Tag Archives: grief

Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? How One Little Boy’s Question Became a Children’s Book

Some ideas arrive loudly.

They show up with momentum and excitement and a clear sense of direction — and you know immediately that you are supposed to do something with them.

And then there are the other kind.

The ones that arrive quietly. That settle somewhere deep and stay there. That you cannot fully explain and cannot fully ignore. That come back again and again over months and years until you finally stop pretending you are not supposed to do something about them.

For over fifteen years, God has been nudging me toward this.

Not loudly, but clearly. A quiet, persistent, unmistakable sense that the brokenness I had walked through — and watched the people I loved walk through — was meant to be more than a private grief. That it was meant to become something that could reach forward and offer hope to someone I would never meet.

I could not make that feeling go away.

Believe me — I tried.

The Morning Question

It started with my nephew.

If you have been following along these past few weeks you already know Madison Joy’s story — my niece, born on Christmas morning, gone thirty-five days later. You know what my sister walked through. You know what our family walked through.

If you haven’t read Madison Joy’s full story yet, you can find it here.

Let me bring back the detail that stopped me cold.

In the months after losing Madison Joy, my nephew — two years old, full of that particular toddler energy that has absolutely no interest in slowing down for grief — would wake up every morning and do what he had always done. Pad down the hall. Find his mama. And ask the question that had become part of his morning routine.

“Mommy, is Madison sleeping?”

He asked because he didn’t have other words — he had done it so many times before when Mommy was reminding him to keep his voice down because the baby was resting. He asked out of love and out of hope and out of the beautiful, heartbreaking logic of a two year old mind that had no framework yet for what death meant.

And every single morning — my sister’s heart caught in her chest.

When she told me about those mornings I felt something shift inside me. Not dramatically. Not with a trumpet fanfare. Just quietly and certainly — the way things feel when they are true.

Someone needs to write a book about this.

The Nudge That Wouldn’t Leave

I want to be honest with you about something.

God has been nudging me toward this book for over fifteen years.

Fifteen years of that quiet, persistent tug. Fifteen years of picking it up and putting it down. Fifteen years of “someday” and “when the time is right” and “I’m not sure I’m the right person for this.”

And fifteen years of God quietly, faithfully, persistently disagreeing.

I can only explain it one way — it never went away. Not when life got busy. Not when other things took priority. Not even when my own grief arrived and I wondered whether I had any business writing about something I was still living through myself.

The nudge stayed.

Because I think God knew something I was still learning — that the brokenness was not a disqualifier. It was the qualification. The very thing that made me want to set it down was the thing that made the message worth carrying.

You do not have to have it all figured out to be the right person for something.

You just have to be willing to keep saying yes to the nudge. And that’s how Old to New Creations was born.

You can read the full story of how Old to New Creations got its name here.

Why This Book Needed to Exist

Here is what I discovered when I started looking for resources to help families talk to their young children about death and loss — especially from a faith-based perspective:

There was not much there.

There were books for older children. There were books that addressed loss in vague, gentle terms that avoided the hard questions. There were secular books that offered comfort without Biblical hope. And there were a handful of faith-based titles that came close — but none that spoke directly to toddlers and preschoolers in honest, concrete language that a two year old could actually hold onto.

None that gave parents a real starting place for the conversation — whatever kind of loss had brought them to it. The death of a grandparent. A parent. A sibling. A friend. Anyone a child has loved and lost.

None that gave parents a guide for the questions children actually ask — including the scary ones.

None that validated the full range of a child’s grief response — including the anger, the resistance, the covering of ears and wiggling away — and called it normal.

And none that were written by someone who had sat on their own couch, held their own grieving child, and lived the conversation from the inside.

I had. Twice.

So I wrote the book I wished had existed.

If you are looking for additional resources for grieving families, “The Memory Box” by Joanna Rowland is a beautiful companion title.

“My Sibling Still” by Leah Vis speaks tenderly to families navigating sibling loss.

What Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? Is

It is the story of 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 — honest, gentle, Biblical words — to answer the question he keeps asking.

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 isn’t 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.

A Book Born From Two Losses

This book carries two names in its heart.

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.

If you haven’t ready Lucy Grace’s story yet, you can find it here.

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.

Because the nudge was never just about my family.

It was always about yours too.

What Comes Next

The book is currently on its journey toward publication — and I will be the first to let you know when it is ready to be in your hands.

In the meantime — if you are walking through a grief conversation with a young child right now and you need resources, I would love to help. Leave a comment below or reach out directly. And if you are a grief counselor, a child life specialist, a pediatric nurse, or a pastor who works with grieving families — I would especially love to connect with you.

This book exists because a two year old asked a question his mama couldn’t answer alone. This blog and ministry exists, because God wants to walk with each of us to make old things new – Old to New Creations.

And it is going to find its way to every family that needs it.

I am sure of that — because the same God who nudged me for fifteen years is not in the habit of starting things He doesn’t finish.

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 1:6

If this resonated with you today — share it with someone who needs it. And if you want to be the first to know when the book is available, subscribe below. This is fifteen years in the making. It is almost time.

In the meantime, if you are walking through grief right now and looking for a tool to anchor your faith, the Old to New journals were designed for you.

Thirty-Five Days: The Loss That Started It All

10 Replies

While many people know the grief of losing someone, there is another kind.

The particular kind of grief of standing beside the ones who are experiencing loss. The sisters. The aunts. The friends. The ones who love the grieving.

I know that grief.

It is the grief of watching someone you love walk through something you cannot fix.

And it changed me just as permanently as anything I have ever experienced firsthand. (Learn more about the origin of Old to New Creations here).

Madison Joy

My niece Madison Joy was born on Christmas morning.

I want you to sit with that for a moment — because it matters. Christmas morning. The morning the whole world celebrates the arrival of a baby who came to bring life and light and hope. And there she was — Madison Joy — arriving on that same morning, full of promise and possibility and that particular joy that only a brand new baby carries.

She was beautiful like her momma.

She was here.

She was loved.

She was ours.

For thirty-five days.

The Call No One Expects

I am going to keep some of the medical details close — they are my sister’s story to tell in full, and I want to honor that. What I will tell you is that Madison Joy suffered a brain bleed. Emergency surgery followed. And then came the waiting — the desperate, faith-filled, on-your-knees waiting that every person who has ever sat in a hospital waiting room knows intimately.

We prayed. Our family prayed. Our church – our community – prayed. People who had never met Madison Joy prayed — because that is what you do when a thirty-five day old baby is fighting for her life and you believe in a God who can intervene.

We had never imagined God wouldn’t save her.

And then He didn’t.

Not the way we asked.

Three years after Madison Joy, our family faced a similar and devastating loss of our own – you can read Lucy Grace’s story here.

Walking Alongside

I want to speak for a moment to everyone reading this who has ever been the one walking alongside.

Because grief has many seats at the table — and not all of them get acknowledged.

Watching my sister and brother-in-law walk through the loss of Madison Joy was one of the most life-changing things I have ever witnessed. I say life-changing deliberately — not as a figure of speech but as a literal truth. The person I was before that season and the person I became on the other side of it are not quite the same.

What I observed in that hospital, and in the months that followed, was something I did not have adequate words for at the time.

My sister — in the middle of the most devastating loss a mother can experience — found what she later described as a peace that passes all understanding.

Not on the other side of it. Not after the grief had softened or the tears had slowed.

Right there. In the hospital. In the middle of the worst moment of her life.

The grief was real — crushing and bottomless and every bit as heavy as you would expect. The pain did not disappear. The tears did not stop. But underneath all of it, arriving as a gift from God Himself, was something steady and unshakeable that had absolutely no business being there, given the circumstances.

That is not a human peace. You cannot manufacture that in yourself. You cannot think your way into it or grieve your way toward it.

It is given. Freely. By a God who does not wait for the storm to pass before He shows up in it.

I recognized it. I had felt it myself in my own hospital room years later.

It is the kind of peace that does not make sense from the outside. The kind that makes people who don’t know Jesus tilt their heads and quietly wonder. The kind that can only come from One place.

I want to be honest though — we each carried a different measure of grace for our role in this. My grief as the sister was real and it was heavy. But it was not the same as my sister’s grief as the mother, or my brother-in-law’s grief as the father. Walking alongside someone through loss does not mean carrying an equal share of it. It means showing up faithfully for whatever portion you are asked to carry — and trusting God to sustain the ones carrying more than you can imagine.

I wrote specifically for the fathers and the men here.

The Hardest Part of All

In the weeks and months after losing Madison Joy, grief did what grief often does —

It uncovered things that were already there.

For my sister. For her husband. For me, in ways I would not fully understand until years later when I faced my own loss.

Grief has a way of stripping away the coping mechanisms we have quietly built over a lifetime. The inner lies we have always managed to keep at bay suddenly have a clear path to the surface. The emotional pain we thought we had dealt with turns out to have only been set aside.

That is not a flaw in the grieving process. That is the grieving process doing exactly what it was designed to do — bringing everything to the light so that healing can reach all the way down.

It is painful. It is disorienting. And it is one of the most important things I want you to know if you are in the middle of it right now:

The grief that is uncovering old pain is not punishing you. It is inviting you toward a deeper healing than you have ever had.

Helping a Two Year Old Understand

My nephew was two years old when he lost his baby sister.

Two years old.

Old enough to know something was wrong. Old enough to miss her. Young enough that the concept of death was completely beyond his reach. Helping him understand — or even begin to understand — was one of the most difficult and tender challenges my sister faced in those early months.

And every morning, without fail, he would pad down the hall and find her.

And every morning he would ask the same question.

“Mommy, is Madison sleeping?”

And every morning, my sister’s heart caught in her chest.

That question is the reason this blog exists. That question is the reason a book exists. You can read the full story of how it became a book here. And that question is the reason I kept writing long after it would have been easier to stop.

If We Can’t Bring Her Home

Before I close I want to share something my sister said — because it is one of the most faith-filled sentences I have ever heard spoken in the middle of grief.

In the hospital, facing the unsurvivable, my sister and brother-in-law made the decision to donate Madison Joy’s organs.

And my sister’s heart behind that decision was this:

“If we can’t bring our daughter home — maybe our faith can be used by God to make it possible for someone else to bring their child home.”

I have turned that sentence over in my mind hundreds of times since she said it.

In the middle of her own devastation — before the grief had even fully arrived — she was thinking about another mother. Another family. Another child who might live because of hers.

That is not a human instinct. That is the Holy Spirit working through a broken heart that chose, even in the worst moment, to remain open.

Old to new.

Even here. Even this.

For the Ones Walking Alongside

If you found this post because you are not the one who lost someone — but you love someone who did — I want you to know that your grief is real and it matters too.

You do not have to have all the right words. You do not have to fix it. You do not have to be strong every moment.

Show up. Stay. Hold their hand. Sit in the quiet with them when there is nothing left to say.

And trust that God is doing something in you through this season too — something you may not be able to see yet. Something that will matter more than you know.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3

Next week I want to take you inside the story of how a two year old’s morning question became a children’s book — and why I believe it is a resource every family needs before loss arrives, not just after. Subscribe below so you don’t miss it.

And if Madison Joy’s story touched you today — share it. Her thirty-five days mattered. They still do.

If you are walking alongside a grieving family right now and looking for a tool to help anchor your own faith through uncertainty, the Old to New Journals were designed for exactly this season.

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.

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

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.

Old to New Creations with Jessica Mitchell

Because God is not finished with your story.

Tag Archives: grief

Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? How One Little Boy’s Question Became a Children’s Book

The Morning Question

The Nudge That Wouldn’t Leave

Why This Book Needed to Exist

What Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? Is

A Book Born From Two Losses

What Comes Next

Thirty-Five Days: The Loss That Started It All

Madison Joy

The Call No One Expects

Walking Alongside

The Hardest Part of All

Helping a Two Year Old Understand

If We Can’t Bring Her Home

For the Ones Walking Alongside

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

What the Book Is

The Two Names at Its Heart

What Comes Next

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

What They Are

What Is Inside

For Men and Women

Who They Are For