Seven Days of Life

Violet Mary Diane Marx

The smallest cowgirl, the first in our big family, following five cowboy cousins, arrived on 7/7/25.

Violet made her grand appearance against every prediction and all the medical reports.

Rozi and Violet

There wasn’t even one doctor who looked at her in her beautiful Momma’s womb who believed she would make it this far. It was highly recommended several times that the pregnancy be terminated.

The fear, the worry, and the trauma were almost unbearable.

But her brave Momma and Warrior dad stood on God’s promise that He would have the final word. The decision took courage that only comes from God. God would write Violet’s story, and that He did.

With no amniotic fluid for months, it was a miracle she lived to be born. She was as tough, as her Momma.

As three prayer warriors completed the Walk of Jericho around the hospital seven times, Violet  arrived during their seventh lap.

Hundreds and most likely thousands of prayers, were being said for this Warrior Princess.

She was beautiful and perfect, with curly black hair, as I had seen her in a dream. It was surprising how well she was breathing on her own, another miracle.

Jace and Violet

It wasn’t long until a decision was made to life flight Violet to Children’s Hospital. I will never forget the words of a young male nurse who looked over her in the huge stretcher she was riding in and said, “She is so cute!”

Just four words, but they melted into my heart. Cute she was…our Warrior Princess. 

I tried to stuff down my rage for another time since the specialists at Children’s Hospital told her she didn’t need to deliver her there as previously planned. According to their predictions, there was nothing they could do for Violet.

Now Roslan rumbled down the highway wearing her hospital gown in the front seat of her daddy’s truck, while her precious baby flew above, just six hours after giving birth. Violet’s daddy and I sat in the backseat.

This is only a small part of how Roslan earned her new title, “Bad Ass Momma.”

We wheeled this Bad Ass Momma in a wheelchair up to the fourth-floor NICU and down the long hallway to the very last room on the left. Of course, her room was purple. How surreal it all felt.

Over the next seven days, we held her, sang to her, read her books, took pictures, made handprints and footprints on everything we could think of.

We played worship music nonstop in her room so we could feel the presence of our Savior.

And we hoped and prayed and pleaded and begged for a miracle.

Mimi and Violet

We also suffered through medical reports and test results that showed her tiny body was not functioning like it should.

We pleaded with God on our knees. We begged. We made promises. We sobbed. We yelled.

And we looked into her beautiful face and told her we loved her forever and always. She was always in someone’s arms: her Momma, her Daddy, Mimi, Bop, aunts, and uncles.

We told her about each one of her cousins and how much they all loved her.

Her Bop had been looking so forward to holding her hand, and as he held her in his strong arms, she wrapped her tiny hand around his finger—another gift from God.

Oh, how we longed and hoped to take her on walks, ride horses with her, play in the lake, show her the Wyoming sunsets, tell her stories, give her too much ice cream, and teach her about Jesus.

But it wasn’t to be so. She was going to meet Him before us, a harsh reality no one should have to face.

On the last night of her life here on earth, I went to the chapel in the hospital. There was no one there but God, and I got down on my knees to plead some more.

I saw five angels, all clad in gold armor, who walked through the front door into the hospital. They walked in formation, got on the elevator, and went up to the fourth floor. They walked down the long hallway, all the way to the end of the hall.

They slid the glass door to Violet’s room open. All the nurses watched them, but no one said a word because they all knew who they were.

As they entered Violet’s room, her daddy was holding her. The fifth angel stepped up from the back and put his hands on Jace’s shoulders. He said, “Well done, brave warrior.”

Violet’s earthly daddy kissed her and handed her to the angel. Ever so gently and with protection, the armored angel held her as they walked down the long hallway and out the front door. Up they went on the stairs into the clouds and through Heaven’s gate.

Violet’s incredible daddy was insistent that he would be the one to hand her to Jesus. He got his wish in one of the bravest acts I have ever seen.

Violet was due on July 27^th. She was born on 7/7/25 (2+5=7).  She lived 7 days…to the hour!

The number 7 has strong meaning in God’s word. It represents God’s plan and the completeness of His divine purposes.

Seven emphasizes God’s power. That seven days seemed a message from God telling us this was His plan. Our shattered hearts knew this might be His answer.

Ultimately, she was healed, just not on the side of heaven we had hoped for.

It felt crushing to drive away from the hospital on July 14^th, like we were leaving her there. We had to keep reminding each other that she was not there, but safe in the arms of Jesus.

Her Momma and Daddy are broken; they will never be the same, but Violet will be with them forever, and her purposes will continue to reveal themselves as we all surrender to God’s will and understand that we have no control over any of it.

I have never truly been to the point of surrender to God as the place Violet brought me to. As painful as it is I am thankful.

The hardest part? Going on with life. The willingness to trust and accept God’s plan amid anguish is the most difficult test of faith.

The courage Violet’s parents displayed was beyond anything I have ever seen. God trusted them with this assignment and I know for sure that there are very few who will be called to such a difficult mission.

We now look for signs from God that He loves us and that He will continue to walk with us through this valley. And signs He has sent.

Jace has a small garden box that he has worked diligently on all summer. Roslan pestered him to pull some green plants that seemed to be overtaking the box, but Jace refused, saying he wanted to see what they would be.

The brothers watered the garden the week Roslan and Jace spent at Children’s, and those green plants just kept growing.

The day they arrived home Roslan pulled back the curtain, and in that garden were those green plants that had bloomed into Violet Bluebells!

A beautiful sign from God that Violet is safe and sound, and they will see her again.

Violet Bluebells

The color Violet will always represent our Violet and how she rocked our faith, calling us all to a place we never knew we could survive. We are doing it for her.

We will live the rest of our lives holding each baby a little longer, being less impatient with the small annoyances, and lingering in the fleeting moments, such as smelling a toddler’s breath or feeling their chubby hand in ours.

Thank you God for letting us hold her and look into her eyes. I believe you gave us that as an answer to our prayers.

Thank you, Violet, for all you gave us and all you will continue to show us. Even though we look a little weedy right now, we trust we will all grow into something beautiful as our shattered pieces are put back together.

We will never be the same, but your light will always shine through those places.

Seven short days of life that forever changed the hearts, faith, and lives of so many.

We love you Violet Mary Diane Marx!

See you soon!

Violet's Memorial

Read the previous blog post about our story: The Miracle