Thy Will Be Done

He gives me the look again. The one that is part questioning if I’m okay and part expecting to already see the tears. As my husband, he knows me better than I know myself... even when I manage to squeak out an “I’m okay” and try to make it sound meaningful, he knows.

I just told him my best friend was pregnant. In a year when the world has gone crazy, this should be a joyous moment. It should be a conversation that starts with “Hey, guess who is pregnant?” And ends with “wow, that’s great, congrats to them.”

But not here. Not at our house. Not for me. Not when you deal with infertility.

Every single pregnancy announcement, every new birth, every baby shower invite, every time I walk through the baby section of a store, all the Facebook gender reveals... every seemingly happy moment in someone’s life... just feels like a punch in the gut.

People know it, and they do their best to tip-toe around it. They do all that they can to try to soften the blow. The ones closest to me always approach it with so much love, and it means a lot that they care enough to buffer their happy moments, even though they shouldn’t have to.

Others try to justify it. I think they feel like if they make it make sense, it will hurt less.

“At least you have one child”

“God will give you what you need”

“You never expected to have any.. at least you got one”

They mean well, I know they do. But it still hurts.

Yet, the worst pain still comes when I see people, undeserving of children, that have them. Women who hurt their children. Kids abused and left alone or worse murdered and discarded. Women who abort them because they don’t want them, but continue the lifestyle that created the baby in the first place. Babies born addicted to drugs.

And I ask myself why.

“Why can these peoples bodies make babies and mine can’t?” 

I never can find the answer, so I question God. No matter how strong my faith... in the end I have no one else to ask. And in the darkest of times... when there is no other answer, I have even blamed God.

I have begged and pleaded on my knees in prayer. I have cried myself to sleep silently asking him please to give me what my heart and soul so longingly desire. Hoping for an answer. Longing for a yes. But God doesn’t always give us what we want. 

Hillary Scott sings a song, and in one verse it says:

“I don't wanna think, I may never understand, that my broken heart, is a part of your plan. When I try to pray, all I've got is hurt, and these four words. Thy will be done.
I know you're good, but this don't feel good right now, and I know you think of things I could never think about, its hard to count it all joy, distracted by the noise, just  trying to make sense, of all your promises. Sometimes I gotta stop, remember that you're God, And I am not.”


I will be 38 in two days. Though it’s not old, I’m reaching the end of an age when having a baby is safe.. or even possible. I see it drawing near and it just increases the panic and sadness.

But no matter the hurt... no matter the loss... I know God already knows the future and he has great plans for me. I recently reread Jeremiah 29:11. We all know the verse-

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

But I had never truly read it and applied it to my life. Put it side by side with my situation. Reminded myself that Gods answers don’t always make sense to us, but we have to trust anyway.

We have one more year of trying. One more year that we can take medicines, and see doctors, and spend loads of money on trying to have a child.

And for the next year my motto will be simply this...

Thy Will Be Done...