The great ache


It’s no secret now that I am expecting; I’m currently 7 months pregnant. I can genuinely say that, as I expected, each and every day feels like we’re in a dream. It’s truly unbelievable that this is happening to us, and still unfathomable that we may really hold this boy in September and he will forever be a part of our family. However unimaginable that is to you, dear reader, it still feels to me, as I sit here with a bump and am piecing together a little nursery.

I still don’t know for sure how long this blog will continue. God keeps providing things to write and share, so I keep posting them. But I won’t pretend that I will forever have relevant words to speak into the despair in the hearts of barren women. I will always care deeply, and always have the wisdom and insight I gained from my experience, but my lessons in life will keep developing and changing and so will the fresh thoughts I have to offer.

There is one thing that clings to my heart that I’ve been wanting to write about.


While I know that as the months and years go on, I will forget many parts of infertility and think of it less, there is one aspect that will always stick with me. I still feel it anew when I hear about or meet a woman struggling with infertility. It’s that terrible, deep aching that no one else can understand unless they’ve been through it, too.

Though I did not struggle with jealousy, by God’s grace, I remember that great ache when someone would post a pregnancy announcement or new baby photo on Facebook. It was a pain that instantly pierced my heart. Sometimes I moved on from there, and sometimes my soul would whisper to the Lord, “Will it ever be us??”

I recall last summer as we were still waiting for Him and praying through treatment options (which we later did, without success), some days we spent visiting family when I, for some reason, could not shake the ache all day. Little did they all know that just an inch beneath my surface I was absolutely dying. If the right (or wrong) words had been said, I would’ve burst into tears in an instant. The ache was haunting me.

Many, many mornings I would wake up with the ache. Will it be today, Lord? I would wonder. And more often, going to bed, my husband and I would ache together, praying in sobs that mercy would finally come soon. Just say something, Lord. We are dying down here. 

When I hear about a woman’s infertility, that’s the first thing I think of — that ache. How, even fighting obsession and keeping her eyes fixed on Christ, it can be so hard not to think about it some days. Even taking all of your joy from the Lord, the sadness can hang over like a cloud.

The truly hardest part for me was not knowing if it would ever end. So few trials in life could be endless, but this one had real potential. Would the ache be there forever? Will I have to just get over it? Is that even possible? I would look at older, childless couples and wonder if the ache was still there. Or did their mercy just come in the removal of the ache?

But what sweetness in knowing that others know our burdens, and even more so – that God feels our ache. Now that we’re in a different season, I feel closer with the Lord, knowing He always knew that silent ache that most others never saw at all. I know it’s hard to feel right now, but He really knows your heart. He is walking beside you and aching with you and holding the better plan in His hands. And I’m so sorry for your aching — mercy is on its way, my friend. I’m no one to know how or when, but hold on to hope!


4 thoughts on “The great ache

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