When Heaven Interrupts: A Miracle in My Living Room

“We all pull into the open parking stall and praise god for it,

But the big miracles in life we doubt or question.”

This summer I took a trip to my hometown in Northern Canada to visit my family and friends with my son. It’s been a whole year since I was last there and I am so incredible grateful that I was able to make this trip. Spending time in nature – the mountains, trees, fresh air, fishing, hiking, are all things I have missed deeply since moving to West Texas. I always enjoy my visits up North and cherish all the moments spent catching up with loved ones.

In truth though – this trip was harder than past trips. This trip contained a tremendous amount of prayer, answer seeking, and soul reflecting. It feels as though the spiritual thermostat has been turned up 1000 degrees, and to be honest, I am struggling to keep up. Releasing control has been a common theme in my life, and lives of those around me, as of late.

I still don’t fully have words for what happened that Friday. But I’m going to try my best.

To be completely honest – If I had not witnessed this firsthand, I might not have believed it myself.

Did that really happen like that? Did I see that correctly? What explanation is there for this?

But it did happen. I saw it with my own two eyes. And it’s the most black and white way God has ever shown himself to me.

I believe we are entering a season of life that is truly unlike any other.

I’m not asking you to believe in miracles because of one story – I’m just telling you what I witnessed. And, if you ever find yourself needing a miracle, I hope you remember this one.

Friday July 18th, 2025

Axel is three now and is in the stage of life where he wants to take on every single challenge he sees (yikes!). The number of scrapes and bruises this kid gets daily – it’s insane. I was raised in a house full of girls and let me tell you… boys are built different, y’all.

One Friday in Canada, Axel was playing outside and started screaming. When my sister went to the backyard to check on him, he was screaming at the back door – unable to lift his arm to open the door. He made his way over to me (I was in the bathroom at the time), still screaming and crying.

I’m used to scratches, bruises, and crying, but this time was different.

His arm was limp at his side, and he kept screaming “My arm! My arm! It hurts mama! It hurts so much! My arm hurts!” He was barely able to speak between the screams of pain.

I remember looking down at him and knowing that something was very wrong.

“Where does it hurt?” I asked him, as I knelt to examine the arm.

“Everywhere. It hurts all over,” he yelled, the limp arm still dangling at his side.

“Can you move it?” I replied.

“No, I can’t” he yelled back, still screaming.

I reached over and gently looked at his arm. There was noticeable bruising and swelling on the forearm, specifically. I bent his arm at the elbow ever so slightly, as gentle as I could, and I instantly heard a very loud audible, cracking noise. I have never heard this sound before but the closest I can describe it is a tree branch being snapped in half and all the little branches breaking. My body shivered at the sound. While I did this, he let out a bloodcurdling scream and I instantly knew – this was not a normal injury.

I attempted to pick him up and he screamed at me that he didn’t want to be touched because it hurt so bad. I ushered him over to the couch as he continued screaming.

My mom is a nurse, so I yelled for my sister to go get her.

Axel does not have a Canadian health care card, so any hospital visits would be completely out of pocket. Canada does not function the same as the US, and there are no “cash pay” discounts. Plus, we would be paying foreign fees, as well.

Mom walked in and I quickly gave her the download.

“I think his arm is broken, what do I do? He has no health care card I have no idea what to do right now,” I desperately said to her.

She knelt and looked at the arm.

My mom went into full nurse mode, which I have seen her do before. Super calm. Super collected. Not panicked. Just evaluating the situation.

At this point I ran and grabbed some ice for it. Mom felt the arm very quickly and he let out more screams. The blue bruising and swelling had gotten exponentially worse and was getting increasingly worse, with every moment. The arm was hot to the touch with a noticeable bulge that she felt when examining it. My mom is very composed individual, but I could tell she knew this was a bad injury. Without an x-ray to be certain, she confirmed that it was broken.

Immediately my mom laid her hands on him. I quickly followed suit and laid hands as well.

“Lord we know you are a God of healing. You are so incredible Lord, and we know you have the power to heal this. We are asking you to heal this in the name of Yeshua. We are asking for full and complete healing over axels arm.”

Axel at the end of the prayer said, “Amen.”

That was all. It was a quiet, quick prayer. A simple one. A calm one. I have never felt this during a prayer before… but this overwhelming feeling of peace came over me, and I knew God was going to heal him in that instant.

Axel stopped crying immediately and within moments, the bruising and swelling was going away.

It happened so quickly, so peacefully, so swiftly, it almost felt like a dream.

Mom and I looked at each other, stunned.

“Am I crazy or is the bruising gone?” she asked

“You’re not crazy. It is gone.” I said, examining his arm.

“The swelling too?” she said

“Yes,” I replied. “I don’t actually have words right now.”

All signs of injury had vanished. In fact – Axel was so good at this point that about 30 seconds to a minute later he was jumping around, fully using his arm, ready to play again.

We didn’t speak for a little afterwards, I think because we were trying to process what just happened.

“We just witnessed a miracle.” She said, in pure disbelief. “God just healed his arm.”

“I know. I can’t believe that just happened… I am in shock,” I replied.

“No one is going to believe us.” She said back.

“No, you’re right. They won’t. I don’t even fully believe it and I just saw that with my own two eyes.”

“This is so crazy. I am so thankful right now. Thank you, Father, for healing Axel.” She said.

The moments following the miracle were pure shock. Digesting what I witnessed, with my own two eyes, and trying to rationalize it using science and my knowledge of the world.

Could there be any explanation for what I just saw?

Could I have over exaggerated the injury?

My mom was in full nurse brain. She is trained. She saw the color, swelling, bulge, screams. It wasn’t dramatized.

What about the “Pulled elbow” theory?

I later investigated nursemaids elbow (which sometimes pops back into place and instantly feels better) but that doesn’t cause swelling, bruising, bulging, crunching.

Can adrenaline explain it?

Adrenaline can make you run on a broken leg, but it won’t make swelling, color change, and misalignment disappear.

Could it have just looked bad?

Very unlikely. This was a scream-bend-crunch-bruising-bulge moment. Again, my mom is a nurse. She doesn’t panic over a scaped knee.

There are no good medical explanations for what I witnessed.

Which is exactly the point.

We say we believe in a God that still does miracles… but when one happens in front of us, we race to explain it away.

We will praise him for opening parking spots and job opportunities, but when something truly unexplainable happens – something that breaks all the rules of science and logic – we hesitate.

“Maybe it wasn’t that bad.” “Maybe he just got better.”

Why is it easier to believe in coincidence than in Gods hand?

After high school I did mission work in Costa Rica. I remember hearing of all the earth-shattering miracles God had done for the locals and thinking to myself, “Wow, I wish he did things like this in my life! .This is so cool!”

In many parts of the world, miracles are expected. There’s no backup plan. No urgent care around the corner. Just a bold belief that if God doesn’t move – nothing will.

In the West, we don’t rely on miracles – we’ve got medicine, insurance, therapy, and google. So, when they do happen, we flinch. “Surely there’s a rational explanation”.

But what if there isn’t? What if God didn’t stop moving… we just stopped noticing?

 ——

A few days later I was praying about this and asking God to help me with the pieces of doubt I felt creeping in, from those close to me not believing this story. I was also praying to ask for forgiveness – for questioning why he chose to heal Axel’s arm.

While I was praying, I was reminded of a dream I had had many months ago. I called my mom to tell her this dream too, at the time. My dream was about spiritual gifts – the setting of my dream was intense spiritual warfare – I was being told that I need to lean more into my spiritual gifts because there is a spiritual battle happening.

In my dream God told me that one of my gifts was the gift of prophecy and I needed to start taking my dreams more seriously, because that is a major way he speaks to me. He also told me my mom had the gift of prophecy and that I needed to tell her.

There was one other gift he told me she had in this dream;

The gift of healing.

At the time, Mom and I laughed and made some jokes about it – her being a nurse and all. We talked about how we do tend to doubt ourselves because it seems a little crazy that God would show us things in that way, or that he could use us in that manor. We were open minded but still taking it with a grain of salt.

Flash forward to today – that dream smacked me in the face. It was almost like God was saying “why are you still doubting my authority?”

Miracles are meant to strengthen your belief. And that day, my belief in Yahweh was strengthened.

I pray this story blesses and encourages you,

For those Hungry for Something a Little Deeper

I didn’t mean to take a two-year blogging sabbatical… but maybe I needed it.

Hey friends – it’s been a hot minute since I sat down and wrote a blog post (not for lack of wanting to, mostly for lack of prioritizing it).

So many of you reached out to me, and continue to reach out to me, after reading my post about my son’s homebirth. It brings me so much joy to see my story impacting people in a meaningful way and encouraging those in similar situations. Seeing the impact, it’s had on those around me, has been truly incredible.

Since the launch of Simply Sourdough in 2023, my life has jumped on a speed ramp and hasn’t slowed down, even slightly. Spending time doing anything nonproductive, or even something that’s just for me, has been difficult for me to prioritize during this season of life – which includes my time with creative writing and this blog.

Recently however, I have had this blog on my heart a lot. Feeling a desire to pick it back up again and share some experiences that have happened over the last few years of my life.

I know everyone and their mom has a podcast now-a-days, but starting one myself has been so heavy on my heart these last few months. I cannot stop thinking about it.

My husband asked me what’s stopping me from starting one.

I told him, “Well, number one. Time. Something will have to give if I want to have enough time to do that. Number two, what if no one listens to it?”

He said, “Well… then do it for you.”

And honestly. He’s right. If even one person is blessed or encouraged by something I share, it would be worth it.

And that one person, might just be me. lol.

Even more so – walking in the calling or path I feel God is leading me towards, is purpose enough – even if I don’t know what fruit it will bring yet. Stepping into something, without really knowing where it will take me, is exactly how Simply Sourdough was created. And that has been one of the biggest blessings in my life, to date.

Sharing the messy, vulnerable, parts of life has always been something I have felt passionately about.

Turning pain, into purpose.

Isn’t that what we are all trying to do, at the end of the day?

A message that I have been hearing a lot lately in my prayer life is:

“Your deepest trials,

are your greatest testimony”  

I think I’m finally ready to take action on that.

Being vulnerable isn’t easy for me. For so much of my life, I have told myself that vulnerability = weakness. If people know my vulnerabilities, they know how to get to me. And in a world, where so many people have ill intent, handing my enemy the key to hurting me, feels illegal almost.

“Showing weakness,

will make people think I’m not strong.

And I need people to think I’m strong

so they don’t take advantage of me.”

This is a message I have told myself, since I was as young as I can remember. And you know what? That’s a lie. Or at least, a partial lie. I’m entering a season of life in which I’m being shown that true authentic strength is directly connected to the amount of vulnerability I can show. If God is giving me these trials, and I am fighting them alone – hiding, refusing to talk about it, acting like it’s not happening – I am taking away his ability to use my trials as testimony for others. And honestly – that is so selfish of me. I’m learning to be more consumed with following Gods direction and guidance, and less consumed with how these things will make me “look” to others.  

In a conversation with my brother and sister-in-law the other day, my brother-in-law said to me:

“Mia – the more vulnerable you are able to be, the stronger it will make you.”

And you know what? He’s right, too! (Don’t tell him that though)

I’m not here on earth for the approval of anyone other than God, and if I’m walking in his purpose, that’s enough for me.  

So, with that said. Here’s something vulnerable. Something real. Something I’m sure more people can relate to than I wish. It’s unfiltered, raw, and messy. But you know what? So is life.

Week after week, I make nourishing food for people and their families. Well… this one is for any of you hungry for something a little deeper.

Powerlessness in Motherhood  

Introduction to motherhood starts with learning how to release control. Birth is the introduction to surrender. Pregnancy teaches you to let go of your plans. And motherhood? It’s the daily practice of releasing control repeatedly.

You don’t get to choose how your body grows. You don’t get to script the timing, the tears, or the way labor unfolds. You don’t get to pause time when it all feels like too much — or not enough.

From the very beginning, God invites us into motherhood not through control, but through trust.

Trust in His timing. Trust in His plan. Trust that even in the mess, the stretching, the surrender… something holy is being formed — in them, and in you.

Motherhood isn’t about mastering it all. It’s about learning to release —and realizing that in the letting go, you are held. Somehow, even rock bottom of the ocean – he can be found with you.

When the Unthinkable Happens: A Story I Never Wanted to Tell

Content warning: This post contains reference to sexual assault involving a child. Please read, and watch, with care. If this is a sensitive or triggering topic for you, consider if or when it feels safe to continue.

I almost didn’t share this. But something in me kept whispering — if telling the truth can help even one person feel less alone, then it’s worth it.

So here it is: A video I recorded from my car, in a moment when the weight of what I’ve been carrying finally overflowed.

When my son was one years old, he was sexually assaulted by an older boy close to us — and it broke something in me that I don’t yet know how to name. As a mother, it’s the kind of trauma that lives in your bones. It changes the way you breathe. The way you see the world. The way you trust.

And, aside from reporting it to CPS, I’ve been silent about it — partly to protect my son, partly because I’ve had no words, and partly because grief this deep feels impossible to explain.

One of our biggest reasons for not sharing this story, was the fear that one day my son would hear it, and he would know what happened. My husband and I thought keeping it secret, was the best way to protect him. We didn’t want him to feel broken or damaged by evil that was done to him at someone else’s hand.

The inconvenient truth is this though: Secrets breed shame. Truth fosters trust. Keeping this event completely hidden forever can unintentionally send a message that what happened is something he should be ashamed of. It can fracture his sense of self if he learns about it later, and feels he was deceived or that something was “too awful” to speak of.

This isn’t a story of his brokenness or victimization – it’s a story of someone else’s wrongdoing, our fierce protection, and the healing journey that goes along with that.

There is zero blame, or shame, that should be placed on him surrounding this. This needs to be a mindset we change when it comes to anyone who's been sexually abused. Period.

While this incident was happening at summer camp, I was texting my husband…

Asking him, am I overreacting? Should I say something? Am I crazy for feeling this way about someone touching him like that? Sending him pictures of the TV screen, with the boy and my son, asking if they made my husband feel the same level of uncomfortableness?

Doubting myself.

Telling myself I need to calm down. It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t want to cause a scene or make anyone uncomfortable.

He responded,

“They might think you’re crazy but it doesn’t matter – he’s our baby. It’s our job to protect him.”

And it’s true. It doesn’t matter if they think I’m crazy. If I am seeing my son in an uncomfortable situation, it’s my job to speak up for him, and help him learn that it’s okay to make others uncomfortable when it comes to setting your boundaries.

This video was taken this week. Two years after the incident, but still very much in the thick of all the emotions. I simply turned on the camera and spoke. I didn’t plan what I’d say. I didn’t clean anything up. I just told the truth as best I could.

Ruffle feathers, it may.

In fact – ruffle feathers, it should.

I talked about trauma — how it freezes you, changes your body, alters your instincts. I talked about the grief of innocence lost. This story isn’t finished. But I’m showing up in this space not because we’re healed, but because I believe in telling the truth while we’re still in the messy middle.

“The broken parts of our stories

are often the ones

that feed people the most.”

And maybe that’s why I’m posting this. Not because I want to — I don’t.

But because I know someone else is carrying something too heavy to name. And maybe they need someone to say: Me too. It’s not your fault. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. 

I don’t have a lesson. I don’t have answers.
But I do have this: a voice that refuses to go silent in the face of evil.
A heart that still — somehow — believes that redemption is possible.
And a God who, even when I can’t feel Him, I still dare to trust is near.

There may be more to say in time. Maybe a podcast, maybe not. But for now, just this.

This video.
This truth.
This offering.

Thank you for being here.
Thank you for listening.

Blessings,

Mia