Still Covered While Broken

This weekend, I found myself surrounded by Love and Mother’s who UNDERSTAND. I had the honor of being a part of something soooooo special with Circle of Mothers, founded by Sybrina Fulton. We ended the Retreat with a word! The pastor began speaking about the number 14 and how it has now been 14 years since Trayvon Martin transitioned. She spoke about the weight of those years, the significance behind them, and the power of still standing after unimaginable heartbreak.

As she spoke, the significance of that number sat HEAVY on my HEART.

Fourteen. WHY? Because, Jahmya was only 14 years old when she transitioned.

Biblically, the number 14 is often associated with deliverance, salvation, spiritual completion, and movement through hardship into promise. Sitting in that room, hearing “14 years,” while carrying the reality that my own daughter’s life ended at 14, did something to my spirit.

It felt deeper than coincidence.

Heavy.

Sacred.

Painful.

Yet somehow still covered by God.

As beautiful as this weekend has been, it has also been emotionally heavy. Grief has a way of making your heart feel full and shattered at the same time. There were moments I wanted to disconnect completely. Moments I wanted to leave early. Moments where I questioned if I even had the strength to stay present.

This morning was one of those moments.

I woke up with tension all through my head. A pounding migraine. My bags were practically packed. I was indecisive about attending church service. Truthfully, I did not want to go. Since losing Jahmya, I’ve struggled deeply with my relationship with God. I gave my life back to Christ one month after losing Mya, but grief has still left me wrestling mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

I know the Lord.

But I also hurt.

And sometimes those two truths exist together.

I’ve been disconnected from the Word at times. Angry. Confused. Numb. Wondering why God would take my child from me. Wondering what my purpose could possibly be now that everything feels like it crumbled after Jahmya took her last breath in my arms.

My psyche.

My marriage.

My beliefs.

My desire to keep going.

Everything felt shaken.

There were days I questioned my purpose entirely. Days I felt like giving up because the pain was louder than anything else around me.

But this morning, in the middle of my reluctance, I heard something deep in my spirit:

“Jamara… no matter where you are or what you do, I will always be the One to cover you.”

And I broke.

Because despite my distance!

Despite my questioning!

Despite my inconsistency!

God never stopped covering me!!!!!!!

Then the word came from Acts 27:30–34. Paul was in the middle of a storm speaking to people who thought they were going to die. Fear was everywhere. Uncertainty was everywhere. Yet God had already promised preservation.

The part that sat with me deeply was the reminder that not one life would be lost.

And in my spirit, all I could hear was:

“I made it out alright.”

Not untouched.

Not unchanged.

Not without scars.

But I made it out.

I sought the Lord, and He heard me.

Not because I had perfect faith.

Not because I had all the right words.

Not because I understood His plan.

But because even in my brokenness, He still responds to me.

That realization alone carried me into the service.

The truth is, since the day Jahmya transitioned, I have yearned for community. I knew immediately I would not survive this journey alone. Grief feels like a constant tug of war between faith and despair. Between wanting to trust God and wanting answers God may never fully explain.

But somehow, even here, God continues to send reminders that I am not abandoned.

And maybe that’s what healing looks like right now.

Not having it all together.

Not understanding.

Not pretending I’m okay.

But still choosing to show up.

Still choosing to seek Him.

Still choosing to breathe through heartbreak.

Still allowing God to hold the pieces of me I no longer know how to carry.

And maybe the biggest realization is this:

I made it out already.

I’m making it.

Every day I wake up and choose to keep going, I’m making it.

Every tear I survive, I’m making it.

Every moment I want to isolate but still reach for community, I’m making it.

Every time I question God but still find myself speaking to Him anyway, I’m making it.

Not because this grief is gone.

Not because I fully understand.

But because God continues to carry me even when I feel too broken to carry myself.

So, I thank God for sustaining me through heartbreak.

I honor Him for loving me while I wrestle.

And I thank Him for continuing to connect the pieces of my life, even while I am broken.

Because somehow, through all of this grief, He is still the glue holding me together.

And by the grace of God, I’m making it out ALRIGHT!