’s every day.

Every day I find myself scrolling through old pictures of Ivy.

Sometimes it’s because I’m afraid I’ll forget the little details. Sometimes it’s because I miss her so much that seeing her face is the closest I can get to holding her again.

Some days I smile.

Other days I cry so hard I can barely see the screen… Every photograph holds a memory, and every memory reminds me of just how deeply I loved her.

Like so many parents who have buried a child, I’ve often asked myself, How did I survive those days?

The truth is, I shouldn’t have.

Not in my own strength.

There were mornings I woke up and didn’t know how I was going to make it through the next hour. There were nights when I couldn’t imagine a tomorrow without her. There were prayers whispered through tears, prayers spoken in anger, prayers spoken in complete silence because my heart had no words left.

The only place I knew to go was to God.

I clung to Him because there was nowhere else to go.

I didn’t always understand Him. I still don’t. There were moments when I wrestled with His will and questioned why the story He was writing looked nothing like the one I had prayed for. I begged Him to heal Ivy. I begged Him to let me keep my daughter.

He didn’t answer that prayer the way I wanted.

But somewhere in the middle of the storm, He began answering other prayers—ones I didn’t even realize I was praying.

He reminded me, over and over again, that He had not left us.

His presence wasn’t always found in dramatic miracles.

Sometimes it came in quiet whispers.

Sometimes it came through people.

Sometimes it came through the smallest details that could have easily been overlooked.

Looking back now, I realize God was weaving threads of His faithfulness through every chapter of Ivy’s story. I couldn’t see the pattern while I was living it. But looking back, I can see His hand in places I never noticed before.

It began before Ivy was even born.

When I announced my pregnancy publicly on Facebook, I shared a framed picture with Psalm 139:14… “You are beautiful. For you are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

At the time, it was simply the verse that reminded me that Ivy’s life belonged to God long before she belonged to me.

I had no idea that verse would continue following us through nearly every chapter of her story.

On February 8, 2024, Ivy was taken back for her first major open-heart surgery.

As she was rolled down the hallway, a Precious Moments doll rested beside her.

Looking back now, that image feels almost sacred.

Later that evening, I took what would become the last photograph before everything changed.

The doll was lying quietly at the foot of her bed.

At the time, I didn’t think anything of it.

It was just another picture.

Or so I thought.

That night, I had finally fallen asleep when my phone rang.

Every parent knows there are certain phone calls that instantly change your life.

This was one of them.

“Ivy is coding.”

I don’t remember grabbing my shoes.

I don’t remember the elevator.

I only remember running.

I ran the entire way back to the cardiac ICU.

When I walked into her room, I froze.

I stood silently at the foot of her bed as dozens of physicians, nurses, respiratory therapists, and specialists surrounded my little girl.

As a NICU nurse, I had cared for critically ill babies.

I had participated in resuscitations.

I knew exactly what I was witnessing.

And somehow, that knowledge made it even harder.

I listened as medication after medication was pushed.

Round after round of epinephrine.

Minute after minute.

Thirty minutes.

Forty minutes.

Fifty minutes.

Nearly seventy minutes.

There was no pulse.

There was no shockable rhythm.

Everything I had learned as a nurse told me what the outcome should have been.

Yet they continued.

They fought for Ivy with everything they had.

And by the grace of God, she was successfully placed back on ECMO for a second time.

Even now, I struggle to find words for that night.

It was holy and heartbreaking all at once.

Ten days later, on February 18, I left the hospital for a few hours to check our post office box.

Throughout Ivy’s hospitalization, people from around the world had mailed us letters, children’s drawings, gifts, and prayers.

Those packages carried hope into some very dark days.

But one letter stopped me in my tracks.

Inside was a handwritten note from someone who had been praying for our family.

Tucked inside was a coloring page of a Precious Moments little girl.

Across the page was Psalm 139—the very same Scripture I had shared when I announced my pregnancy with Ivy.

I was overwhelmed.

The timing felt so intentional.

I immediately took a picture of it and sent it to my family because something about it felt deeply personal.

Later that afternoon, after returning to the hospital, I happened to run into one of the nurses who had been part of Ivy’s code team on February 8.

She wasn’t even Ivy’s primary nurse.

She simply happened to be there that day.

As we talked about the code, she shared something I had never heard before.

During CPR, a backboard had been placed beneath Ivy so compressions could be performed effectively.

After Ivy was placed back on ECMO and the room was finally being cleaned, someone found the Precious Moments doll.

It had somehow ended up underneath the backboard.

Hidden beneath her.

There, through nearly seventy minutes of CPR.

Through the chaos.

Through the fear.

Through the uncertainty.

The doll had remained with her.

I stood there speechless.

The very same day I received a letter with another Precious Moments little girl and the same verse from Psalm 139 was the day I learned where that doll had been all along.

Coincidence?

Maybe.

But to me, it felt like God gently whispering,

“I was here too.”

Months later, when Ivy celebrated her first birthday, she wore the sweetest pink smocked bubble with delicate white lace around the collar and sleeves.

She looked beautiful.

One of her birthday gifts came from my little cousin.

It was Ivy’s very first Bible.

Pink.

Engraved with her name.

And once again…

It was from the Precious Moments collection.

Then came the day I prayed I would never have to face.

Driving to the funeral home to choose my daughter’s casket was one of the longest drives of my life.

Nothing prepares a mother for that conversation.

As we looked through the options, we discovered Ivy had grown just enough that she no longer fit the infant casket.

We needed the next size.

I only knew one thing.

I wanted it to be white.

The funeral director opened the catalog.

Of all the caskets that could have filled those pages, the very first one was the Precious Moments little girl.

I just sat there.

My heart immediately went back to the doll that sat beside Ivy before surgery…

…to the letter that arrived with Psalm 139…

…to her first Bible…

…to every little reminder God had placed in our path.

In one of the darkest moments of my life, I felt Him whisper once again,

“I’m still here.”

I don’t believe God was telling me that everything would make sense.

I believe He was reminding me that He had been with us from the very beginning.

From the verse I chose before Ivy was born…

…to the doll that somehow stayed with her through seventy minutes of CPR…

…to the letter that arrived on exactly the day I needed it…

…to her first Bible…

…to the final gift I would choose for my daughter.

Looking back, I can see a thread that only God could weave.

I didn’t need to keep looking.

I knew.

Later, I kept the certificate and the Precious Moments decal.

One day, as I looked through Ivy’s first birthday pictures beside that little doll, I noticed something that brought me to tears.

Their dresses matched.

Soft pink.

White lace around the collar and sleeves.

The details were almost identical.

Some people may read this and simply see coincidences.

I understand that.

But when you’ve walked through the darkest valley of your life, you begin to notice the ways God quietly sustains you.

Not every miracle is a healing.

Not every answer to prayer looks the way we hoped.

Sometimes the miracle is the strength to survive another day.

Sometimes it’s the person who shows up at exactly the right moment.

Sometimes it’s a verse that follows you through every season.

Sometimes it’s a little doll that becomes a reminder that even in the middle of chaos, God never lost sight of your child.

Would I trade every one of these moments to have Ivy back in my arms?

Without hesitation.

Every single time.

But until the day I see her again, I choose to remember the ways God faithfully met me in my deepest sorrow.

He never promised that I would understand His plans.

He promised that He would never leave me nor forsake me.

Looking back, I can see that promise woven throughout Ivy’s story.

Like Psalm 139 reminds us, God knit Ivy together before I ever held her.

He knew every breath she would take.

Every surgery she would endure.

Every prayer I would pray.

Every tear I would cry.

And He has held us through every moment since.

If you’re walking through your own storm today, don’t stop praying because the answer doesn’t look like the one you imagined.

Keep your eyes open.

God often speaks in whispers before He speaks in thunder.

Sometimes His greatest reminders of His love are found in the smallest details.

Sometimes the little miracles are already right in front of you.

And years later, when you look back, you’ll realize what your heart couldn’t see in the moment—

He was there the whole time.

From The Ivy Branch,

I still don’t have all the answers.

I still miss Ivy every single day.

I still cry.

I still have questions I’ll probably carry until the day I meet Jesus face to face.

But I’ve learned something grief could never take from me.

God is faithful.

Not because life always turns out the way we prayed.

Not because every story ends in healing this side of Heaven.

But because His presence has never failed me.

Through every hospital hallway.

Through every surgery.

Through every code.

Through every goodbye.

Through every lonely drive home.

Through every tear I’ve cried since.

He has been there.

If you’re walking through your own valley today, don’t stop looking for Him.

He is often found in the quiet moments we almost overlook.

In a phone call.

In a handwritten letter.

In a familiar Bible verse.

In the kindness of a stranger.

In a memory that suddenly makes sense years later.

Hold tightly to Him.

Trust Him in every season—the joyful ones, the ordinary ones, and especially the painful ones.

The hard moments won’t last forever, even when they feel endless.

God’s presence will.

And sometimes, His presence is enough to carry you through until you can breathe again.

Here at The Ivy Branch, that’s my prayer for you:

That you would trust God in every season, find hope even in the hardest moments, and never forget that wherever you are today, you are not walking alone.

He was with you yesterday.

He is with you today.

And He will be with you tomorrow.

And one day, when you look back over your own story, my prayer is that you’ll discover what I did—that even in the moments when you felt most alone, God had never left your side. He was faithfully carrying you, one quiet miracle at a time.