The power of intent

April 5, 2025

Four years ago today, I gave birth to identical twin girls in La Jolla, California, in the depths of the COVID-19 pandemic. We called them Allegra Delphine Murdock and Bijoux Celine Murdock.

After 35 weeks and three days of being in relationship with “Baby A” and “Baby B” inside my body, I felt I knew them as A and B, so it seemed essential to assign them names that matched their identity. I laugh at this now, but it made so much sense at the time, Allegra and Bijoux were the only A and B names on my list.

The note in my phone of potential baby names had been growing for nearly 10 years; I had deeply yearned to be a mother for over 10 years. I felt victimized and traumatized by how unfair it was that so many drug addicts and child molesters could have kids and I couldn’t.

Why was the world so unfair? I was healthy, in a stable relationship, had a beautiful home, and was so ready to receive a baby to love. Actually, I was pretty clear I wanted more than one baby; but after the saga of going through fertility treatments for a decade, I was at the end of my rope when A and B came along. I had let go of the dream I had held earlier in the journey to have twins and was praying, “Please, God, just let me be a mother.” I knew deep in my bones this was something I was meant to do.

In April of 2021, I became a mother of two beautiful girls. Of course, I cried then, and I cry now every time I do things with our girls that I had dreamed about doing all the time I was trying to get pregnant.

Walking around ACES at Hallam Lake or Rock Bottom Ranch exploring nature with my two little people just blows my mind every time. Swimming at the Aspen Rec Center floating in the lazy river, eating ice cream on the corner in the sunshine at Paradise Bakery together, riding the gondola together looking at the skiers telling them we’ll be skiing down this mountain together in no time, endless rides on Panda Peak at Buttermilk learning “pizza” and “French fries.” Dreams!

All of these experiences were my dreams, and I get to live my dreams each day I see their faces. I don’t know if I will ever forget how hard it was for me to get to these moments; I want to let that part go, the struggle. What I don’t ever want to forget is the absolute unwavering intent I had to be a mother and what I learned about myself in the process of not getting what I wanted for so long.

Coming to a place of surrender doesn’t come easily. We humans want to fix and do and create. We don’t much like to let go, to surrender. What Bijoux and Allegra taught me, and our little angel baby Uno before them, was that unbending intent and absolute surrender create miracles. 

I remember with Uno, many years before Bijoux and Allegra came along, calling a close friend who was also newly pregnant, exclaiming that I was pregnant, too. Our kids would grow up together. What a dream. My excitement and awe at finally becoming pregnant was enormous. I was so full, so happy, so grateful, so ready. Before Uno had implanted, I had created a shrine to this one and only, the embryo that had made it through genetic testing in that round of IVF. I had always wanted more than one child, and by that point, I was getting OLD and decided this one embryo needed to turn to into two. I had a vision board full of identical twins, love notes to the spirits of these babies, and I prayed and meditated every day. I was so happy to be pregnant, but I so deeply wanted the experience of having more than one child join our family and felt this was likely my last chance.

Uno came, and he went. He didn’t turn into two. He turned to zero. Emptiness consumed me. I experienced the deepest sorrow of my life. It felt so unfair, and yet, strangely, there was also a feeling of elation that crept in. I had not wanted to, but losing this baby led me to surrender. Finally. Surrendering the needing and wanting left me feeling so free even in my sorrow. It felt I had one foot in this world of sadness and disappointment and one foot in another magical place. I could see things; I spoke to the stars, and they responded by shooting across the sky. I had a secret language with the universe that could only be decyphered by my sincerity of letting go of knowing anything. The more I let go, the more I could commune with the magic.

I had no fight left, only the question without a need to know the answer. “I know I am meant to be a mother, and I don’t know how. Show me.” I went back to helping orphans in far off places; I became a CASA volunteer to advocate for the kids going through the foster care system locally. All I knew was my desire to mother was not a mistake. It was in me for a reason. And I kept asking the question and listening and learning. 

One day, another embryo implanted. I wasn’t event thinking to ask for twins. I could not make that mistake again to ask for so much.

Eight weeks into the pregnancy, the ultrasound nurse said, “There are two.”

She said it not with a thousand exclamation points as you would expect. She assumed my fertility doctor had implanted two embryos, which is so common in IVF.

“What?” I asked.

“There are two,” she said, pointing at the two dots on the screen. 

Unbending intent and surrender are a recipe for miracles. If we ever need a miracle in our society, it is now. I know we are not going to manifest a miracle for our planet and for the beings who inhabit it by insisting that some people are wrong and others are right and fighting endlessly about it. The more we focus on what is wrong, the more we miss creating what is right.

Miracles are the language of the universe. The universe literally means ONE SONG. What is the song we are going to sing? It feels impossible to harmonize with all of the divided and demonic forces empowered by hate and division everywhere we look, but what if we just start singing? What if we start singing that song of unity and love?

Sing it in your head, then sing it in your household; sing it in your neighborhood, and maybe some other people will start singing it, too. Miracles exist. And we are the makers of miracles when we believe in our dreams and the power of intent.

This post originally appeared in my monthly column in The Aspen Times.