The poem I wish I had when my arms were empty and my womb felt hollow. . .
The physical pain of infertility can be just as sharp as the emotional suffering. But somewhere along the way, I realized I could nurture life without children. I could live life as though it had already begun (because it had). I was already settled into purpose and value, full of life.
I am ready for you to read Hope Gives a Eulogy (!!) because there will be poems that will just embolden you to GO FOR LIFE as it is. Pain in stride. Empty arms or not.
It’s a powerful gift when someone just lets your PAIN BE WHAT IT IS.
Not explaining it away, or saying, “Well, God must be doing this or that, or this other thing.”
My sister-in-law inspired the poem, Age, because she just sat with me in my pain, didn’t rush me out of it, called it out for the “forever” season it was, and genuinely hated infertility without trying to arm wrestle it into something good.
Infertility wasn’t good. It wasn’t a gift. God made beauty within it and despite it. I was filled with life, hope, and joy + received healing I was desperate for. . . but infertility itself remains a broken thing that is traumatic, sorrowful, and hard.
What a gift to learn I could love God with all of me, fully trust Him and live in hope from Him without ever trying to make infertility the good thing.
I could hate the pain without bitterness, grieve the loss extensively, and still completely love God.
I could experience His kindness without contorting His kindness into the brokenness of infertility.
Anything good I experienced during infertility is because God changed it. He made the childless story different. He gave the barren woman LIFE. He didn’t let infertility stay the story.