Twenty years ago today, my sister, Amanda, was stillborn—the fifth child in my family. I was six years old and my memories of that time are vivid. The day after my family lost Amanda, a tree also fell on top our only car, totaling it. This is a guest post written by my mom, Lisa Alexander. It’s taken from her journal—a beautiful and moving piece on God’s love amidst grief.
The day of Amanda’s birth seems a million miles away. Yet it was the day that changed my world, turned it upside down and spinning around in a dizzying, breath-stealing way. For months, I wanted the spinning to stop, to let me get off and catch my breath. It didn’t. Twenty years later, I still have an album I never finished, an album that was supposed to help me with closure. A memorial. It is a beautiful album. It’s just that I’ve realized that I could not put all of the pieces of that experience into a book, close it, and put it away until I wanted to pull it out to remember.
I remember anyway.
I remember the devastating pain of losing a perfect, beautiful baby girl.
But far more than that, I remember the goodness, comfort, and completely overwhelming love that was shown to me and my family.
Those things I remember best.
Funny how much of these memories are tied into provision. Provision seems like such a materialistic word: “I need! I need!” But in reality, it is one of the many physical manifestations of God’s love for us and His generosity towards us. At the time of my greatest loss, provision came from every direction. Through friends, through family, through complete strangers—we were abundantly provided for. But the monetary provision paled in comparison to the love that we felt and the friendships that have endured to this day. Provision came in startling and unexpected ways, in startling and unexpected quantities, and it simply overwhelmed us with His love.
Like the weight of His glory had fallen on us, that love I felt was like a weight.
In a good way, but almost too much.
It was like I didn’t know how to receive it.
Like I didn’t know how to be a king’s kid.
Like I needed to deserve it.
Yet the weight of grief was also heavy. It would sneak up on me in unexpected moments and threaten to suffocate me; I couldn’t catch my breath when it would overtake me. But when the heaviness of grief threatened to strangle me, the weighty garment of God’s goodness covered me—allowing me just enough room to breathe.
The contrast between the two weights was stark. Amidst all of it, I clung to the knowledge that God was walking through this with me.
The memory of God’s faithfulness during that time is part of my testimony today. Through all of the ups and downs that have come in these twenty years, I look back and remember God’s nearness, His provision, and His goodness towards me.
I wish I could say I never face the future with fear, but that wouldn’t be true. However, I now carry a confidence that the God who cared for me then, walks with me into today, and will walk with me into tomorrow.
And my God will supply all of your needs according to His riches and glory in Christ Jesus. –Philippians 4: 19
Katelyn Alexander 
This is so beautifully writte and goes straight to the heart, thank you for sharing your heart.
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Lovely, so we’ll spoken, Lisa.. I have never forgotten the moment at home when we could not hear her or the moment she slipped into my hands at the hospital. The days and weeks after as I learned what it means to process and live through such grief. My pastor spoke a word of this, “the winds have tried hard to blow this tree (myself represented), and yet the roots have only sunk deeper (into God) to hold you through this storm. Amen! Love you Alexanders.
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