The Promise of Eight: A New Beginning in Chapter 38

New Beginnings in the Garden

August has always marked the turning of a page, but this year it carries a deeper significance, the eighth month of the year is often associated with new beginnings, not because life suddenly becomes easier or pain magically disappears, but because God has a way of bringing fresh hope into places we thought would never bloom again.

On August 3, 2026, I celebrated my 38th birthday, and while many birthdays are marked by candles, gifts, and celebrations, mine was marked by gratitude. Gratitude that I am still standing, Gratitude that I am still breathing, Gratitude that even after the most devastating season of my life, God continues to prove that my story is far from over.

As I entered Chapter 38, I did so carrying something I never imagined I would have to bear, the physical absence of my daughter, Jahmya. There are still mornings when I instinctively wonder what she would be doing. There are moments when a familiar song, a passing scent, or the sight of a mother holding her daughter’s hand takes my breath away. Grief still finds me. Sometimes it whispers, and other times it roars. Yet in the middle of those moments, I am reminded that the enemy would love nothing more than for me to believe that brokenness is my permanent home. He wants me to believe healing is impossible, that joy would somehow dishonor my daughter, or that finding peace would mean I have forgotten her. But those are lies that do not come from God.

God never promised that I would never have scars. Instead, He promised His presence through every painful step. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you” (Isaiah 43:2, ESV). I have held tightly to that promise because God never said I would avoid the waters. He said I would make it through them. Healing is not pretending my pain no longer exists. Healing is recognizing that even while my heart aches, God continues to sustain me, strengthen me, and gently carry me forward.

During Chapter 37, I thought healing would be a destination, a place I would finally arrive where the tears would stop and everything would somehow make sense again. But this journey has taught me something different. Healing is not a finish line, it is a lifelong relationship with God. Some days healing looks like allowing myself to laugh without guilt. Other days it looks like giving myself permission to cry without shame. Sometimes healing is simply getting out of bed or choosing to keep breathing. Every one of those moments matters because each one is evidence that God is still at work within me. As Psalm 147:3 reminds us, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” He doesn’t promise to erase every wound overnight; He lovingly binds them, holding together the places that have been shattered until strength begins to return.

I’ve also learned something beautiful from the very thing God placed on my heart: GARDENS. I have become intrigued with them! More so of the process of them. Nothing blooms the moment a seed is planted. Before anything beautiful appears above the surface, growth is taking place underground. Roots are stretching deeper where no one can see. The soil may look silent, but heaven is still working. Perhaps that is exactly where I have been: not forgotten, not stuck, simply growing beneath the surface. Every prayer whispered through tears, every worship song played when words failed me, every step I forced myself to take while carrying unimaginable pain. God was cultivating something I couldn’t yet see.

Maybe that is what Chapter 38 is really about. It is not about pretending I have arrived or that my grief has disappeared. It is about giving myself permission to bloom again, slowly, authentically, and in God’s perfect timing. As Isaiah 43:19 declares, “See, I am doing a new thing, now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” God’s new thing doesn’t erase the chapters that came before it. Instead, He redeems them.

I will always be Jahmya’s mother. That part of my identity did not end the day Heaven welcomed her home. If anything, it deepened my purpose. Through UniqGrief Garden, I have found mothers whose hearts understand a language only grief can teach. Together we have learned that love does not end because life on earth changes. We have discovered that grief is not something to conquer but something to carry with grace, faith, and hope. This community wasn’t born because I had all the answers; it was born because I desperately needed a place where my tears didn’t require an explanation. Looking back now, I can see that perhaps God allowed flowers to bloom from the very soil where my heart was broken.

As I embrace this new chapter, I am choosing to believe what God says over what my grief sometimes tries to convince me of. I believe peace is still possible. I believe happiness will find me again, not because my circumstances have changed, but because Christ has never changed. I believe healing will come one gentle piece at a time, without pressure, without comparison, and without rushing the process. There is a song that continues to minister to my heart, “He’ll Take the Pain Away” by Kirk Franklin and God’s Property. It reminds me that even when I cannot find the words to explain what I feel, God already knows. He is not distant from my suffering; He is present within it, carrying burdens I could never carry on my own.

Philippians 1:6 reminds me to remain “confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” That promise gives me hope on the days when healing feels slow. It reminds me that God finishes what He starts.

So if you’re reading this while wondering whether you’ll ever smile again, whether purpose still exists after unimaginable loss, or whether your heart will ever feel whole, I want you to know this, there is no expiration date on love. There is no timeline for grief. And there is no limit to what God can restore. August reminds us that eight represents new beginnings, not because life starts over, but because God faithfully begins something new within us. My 38th birthday wasn’t simply about getting older, it was about choosing hope, choosing faith, and believing that even with a heart that has been broken beyond words, I can continue becoming the woman God is calling me to be.

Our Father, Great Gardener is still tending to my heart. He is still pruning, still watering, still cultivating, and still bringing life to places that once felt impossible. My story did not end in heartbreak, it is still blooming. As Psalm 30:5 reminds us, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Perhaps my morning isn’t one grand moment of arrival. Perhaps it is every single day I wake up and choose to trust God again. And today, August 4, 2026, day 2 of Chapter 38, I believe this with my whole heart that this season is not the end of my story. It is the beginning of something beautifully redeemed.