Lucy Grace – Gift of Light: The Morning We Said Hello and Goodbye

If you missed the night before, start here.

There are mornings that change you.

Not in the slow, gradual way that most change happens — where you look back years later and realize something shifted without you noticing. But in the immediate, irreversible way. The way that means there is a before, and there is an after, and the person on the other side is not quite the same as the one who woke up that morning.

June 17th was that morning for me.

She Came Earlier Than Expected

I had been started on induction medications the night before. After some pain management in the middle of the night I had managed to get a little sleep — fragile, in-and-out sleep, the kind that doesn’t quite reach the bottom. I had been mentally preparing myself for a long day. I assumed delivery would be closer to midday. Time to breathe. Time to gather myself.

But Lucy had her own timeline.

By early morning — earlier than any of us expected — she was here.

And the room that had been so quiet the night before was suddenly, gently, full.

The Woman Who Showed Up

I need to tell you about my midwife.

I had trusted her through all five of my pregnancies — but due to the nature of on-call schedules, she had never actually delivered any of my children. Not my first, not my second. She had been present for so much of the journey and absent for every arrival.

But I had chosen her for a reason that went all the way back to my very first pregnancy — one that ended in an early miscarriage. She happened to be the one on call in the office that day. And it was her care, her honesty, and the way she treated me like a person rather than a patient that convinced me — this is who I want walking with me through this.

She had walked with me through loss and through joy and through every kind of pregnancy in between. And on the morning I needed her most — the morning none of us had ever imagined would come — she made sure she was there.

She rearranged her schedule. She showed up.

I will never forget that.

If you are in the early stages of pregnancy and you are choosing a provider — choose someone whose care you have felt on a hard day. Not just a good day. Because you do not know which kind of day is coming.

The Nurses

I have thought about those nurses many times since those days I spent in their care – the day before and this morning.

They were professional and skilled and everything you would want in a medical team. But they were also something else — something that goes beyond training and job descriptions. They were human in the most beautiful way. Their eyes gave them away. You could see that they wished they could change it. You could feel that they cared — not just about doing their jobs well, but about us. About her.

That mattered more than I can say. In a moment when the world felt very cold and very hard, the warmth of the people in that room made us feel loved.

And then one of them asked us something I will never forget.

Take the Pictures

When we learned we would deliver and the reasons around it, we had been offered the option of having a photographer come to document the birth.

We said no.

I understand why we said no. We had never imagined this would be our experience. We weren’t prepared for any of it — let alone the idea of a photographer in the room on the hardest morning of our lives. It felt like too much. It felt wrong somehow.

But our nurses — in their deep, quiet care for us — asked for our permission to take pictures themselves. Because they knew, even when we didn’t, that someday we would want them.

I am so glad we said yes.

I am so glad they asked.

Those pictures are some of the most precious things I own. They are proof that she was here. That she was real. That she was held. That she was loved – even though she never opened her eyes in this world.

So if you are ever in a similar moment — or if you are ever supporting someone who is — please hear me on this:

Take the pictures. (Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep is an amazing nonprofit that provides professional photographers for families experiencing infant loss).

It will not feel like the right thing to do in the moment. Do it anyway. You will be grateful for the rest of your life that you did.

She Was Lucy Grace

I told you last week that Jonathon and I had not settled on her name.

We had it narrowed down to two. We had thought and prayed and gone back and forth — but we had not decided. And then suddenly we were facing the reality that we had less than twelve hours to choose. Her name would be the only thing we would have. No memories of her cooing or laughing or walking. No stories of how she loved people or what made her giggle or who she would have become.

Just her name.

I didn’t want to wait until I saw her. I was afraid that in the emotion of the moment I would still be unable to decide — that grief and joy and exhaustion would make the decision impossible.

But by the grace of God, the moment our midwife placed her on my chest —

We knew.

She was Lucy Grace.

Lucy — light. Grace — gift.

Gift of light.

She was small and perfect and entirely herself. And she was ours — for that morning, for that day, for always.

The Gift of a Full Day

We were able to spend most of that day in the hospital room with her.

Our parents came. Close friends came. The people who loved us most showed up and sat with us and held her and cried with us and made that room feel less like a place of loss and more like a place of love.

I did not expect that.

I did not expect that the hardest day of my life would also contain some of the most tender, sacred moments I have ever experienced. The way grief and gratitude can exist in the same room at the same time — I did not fully understand that until that day.

She never took a breath in this world. But she was not alone. And neither were we.

What Lucy Grace Left Behind

Lucy has changed the way I live my life.

Not in spite of losing her — because of it.

She has helped me solidify my faith in ways I never could have anticipated. My faith is not in myself or in what I can control. It is not in my circumstances. It is not even in the people closest to me — as much as I love them. My faith is rooted in God’s love for me. In His presence in hospital rooms in the middle of the night. In the peace that showed up when it had absolutely no business being there.

That faith is available to you too.

Not because life will go the way you planned. Not because God will always answer the way you asked. But because He is faithful — in the before, in the after, and in every hard middle in between.

Lucy Grace — gift of light.

Her time here with us was brief.

But the gift of light is eternal.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” — John 1:5

Next week I will share the story of Madison Joy — my sweet niece, the baby girl whose loss started this whole journey, and the little boy whose morning question changed everything. If you don’t want to miss it, subscribe below.

And if Lucy Grace’s story touched you today — share it. You never know whose hospital room this might find its way into. I also wrote about how we learned to create intentional space for grief that keeps coming back — you can read that here.

The Old to New Journals were designed for spiritual formation – if you are in a season of grief or longing for spiritual formation, check them out!

The Night Before: What No One Tells You About Delivering a Stillborn Baby

If you’re just finding this series, start here.

I’m not even sure what time it was when I finally found myself alone.

Jonathon had fallen asleep next to my hospital bed — the kind of exhausted sleep that only comes after hours of holding someone else together. The nurses had been in and out, gentle and quiet, hoping I could get some rest too. They knew what the next day would bring. I was trying to find strength to get through what the next day would bring.

And somewhere in that stillness — somewhere between the hum of the hospital and the weight of what was coming — I finally had a moment to let it land.

Our baby’s heart was no longer beating. It had been medically confirmed. We didn’t know exactly how long — only that it had been long enough. Long enough that there was no coming back.

And I was going to have to deliver her anyway.

The Pregnancy I Never Expected Would End This Way

I want to back up for just a moment — because the cruelest part of this story is how ordinary it had been right up until it wasn’t.

This pregnancy had been smooth. Really smooth — probably the healthiest of all five of my pregnancies. I had been exercising consistently, feeling strong, feeling good. Our older two kids were old enough to feel her kick and squeal with excitement. For the first time ever, Jonathon and I had found out the gender ahead of time — so we had known for months that we were expecting a little girl. Our family was going to be complete.

Everything felt right. Everything felt ready.

And then it wasn’t.

I won’t walk you through every medical detail — partly because some of it is still mine to hold privately, and partly because the details are not really the point. We had some hope that they had found a heartbeat, but when the ultrasound tech’s hand began to shake, I knew she couldn’t find a heart beat, and the world went very quiet. The kind of quiet that has weight to it. The kind that sits on your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

We had no answers for why. We still don’t.

And we had less than twenty-four hours before we would meet her.

The Prayer I Didn’t Know I Had in Me

It was in that quiet hospital room, in the middle of the night, that I finally had a moment to pray.

Not the structured, composed kind of prayer. The desperate, honest, everything-on-the-table kind.

I prayed boldly — the way you can only pray when you have absolutely nothing left to lose. I asked God to bring her back. I told Him I believed He could. I began to imagine, in vivid detail, what that miracle would look like — the doctors with no explanation, the story spreading, people all over the world hearing about a God who is still very much alive and active. I could picture it so clearly. I wanted it so badly.

God felt so present in that quiet moment that I truly believed He would.

And then came the harder prayer. (I wrote about that prayer and what followed here).

The one that cost me something.

“Even if you choose not to save her — we will still praise you.”

I want to be honest — those words did not come easily. They were not a performance. They were not something I said because it sounded like the right Christian thing to say in a crisis. They rolled off my tongue slowly, like something being surrendered one word at a time.

And the moment they did — something shifted.

Peace That Actually Passes Understanding

I had read Philippians 4:7 many times.

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

I had quoted it. Written it in cards for other people. Believed it in theory.

But I had never felt it the way I felt it in that hospital room.

It wasn’t the absence of grief. I was still grieving — deeply, physically, in a way that had no words. It wasn’t the absence of fear about what the next morning would bring. It was something underneath all of that. Something steady and unshakeable that had no business being there given the circumstances.

That is the only way I know how to describe it — it had no business being there. And yet there it was.

I had chosen to trust God with what felt like an unbearable reality. Not because I understood it. Not because I had answers. But because I knew — in a way that went deeper than my feelings — that He was still God. That He still loved me. That He still loved her.

And that His presence in that room was real whether or not He answered my prayer the way I had asked.

What Nobody Tells You

Nobody tells you that the night before is its own kind of grief.

Not the loss itself — that comes in waves, over time, in ways you cannot predict. But the night before. The waiting. The knowing what is coming and having absolutely no power to stop it.

Nobody tells you that the nurses become some of the most important people in your story — the ones who move quietly and speak softly and treat your baby like she matters, because she does.

Nobody tells you that you will have to make decisions — real, practical, unexpected decisions — in the middle of the most emotionally overwhelming night of your life.

And nobody tells you that somewhere in the middle of all of it, if you are still enough and honest enough and desperate enough —

God will show up.

Not to fix it. Not to explain it. Just to be there.

Steadier than you are. Closer than you can imagine. Holding something you cannot hold yourself.

For Anyone Reading This in Their Own Dark Night

If you have ever spent a night in a hospital room waiting for something you couldn’t stop — If you have ever prayed a prayer that cost you something — If you have ever felt a peace that made absolutely no sense given what you were walking through —

You are not alone.

And if you are in that night right now — if this is finding you in the middle of something that has no good answers —

I want you to know that the God who met me in that quiet hospital room is the same God who is with you right now.

He is not far away. He is not busy. He is not surprised by what you are facing.

And He can be trusted — even when the answer is not the one you prayed for.

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:7

Next week I will share the rest of Lucy Grace’s story — the morning we met her, the moment we knew her name, and what it means to say hello and goodbye in the same breath. If you don’t want to miss it, subscribe below.

And if this resonated with you today — share it with someone who needs it. You never know whose dark night you might be speaking into.

If you are in a season of waiting or grief right now, the Old to New Journals were designed for exactly this.

Why I Named It Old to New: The Verse That Changed Everything

It started with a pair of old jeans.

Not a theology degree. Not a grief ministry. Not a vision for a brand that would one day carry the stories of two little girls and a book that had been fifteen years in the making.

Just a pair of old jeans — and a question that has driven me my whole life.

What could this become?

Where It All Began

I have always loved taking something old and making it into something new.

Long before Old to New Creations had a name — long before it had a mission or a brand or a journal or a book — it lived in my hands. In the quiet, creative hours spent repurposing things that other people might have set aside.

Old jeans became purses and bags — cut and stitched and decorated with appliqué designs that made them entirely and uniquely themselves. Nothing about them said old denim anymore. They said made with intention.

And then there were my Grandma’s sheets.

The soft ones. The special ones — the kind that carry a particular warmth that only comes from years of being washed and slept in and loved. When they were no longer needed as sheets I could not bring myself to let them go. So I repurposed them into little dresses for little girls.

Something ordinary — something that might have been discarded — transformed into something new and sweet and full of a different kind of love than it had carried before.

I did not know then that God was showing me something.

I just thought I was sewing.

The Name That Came Before the Meaning

Old to New Creations became the name for what I was making long before it became the name for what God was doing. You can read the full brand introduction here.

It fit the work — the literal, hands-on, fabric-and-thread work of taking old things and making them new. It was descriptive and simple and true.

And it stayed.

Through seasons of crafting and creating. Through the early days of sharing what I was making. Through years of life that brought joy and loss and grief and growth in ways I never anticipated when I first stitched a purse out of a pair of old jeans.

The name stayed — quietly, persistently — even as the meaning began to expand beyond anything I had originally intended for it.

The Moment It All Connected

It was not until I sat down to design the journal that I saw it clearly.

I had been carrying the name for years. I had been living the story for years — the grief, the spiritual formation, the slow and nonlinear journey of allowing God to make something new out of the broken places. And when the time came to put a name on the journal — the tool I was creating to help other women practice intentional faith —

The name was already there.

Old to New Creations.

Not just a craft brand. Not just a sewing hobby. But the thread that ran through everything — from my Grandma’s sheets to a hospital room in the middle of the night to a Fuller Seminary cohort to a children’s book that had been waiting fifteen years to be written.

The same name. The same truth. The whole journey.

And underneath all of it — a verse I had known for years that suddenly felt like it had been written specifically for this moment:

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17

The Verse That Changed Everything

I want to sit with this verse for a moment — because I think it is one of the most radical and most misunderstood promises in all of Scripture.

The old has passed away. The new has come.

We tend to read that as a one-time event. The moment of salvation — the before and the after. And it is that. Absolutely and completely that.

But I have come to believe it is also something more.

It is a description of how God operates.

Not just at salvation — but throughout a life. Throughout a grief. Throughout a season of loss and confusion and inner lies and slow healing. Throughout the ordinary Tuesday mornings and the hospital room nights and the anniversary days and the counseling offices and the small groups and the sewing tables.

God is always in the process of making something new.

Not erasing the old — the old is still there. The jeans are still denim. The grief is still grief. The scars are still real. But He takes the old and He works it into something that could not have existed without it. Something that carries the history and is transformed by it at the same time.

That is Old to New.

Not the destruction of what was. The transformation of it.

I wrote about the slow and nonlinear road of healing here.

What This Brand Is Really About

I want to tell you — as clearly as I can — what Old to New Creations exists to do.

It exists for anyone who has ever held something broken and wondered if it could ever be made new.

It exists for the grieving mother who cannot see past the loss to imagine what God might be building in the rubble.

It exists for the woman who has been a Christian her whole life and suspects there is a depth of practice and presence she has not yet found.

It exists for the person in the hard middle of something — the waiting, the suffering, the confusion, the slow work of healing — who needs to be reminded that God is not finished with their story.

It exists because of a pair of old jeans and my Grandma’s sheets. Because of Madison Joy — born on Christmas morning, thirty-five days. Because of Lucy Grace — gift of light, delivered still, whose brief and beautiful presence changed everything. Because of a Fuller Seminary cohort and a Listening Prayer session and a small group that has shown up for years. Because of a two year old boy who padded down the hall every morning and asked a question that planted a seed. Because of fifteen years of a quiet, persistent nudge that would not go away.

All of it — every broken and beautiful piece of it — has been Old to New all along.

I just needed time to see it clearly.

I wrote about that prayer and what followed here.

An Invitation

If you have been reading along these past twelve weeks — thank you.

You have walked with me through hospital rooms and grief bottoms and anniversary days and spiritual formation cohorts and sewing tables. You have let me share the most sacred and most difficult parts of a story that I was not always sure I was ready to tell.

And if any part of it has resonated — if any part of it has found you in your own hard middle and offered even a small measure of hope —

Then it was worth every word.

Because that is what Old to New is for.

Not to present a polished, finished version of a life that has it all figured out. But to share honestly from the middle of the journey — the broken places and the beautiful ones — and point to the God who has been faithfully, persistently, supernaturally at work in all of it.

He is doing a new thing.

Even now. Even here. Even in whatever you are carrying today.

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” — Isaiah 43:19

Do you perceive it?

Look closer.

It is already happening.

Thank you for being here. If this series has meant something to you — share it with someone who needs it. And if you are just finding Old to New Creations for the first time — welcome. If you want to start at the beginning, click here.

There is more to come. Subscribe below so you don’t miss what’s next.

I Didn’t Know What Spiritual Formation Was — Until It Changed Everything

I have been a Christian for most of my life.

I grew up knowing God. Loving God. Trying to follow God in the ways I had been taught — going to church, reading my Bible, praying, serving. I was not a nominal Christian going through the motions. I was genuinely trying.

But there was a whole world of practice I had never been introduced to.

A depth of intentional, structured, ancient spiritual discipline that the Church has carried for centuries — and that somehow had never quite made it into my faith formation in any meaningful way.

I did not know what I was missing.

Until I did.

The Cohort That Changed Everything

Through my work I was given an extraordinary opportunity — the chance to participate in a Spiritual Formation cohort developed in partnership with Fuller Theological Seminary.

I want to be honest about what I expected going in —

I expected to learn some things. I expected it to be interesting. I did not expect it to reshape the way I practice faith at a foundational level.

But that is exactly what it did.

What made it different from anything I had experienced before was not just the content — though the content was rich and deep and more practically useful than anything I had encountered in years. What made it different was the combination of three things that I have come to believe are essential to real spiritual growth:

Time and space to actually practice. Honest community to practice alongside. And tools — real, concrete tools — to put in my bag and carry forward.

Be With Jesus. Be Like Jesus. Do What Jesus Did.

John Mark Comer — in his spiritual formation curriculum Practicing the Way — describes the goal of discipleship in three simple steps:

Be with Jesus. Be like Jesus. Do what Jesus did.

That framework stopped me in my tracks the first time I encountered it — because it is so simple and so complete at the same time. Discipleship is not primarily about what you know. It is about who you are becoming. And you become like Jesus the same way you become like anyone — by spending time with Him, by practicing the things He practiced, and by doing the things He did in the world.

That is what the cohort gave me.

Not just information about spiritual disciplines — but the time and space and community to actually try them. To sit with them. To discover which ones opened something in me and which ones I would return to again and again.

The Practice That Changed Me Most

I want to tell you about one practice in particular — because it is the one that most surprised me and most stayed with me.

Listening Prayer.

I had prayed my whole life. Talked to God, thanked God, asked God, wrestled with God. But I had never been intentionally taught to simply — listen on behalf of others.

In our cohort we were given instructions and then given space to listen to God on behalf of one another. To be still and quiet and open — and to receive whatever came. A verse. An image. A word of encouragement. A sense of something that was hard to name but unmistakably present.

And then one by one we shared what we had received.

I want to tell you what happened in that room — because I have no other explanation for it than God.

As each person shared what they had heard or seen or sensed on behalf of someone else in the group — the themes connected. Not because anyone had planned it or coordinated it or known what anyone else was going to say. But because the same God was speaking to all of us — and He was saying something consistent and true and deeply personal to the person it was for.

I watched it happen again and again — in the cohort and later in the small group I led.

People who came in skeptical left undone. People who had never experienced God that personally before encountered Him in a way that changed their understanding of what prayer could be.

That is what spiritual formation does when it is practiced in honest community.

It makes the invisible God suddenly, undeniably present.

The Practices I Still Carry

The cohort introduced me to a full range of spiritual disciplines — and I continue to draw from all of them in different seasons and in different ways. But there are a few that have become the most consistent threads in my daily and weekly practice:

The Examen A practice of pausing at the beginning and the end of the day to recognize God’s presence in it. Not rushing past the ordinary moments but looking forward and backward and asking — where was God in this? Where did I feel most alive? Where am I struggling? What does God have in store for me today? It is a practice of paying attention — of training yourself to notice the God who is already there in the moments you might otherwise miss.

Gratitude Journaling Simple and profound — the daily practice of naming what you are grateful for. Not because everything is good, but because there is always something good if you are willing to look for it. Gratitude does not deny the hard things. It refuses to let the hard things have the only voice.

Intentional Prayer for the People You Love One of the things I brought directly into the Old to New journals is the practice of praying specifically and intentionally over the people in your life — your spouse, your children, yourself. Your future spouse or future children if they have not yet arrived. Your grandchildren. The people God has placed in your care and in your heart.

There is something powerful about moving from general prayer — “God bless my family” — to specific, Scripture-rooted, intentional prayer for each person by name. It changes the way you see them. It changes the way you love them. And it changes you.

I wrote about what that choosing looked like in the middle of grief here.

The People Who Practiced Alongside Me

I cannot talk about spiritual formation without talking about community — because formation was never meant to be a solo practice.

In the cohort it was the people who sat beside me — who opened themselves up honestly to God and to one another — who made the practices come alive. Spiritual disciplines practiced alone are powerful. Spiritual disciplines practiced in honest community are transformative.

That is still true for me today.

I continue to meet regularly with a small group through my church — people who have walked with me through whatever life has thrown our way for years now. We have supported one another and listened and cried together. We have shown up for each other’s children. We have sat in hospital rooms and celebrated milestones and held each other in the hard middle of things.

That is discipleship.

Not a program or a curriculum or a cohort — though all of those things have their place. But people. Consistent, faithful, honest people who show up for each other over the long haul.

Be with Jesus. Be like Jesus. Do what Jesus did.

And do it with people who are trying to do the same.

How This Became the Journals

I left that cohort with something I had not walked in before —

A full bag.

Practical tools. Tested practices. A framework for intentional faith that I could actually live out in the ordinary rhythm of a busy life. And a deep, growing conviction that these tools were not meant to stay in a seminary cohort or a church program.

They were meant to be accessible.

To the woman who has never heard the word Examen but who would practice it every day if someone just showed her how. To the mother who wants to pray more intentionally for her children but does not know where to start. To the person in the middle of grief or transition or waiting who needs something more than good intentions to anchor their faith.

That conviction became the Old to New journals. (You can read the full story of how Old to New Creations got its name here).

Not a theology textbook. Not an academic exercise. But a practical, approachable, beautiful tool — designed to help women document God’s faithfulness, practice the disciplines that deepen faith, and move from a hurried life to a holy one.

One intentional page at a time.

These were the tools I eventually found my way to after hitting grief bottom – read that store here.

What I Want You to Know

You do not need a seminary cohort to practice spiritual formation.

You do not need a theology degree or a church program or a perfectly structured quiet time. You need a willingness to show up — to be with Jesus in the ordinary moments of your ordinary life — and to practice, imperfectly and consistently, the things that open you to His presence.

If you want to go deeper into spiritual formation, authors like Dallas Willard, Richard Foster, and Ruth Haley Barton have written beautifully on the subject.

Start with one thing.

Try the Examen tonight — just five minutes of looking back over your day and asking where God was in it. Start a gratitude journal — just three things, every morning. Find one person to practice alongside — one honest, faithful person who will show up for you and let you show up for them.

And trust that the God who showed up in a Fuller Seminary cohort and in a small group Listening Prayer session and in a hospital room in the middle of the night —

Is the same God who will show up in your ordinary Tuesday.

He always has. He always will.

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 1:6

If this post resonated with you — I would love to know what spiritual practice has been most meaningful in your own faith journey. Share it in the comments below.

And if you are looking for a practical tool to begin or deepen your own spiritual formation practice — the Old to New journals were written for exactly this.

If you’re just starting to follow my story, you can Start Here to go back to the beginning!

When God Makes Something New Out of the Hardest Thing You’ve Ever Lived

The story behind Old to New Creations — and why this brand exists

Some of my earliest memories live in the kitchen and at the craft table.

The smell of something baking. The feel of fabric or paper in my hands. The quiet satisfaction of taking something ordinary and turning it into something that hadn’t existed before. I didn’t have a name for it then — I just knew I loved it. The process of taking something old, something plain, something forgotten — and making it into something new. It was a joy that was shared with me by mom and my grandmother.

Some of my earliest memories live in the kitchen and at the craft table.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized God had been doing the same thing in me all along.

I grew up knowing God was in the business of transformation. “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17. I knew that verse. I believed that verse. And for most of my life, I watched it come alive in the people around me — children and adults taking their first tender steps toward faith, lives turning slowly and then all at once toward something better and truer and more whole.

Old to new. I had seen it happen. I believed it was real.

And then I came face to face with loss — and I had to learn what it meant all over again.

The Collision of Two Opposite Thoughts

I want to be honest with you about something, because I think it matters.

When tragedy arrived in my life — and it arrived more than once — I didn’t immediately land in a place of peace and theological clarity. I landed in a place of collision. Two thoughts that seemed impossible to hold at the same time:

God is powerful enough to stop this.

And yet — He didn’t.

I have wrestled with that. I suspect you have too.

Here is where I landed, after a lot of sitting in the hard middle of it: I don’t believe God selfishly orchestrates suffering for His own purposes. I also don’t believe He is a passive bystander, wringing His hands at the brokenness of this world. What I believe — what I have had to learn to believe through lived experience rather than just theology — is that it is precisely through His deep love for us and His absolute faithfulness that He walks with us through the brokenness. He doesn’t stand outside of it. He enters it. And somehow, in His supernatural wisdom, He allows the broken places to shape us — not to harm us, but to form us into something more and deeper and truer than we could have become without them.

That is not a cliche. That is the hardest and most beautiful thing I know.

And it is the heartbeat of everything Old to New Creations is about.

The Moment Everything Changed

The moment this brand grew into something deeper — something I could no longer keep just for myself — was the moment my sister and brother-in-law received the news that no parent should ever have to hear.

My sweet niece, Madison Joy, had suffered a brain bleed. Emergency brain surgery followed. And then, thirty-five days after she came into this world full of life and promise and all the hope a new baby carries — the doctors told them she no longer had brain activity. (Read her story here).

She was here.

And then she wasn’t.

I watched my sister walk into the darkest valley I had ever witnessed someone I loved enter. I watched her grieve with a rawness that only a mother who has lost a child can know. I watched my brother-in-law stand beside her. I listened as she told the story day after day of my two-year-old nephew pad down the hall, looking for his baby sister, asking the question that would eventually become a book —

“Mommy, is Madison sleeping?”

We all felt a longing for Heaven like never before. But… we watched God show up.

Not by fixing it. Not by reversing it. Not by answering our prayers the way we desperately wanted Him to.

But by being present in the most unshakeable, undeniable way — in the middle of something that could not be fixed or reversed or explained away.

That was the moment I understood — really understood — that Old to New is not just a craft philosophy or a brand aesthetic. It is a theology. It is a way of living. It is the defiant joy, hope-filled conviction that God is not finished with any story — no matter how broken the middle looks.

What This Space Is For

Old to New Creations exists for anyone who has ever sat in the hard middle of something and needed to be reminded that the story isn’t over.

It is for the grieving mother who doesn’t know how to explain death to her toddler. It is for the father who is grieving quietly and doesn’t know where to put it. It is for the woman who has lost someone and is trying to figure out how to keep believing in a God who could have stopped it. It is for anyone who has ever held something broken in their hands and wondered if it could ever be made new.

This is not a space where grief gets wrapped up neatly with a bow. This is a space where we sit in the hard questions together. Where we tell the truth. Where we hold onto the Biblical hope that has held us — even on the days we barely held onto it ourselves.

Because Old to New isn’t just something God does once.

It is something He does over and over and over again.

In crafting tables and kitchen counters. In hospital rooms in the middle of the night. In the lives of people who had every reason to walk away from faith and chose — slowly, painfully, stubbornly — to stay.

A Note Before We Go Further

In the weeks ahead I am going to share more of this story with you — the full story of Madison Joy, and the story of my own daughter Lucy Grace, who I delivered still three years later.

I am going to share the book that grew out of both of those losses — Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? — a children’s book for families navigating grief with their little ones, rooted in Biblical truth and written from the inside of the hardest thing I have ever lived.

And I am going to share the tools, the journals, the Scripture, and the community that have helped me — and that I hope will help you — move from the old thing to the new thing.

However long that takes. However hard the middle gets.

God is still at work.

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:19

If this resonated with you — share it with someone who needs it today. And if you are in the middle of your own hard season, I would love to hear your story. Leave a comment below or reach out directly. You are not alone here.

If you are in a season of waiting or grief right now, the Old to New Journals were designed for exactly this.

Join the Old to New Creations community and receive new posts, honest stories, and faith resources directly in your inbox.

Let’s Talk About the Things That Matter Most

What I Speak On

My speaking centers on three core themes — the same three pillars that run through everything Old to New Creations is about:

Grief & Loss Honest, faith-rooted conversations about walking through loss — for grieving families, bereavement ministries, grief support groups, and anyone who needs permission to tell the truth about where they are. I speak from the inside of this — not as someone who has it all figured out, but as someone who has been there and found God faithful in every hard middle of it.

Faith & Calling Grounded in Scripture and deeply personal — I love helping women discover and walk confidently in the calling God has placed within them. My teaching Act Like Women: From Comparison to Calling explores what it means to be created with intentional design, to bring peace to chaos, and to be rooted in God’s love rather than the world’s ever-changing expectations.

Spiritual Formation Practical, accessible, and life-giving — I love introducing people to the ancient disciplines of spiritual formation in a way that feels approachable for everyday life. From the Examen to gratitude journaling to listening prayer — these are tools that have changed the way I practice faith, and I love putting them in other people’s hands.

A Sample of My Teaching

I recently had the privilege of teaching Act Like Women: From Comparison to Calling at Northland Christian Church — a message for women navigating the noise of cultural expectations and looking for a Biblical foundation for who they were created to be.

You can listen to the full teaching here (Spotify Link).

Who I Speak For

I speak for —

Women’s ministry events and conferences
Workshops
Retreats
Guest speakers
Church grief support and bereavement ministries
MOPS and women’s community groups
Parenting and family ministry events
Spiritual formation workshops and retreats

Let’s Connect

If you are interested in having me speak at your event, church, or ministry — I would love to hear from you.

More details — including topics, availability, and booking information — are coming soon.

In the meantime, reach out directly and let’s start the conversation.

Contact me at jessica @ oldtonewcreations . blog (remove the spaces)

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” — Ephesians 2:10

A Book Born From Two Losses: Introducing Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping?

What the Book Is

Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? is a faith-based picture book for children ages 3-6 and the caregivers who love them.

It follows a little boy named Owen whose baby sister Madison has died. It is the story of a mother sitting down on the couch morning after morning — taking his little hands in hers — and finding the words to answer the question he keeps asking. Honest words. Gentle words. Words rooted in Biblical truth and the real and certain promises of a God who has never broken one yet.

But while Owen’s story is specific — the truths his mother speaks are not.

They are for any child who has ever lost someone they loved. Any child trying to make sense of an empty chair at the table. Any child asking why someone they loved is not coming back. Any child who needs an honest, loving, faith-rooted answer to the hardest question they have ever asked.

The book addresses the questions children actually ask — What does dead mean? Where did they go? Can they see me? Am I going to die too? Will we ever see them again?

It validates every feeling — the confusion, the sadness, the anger, the fear — and gives each one a name and a place.

It anchors every hard truth in Biblical hope — not vague comfort, not empty reassurance, but the real and certain promises of a God who has never broken one yet.

And it includes a comprehensive guide for parents and caregivers — because grief is not one conversation. It comes back in new forms as children grow. And every time it does, you deserve a resource to come back to.

The Two Names at Its Heart

This book carries two names.

Madison Joy — born on Christmas morning, gone at thirty-five days, whose brief life raised a question in her brother’s heart that took fifteen years to bloom into something that could help other families too.

And Lucy Grace — my own daughter, delivered still, whose brief and beautiful presence gave me the courage to finally stop saying someday and start saying yes.

I wrote this book for my nephew — who deserved honest, loving words for the hardest thing his two year old heart had ever held.

I wrote it for my sister — who deserved a resource to come back to every time the question returned in a new form.

I wrote it for my own children — who asked their own questions alongside me and needed truth that was bigger than my grief.

And I wrote it for you — whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever loss has brought you to this page.

What Comes Next

Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? is currently on its journey toward publication.

I will be the first to let you know when it is ready to be in your hands.

In the meantime — subscribe below to stay connected. And if you are walking through a grief conversation with a young child right now and need resources, I would love to help. Leave a comment or reach out directly.

This book is fifteen years in the making.

It is almost time.

“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” — Philippians 1:6

Want to be the first to know when the book is available? Subscribe below.

Tools for the Intentional Life: Introducing the Old to New Spiritual Formation Journals

I believe that faith grows best when it is practiced intentionally.

Not perfectly. Not without interruption. Not only in the quiet seasons when life cooperates and the calendar is clear.

But intentionally — with tools in hand and a willingness to show up on the page even when the words are hard to find.

That conviction is what gave birth to the Old to New journals.

What They Are

The Old to New journals are a series of spiritual formation journals designed to help you document God’s faithfulness, practice the disciplines that deepen faith, and move — one intentional page at a time — from a hurried life to a holy one.

They grew out of a season of intentional spiritual formation that changed the way I practice faith — a Fuller Theological Seminary cohort that introduced me to ancient disciplines I had never encountered in years of faithful church attendance. Disciplines like the Examen — pausing at the beginning and end of each day to recognize God’s presence in it. Gratitude journaling. Intentional, Scripture-rooted prayer for the people you love most.

I left that season with a full bag of practical tools — and a deep conviction that these tools were not meant to stay in a seminary cohort.

They were meant to be accessible.

To the woman who has never heard the word Examen but who would practice it every day if someone just showed her how. To the father who wants to pray more intentionally over his family but does not know where to start. To anyone in a season of grief, transition, or waiting who needs something more than good intentions to anchor their faith.

The Old to New journals were my answer to that conviction.

What Is Inside

Each journal includes:

Space to document God’s faithfulness day by day — because the moments we do not write down are the ones we are most likely to forget
The Examen practice — a simple morning and evening rhythm of recognizing God’s presence in your day
Gratitude journaling — the daily discipline of naming what is good even when the hard things are loud
Intentional prayers to pray over your spouse, your children, yourself — and your future spouse, future children, or grandchildren if they have not yet arrived
Scripture and prompts designed to move you from surface-level reflection to genuine spiritual depth

For Men and Women

The Old to New journals come in two designs.

The women’s version features a warm, feminine design that feels like a quiet corner and a cup of coffee.

The men’s version features a cleaner, sharper design — same content, different aesthetic — because intentional faith is not a women’s only practice. The men in your life deserve these tools too.

If you are looking for a meaningful gift for a husband, a father, a son, or a friend who is ready to go deeper in his faith — this is it.

Who They Are For

These journals are for anyone who has ever wanted to be more intentional about their faith but did not know where to start.

For the woman in a season of grief who needs a place to put what she is feeling and what she is holding onto. For the couple who wants to pray together but keeps running out of words. For the person who has been a Christian for years and suspects there is a depth of practice they have not yet found.

For anyone who wants to document the story God is writing in their life — so they can look back one day and see His faithfulness clearly.

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 1:6

The Old to New journals are available now. You can find them here.