Have you ever wondered why some people aren’t healed, even when you know God could heal them?

I was watching a clip on YouTube from The Chosen. It was the scene where Little James asks Jesus why he wasn’t healed. Jesus’ response strikes me to my core every time I see it (I have watched it more than once). I’m paraphrasing, but he said something like: “I could heal you, and you could share your healing testimony with others. I haven’t healed you because I trust you. I need someone who will praise God, believes in me, has faith in me, despite not being healed. That is you Little James. You know that you will spend eternity with no suffering.”

The first time I watched it I knew I was Little James.

The Physical Reminder

When I was an infant, my mom knew something wasn’t right. I cried constantly. Something was wrong with my movement, even for a baby. Finally, when I was three months old, doctors determined I had Hydrocephalus: a buildup of spinal fluid in my brain. There was no way for the fluid to drain, so the pressure kept building. That’s why I cried so much. My head hurt.

The solution was a shunt that drained the excess fluid from my brain to my stomach, where my body could dispose of it naturally. I am 49 years old and fortunate to still be here. Over the years, I’ve only needed a few revisions to the shunt, including a complete replacement a few years ago when it cracked.

But I live with the evidence every day: I have a claw for a right hand. I can use it, but only enough to get by when a task requires more than one hand. I walk with a limp. As an adult, I’m fine. But as a child and teenager, I endured relentless teasing.

I had friends who stood by me. I experienced first love. There were good moments too. But the teasing wounded something deeper: my sense of self-worth.

I married young because all my friends were getting married. Then tragedy struck and I was alone again. But I had my family’s support through it all. I was better off for it. In time I found love again. A man who loves me, tells me I’m beautiful, and takes care of me and our son.

I wasn’t healed. But I’m still here.

The Story I Heard

I recently heard a story about Dallin H. Oaks, the newly appointed prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When he was young, his toddler cousin was found in a ditch. By the power of the holy priesthood, the child was brought back to life.

Healing was possible. Miracles were real.

My Children

My first child who passed away could have been healed by that same priesthood power. He wasn’t.

My three remaining children, there could have been some kind of divine intervention. Someone arriving at the right time. Something that might have saved them. There wasn’t.

And yet, I still believe.

“You Have Done All You Can Do. Let Me.”

Before I lost my three remaining children, I went to the temple to pray. I was concerned for their safety and wanted to know what I could do. As my prayer concluded, I heard a voice in my mind: “You have done all you can do. Let me.”

A calm came over me that is difficult to put into words. It was a calm that assured me, that protected me. When the news came that my three remaining children had died, that calm held me like a shield.

I had done all I could do and so I just needed to trust Him. Trust in His words, “Let me.”

Let Me

Amid the worry and concern I went to the temple to pray.

Surrounded by light and my mind clear as to what I need to do.

I bowed my head and I prayed for you.

I heard a voice so soft and clear, “You have done all you can do. Let me.”

So, I left the beautiful room filled with light.

I was no longer afraid for you because I trusted in him and I trusted that everything would be alright.

Then the news came that death had taken you away from me.

You were forever in his arms and I was reminded of his words, “You have done all you can do. Let me.”

Peace filled my body from head to toe.

You were with him and it comforted my soul.

I found that I still trusted in His words—simple yet profound—’Let Me.

What Faith Looks Like When Healing Doesn’t Come

I have not just one or two reasons to turn away from faith and from God. I have several.

I could have chosen bitterness. I could have chosen anger. I could have walked away from belief entirely.

Instead, I chose faith. I chose trust. I chose knowing.

My faith has grown beyond hoping into certainty: God lives. Jesus is the Christ. I will be with my children again, never to be separated from them.

I am Little James. I wasn’t healed. My children weren’t saved. But I still believe.

A Note to Mothers

If you’ve asked, “Why wasn’t my child healed?” I see you.

If you’re wondering how to keep believing when the miracle didn’t come, I see you.

This blog is for you: the mothers who are still standing, still wanting to believe, even when the miracle you prayed for didn’t come.

Throughout these posts, I’ll share how I worked through grief, brain fog, and loss of identity. But here’s what matters: I adapted what others suggested to fit my individual needs. In recent years, I’ve listened to podcasters like Mel Robbins, Lewis Howes, Anita Ojeda, and many others. I encourage you to do the same. Take what resonates, leave what doesn’t.

My hope is that you’ll create your own roadmap to healing, and maybe, when you’re ready, help others too.

What started out as the desire to find a hobby turned into one of the most meaningful paths of my life. It wasn’t live yet, but I knew the day would come. There were obstacles, self-doubt, imposter syndrome, perfectionism and my nemesis, technical issues but I am here and I launched anyway. It all started roughly 19 months ago with the desire to start a blog about child loss. Then I got caught up in the technical stuff and it didn’t just stall—it was frozen in time. I kept the blog space but it just sat there. I didn’t know if I had it in me to continue because it all became overwhelming.

Then the flame was ignited by one video. I still remember the date: October 16, 2025. This one video was a narrative about the hymn It Is Well With My Soul with Hugh Bonneville as narrator and the Tabernacle Choir. It was in my recommended feed and it had been for a while. One day I hit play and that was that. I had to launch this blog. I had a message, a purpose I knew would help moms who were grieving, lost in brain fog not knowing if it would ever be lifted. As time went on, I realized Motherhood Rediscovered was going to be much more than posts about the grief that accompanies child loss. I came to a realization as I was writing this post: Grief is bigger than you think. It’s not just losing someone. It’s losing yourself. Your identity. Your timeline. Loss of yourself in all your roles and forgetting to care for yourself. Your dreams. All of it counts. All of it matters!

Here’s what’s coming:

When Healing Doesn’t Come But Faith Remains — Faith deepened through loss

But I’m Not a Mother Anymore — Redefining identity

When “Death Has No Sting” Feels Like Toxic Positivity-When the promise of victory meets the reality of grief: Holding both without shame

Time Machine — Breaking free from the what-ifs

When the Smoke Wouldn’t Clear — Finding yourself when you’re lost in overwhelm and the service of those you love

As you come along on my journey, my hope is that you will find your voice and see that while our experiences may be different you can see bits of your journey in mine and find the bread crumbs you need to explore your life and become the best version of yourself.

When I was young I hated how I looked. I was different and when you’re young that can be one of the greatest challenges. I had friends—true friends—but I longed to have many. Heads Up 7 Up was a fun game we played in school and my thumb was rarely tapped to participate. The only game I was good at was Red Rover and that was only if you were holding my left hand because no one ever got through.

As I got older I just wanted to be loved. I wanted to get married because my friends were getting married but who would choose me? I chose someone who said he loved me and reminded me he was the only one that ever would. We had 4 children. Then came the greatest pain of all—losing a child. But his death became a doorway. It opened my eyes to not just my reality but my choices up to that point. He became my way out, our savior. It is because of him I was able to step away from a relationship that was not healthy for me or his siblings. Only to lose his siblings as well. But I had time to be their mom, to love them the way they deserved to be loved.

Through it all I was Little James. I walked with a limp. My right hand was a claw. And I experienced unimaginable grief. I am like Little James because of my physical difficulties, which are often misunderstood. I will never be healed in this life, but my faith and trust in Jesus Christ is strengthened because of them, not weakened. It is because He trusts me to spread His light and His truth despite my trial. I know what I know because out of my trials came knowing—not just believing—that Jesus Christ lives. That because of Him death is not the end and, as I remain faithful, I will be reunited with my children and we will never feel the pain of separation because families can be together forever.

This is who I am. This is what I know because I’ve lived it. And if you’re asking why I’m doing this—why I’m telling my story—it’s because I know what it feels like to walk with a limp and still be asked to run. To experience unimaginable loss and still be trusted to spread light.

I’m here because He trusts me. And I’m here because you deserve to know: you’re not alone in this.

I didn’t feel like I fit in as a child because I looked different. Oh, how I wanted to fit in. I wanted lots of friends, not just a few.

If you found me, you may feel a sense of not belonging but wanting so badly to belong. If you found me, you have experienced heartache—the type that changes the very foundation of who you are. If you found me, you are looking for yourself, not as the world sees you, but as you want to be seen in the world. You just don’t know what that means yet.

I know exactly what it feels like not to feel like you belong. I have experienced heartache that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The kind that could have crumbled the foundation of my beliefs but instead strengthened and fortified them.

A few years ago I saw a clip from The Chosen on YouTube. It was a conversation between Jesus and Little James. In this clip, Jesus and Little James are discussing His miracles and those that he has healed. As the conversation concludes Jesus asks him if he wanted to be healed. Little James of course says yes. Then Jesus says something that resonated with me. He said, “I could heal you…I haven’t healed you because I trust you. I need someone who will praise God, believes in me, has faith in me, despite not being healed.”

Every time I have replayed that clip I am reminded why my life has played out as it has. It’s not to condemn me. It’s to share my story, my strength and my witness that He hears you, that He sees you, and He wants you to share your experience with the world.

If you have found me, my hope is you find validation, that you find hope and that you find Him in your journey. If you found me, my hope is that you will feel like you have met a kindred spirit like Anne found Diana in Anne of Green Gables.