Hope in the Waiting
There’s a kind of grief that doesn’t have a funeral. No one sends flowers. No one takes off work. No one really knows what to say. It’s just there. Quiet. Monthly. Personal. Infertility has been that kind of grief for us. It’s the kind that shows up in bathroom tears and whispered prayers. The kind that makes you hold your breath every month, only to exhale in disappointment. The kind that forces you to wrestle with God in ways you never expected. And if I’m honest, this isn’t the only version of “worse” we never imagined. When we stood before God and promised “for better or worse,” we didn’t picture ovulation tests on the counter. We didn’t picture long stretches of waiting. And we definitely didn’t picture Jacob being sick, in and out of hospital rooms, meeting with specialists, sitting beside beds on and off for years. That wasn’t in the dream either. We didn’t imagine that so early in our marriage we would learn the language of doctors. Or that we would have to fight for joy in ste...