ALL IS WELL

I never thought I would be here. Not here physically. Not here spiritually. Not standing at the one-year mark of losing my daughter and wrestling with thoughts I never expected to have. For the first ten months after Jahmya transitioned, I held onto something that carried me. Deep in my heart, I believed the miracle had already happened. It just did not happen the way I wanted it to. The miracle was not on this side of Heaven. The miracle was in Heaven. As painful as that truth was, it gave me something to stand on. It helped me survive the days when breathing felt heavy and waking up felt impossible.

But then April 2026 came.

And something shifted.

The intrusive thoughts became louder. The questions became heavier. The faith that once felt steady suddenly felt challenged. I began hearing a different voice.

"That's not true."

"Prayer doesn't work."

"If prayer worked, Jahmya would still be here."

And if I'm honest, those thoughts hit hard because they were speaking directly to my deepest wound.

I prayed.

I fasted.

I warred.

I surrendered.

I cried out to God with everything I had.

I pleaded for my baby's life.

I believed.

I trusted.

I held onto faith the size of a mustard seed.

Yet my daughter still died.

How was I supposed to make sense of that? How was I supposed to hear people say, "Prayer is powerful," when my prayers seemed unanswered? Every time someone spoke those words, I felt conflicted. Part of me wanted to believe them. Another part of me wanted to scream. Because from where I stood, prayer did not work on my behalf. At least that's what my grief was trying to convince me. But while I was wrestling with God, God never stopped pursuing me. He kept sending people. He kept sending reminders. He kept showing up in ways I could not ignore.

On May 23rd, a date that already carried so much significance for me, I attended an event called The Gentle Pour. During that event, someone prophesied over me. They said I was called to ministry. My immediate response?

"Nahhhh. Not me."

Yet somewhere in my spirit, I heard God whisper back:

"Why not you Jamara?"

The very next day, May 24th, I went to church.

That alone was significant.

I had been carrying hurt from church.

Not from God, but from what my perception was.

I was yearning for spiritual love, yet if I am honest, I did not even know what that looked like anymore.

I walked into that service carrying disappointment, anger, confusion, and grief.

Then the prophet spoke. "I don't know you from a can of paint, but within 72 hours, you will receive a sign." I did not know what that meant. I left the service wondering if I would ever understand it. Then Wednesday came. May 27th. Jahmya's UniqAngelversary.

Exactly 72 hours later.

The sign was not what I expected.

The sign was not that my grief disappeared.

The sign was not that my pain suddenly made sense.

The sign was that God was still in the midst.

God was still working.

God was still speaking.

That morning, I got up and celebrated my friend's daughter at her VPK graduation. The little things. The ordinary things. The moments that remind us life is still moving. Later that evening, I came home. There were flowers waiting at my door. No name. No explanation. Just flowers and a card.

The card simply read:

"All Is Well."

Another sign.

Another reminder.

Another whisper from Heaven.

Yet even after all of that, I still struggled.

Because grief is complicated.

Faith is complicated.

And sometimes healing is not a straight line. Yesterday, the phrase "Prayer is Powerful" seemed to follow me everywhere I went. Every conversation. Every interaction. Every reminder.

And if I am honest, it made me angry.

Because I prayed.

I warred.

I surrendered.

And God still took my baby.

That is the wound.

That is the ache.

That is the question I have been carrying.

But even in my anger, God continued to pour back into me. This morning, He sent my coworker. And through her, He sent her mother, another UniqAngel Mom.

A woman who understood loss.

A woman who understood grief.

A woman who reminded me that I am not alone.

A woman who reminded me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

A woman who reminded me that it is okay to feel exactly how I feel.

So today, I am telling the truth.

The whole truth.

Not the polished version.

Not the strong version.

The real version.

I have struggled mentally.

I have carried thoughts that scared me.

I have felt invisible in my pain.

I have cried out for help and felt unheard.

I have sat in rooms full of people who loved me and still felt completely alone.

I have questioned whether anyone truly understood the depth of what losing Jahmya did to me.

I have questioned whether God understood too.

But today, I release it.

I release every lie that tells me my life no longer has value.

I release every voice that tells me there is no purpose left for me.

I release every spirit of hopelessness that has tried to attach itself to my grief.

And I choose to tell the truth.

I gave my life back to Christ on July 4th after losing Jahmya. Yet for months afterward, I still felt abandoned. I still felt forgotten. I still felt like my Heavenly Father was nowhere to be found. But today I realize something. He was here. He has always been here.

In every stranger.

In every prayer.

In every flower.

In every sign.

In every sister.

In every tear.

In every moment I somehow found the strength to get back up and keep going. He was here.

Losing my daughter broke me in ways words cannot fully explain. But maybe what I am witnessing now is not the end of me. Maybe this grief is not destroying me. Maybe it is rebirthing me. Maybe God is doing something I cannot fully understand yet.

Today, I received a revelation.

The flowers were not just flowers.

The card was not just a card.

The signs were not coincidences.

The message was simple.

All is well.

Not because everything is easy.

Not because everything makes sense.

Not because my heart no longer hurts.

But because God is still God.

Because Jahmya's legacy still lives.

Because purpose still remains.

Because my story is not over.

And because despite every reason I have had to give up, I am still here.

So today, I speak directly to myself.

Jamara, there is purpose.

Jamara, there is still life to live.

Jamara, there is MINISTRY inside of you.

Jamara, there is still work for you to do.

Jamara, you are still God's child.

And Jamara You have a reason to live.

All IS WELL.

And ALL WILL BE WELL.