The Barren Cry

My Story

My story isn’t necessarily about infertility—the pain, the endless longing, the disappointment, and the isolation. You know that story all too well, don’t you? You get it because only those who have traversed this perilous path can truly understand the gravity of its desolation. Infertility, as cruel as it can be, is also unique in the way it powerfully bonds the hearts of those who ache with barrenness or have experienced the loss of a child. It creates an exclusive sisterhood of sorts—a ragtag team of weary warriors who alone can grasp your perpetual affliction. But the height of my infertility was one of many things that brought me to the brink of despair in 2015. I can’t tell you how many times my husband and I were both in and out of the hospital that year, how many life or death moments we endured, and how many times I sat in a numb daze of terror over the thought of losing my husband or never having a child and a family to call my own. Ironically enough, the “Word of the Year” we both chose for 2015 was joy—a laughable word as we wrestled with grief, depression, and anxiety as a result of a myriad of circumstances. But through the anguish of our suffering, we were compelled to discover the joy of our salvation in Christ.

The overarching story for me isn’t purely my heartbreak of barrenness but rather the transformation of my faith. I never ever want to relive our “Year of Death” as we call it, but as arduous as it was it is also infinitely precious to me because in my utter brokenness I was made alive. In the deepest darkness I found light. Hannah’s prayer recites, “The Lord brings death and makes alive; he brings down to the grave and raises up.” (1 Samuel 2:6) I read this over and over in the valley of despair. It was my barren cry—my pleading with the Lord for relief, for understanding, for redemption. And I found it, Friends: the hope when all is lost and an eternal perspective when your world around you is crumbling. I found peace in the hurricane of hopelessness. I pray my journey of faith gives you courage and resolve in your search for truth as well.

So, here it is. Here is the take away from my grueling wanderings through the barren wilderness, the bottom line that changed everything and restored my faith. Ready for it?

God is good despite our circumstances.

That’s it! As simple as it sounds, that one sentence drastically changed my outlook in the valley of death. It’s what life really boils down to, right? The answer to our deepest and most profound questions: suffering, death, tragedy, feeling abandoned by God, and ultimately forgotten. He is continually working for our good while the torrent of pain that assails us causes us to question everything. Even when we don’t feel it, He is behind the scenes working in our favor.

Let me tell you this, though; it took me a long while to get there. I was so angry and confused at the intense spiritual oppression and physical affliction we experienced. Muddling through my perception of God in the seeming punishment of my suffering was a hard space to work out my faith in, but truly is there any other way? Our faith is tested and refined in the fire—matured and seasoned in a way our untested self could not even begin to comprehend. Honestly, one of the hardest parts during my journey was realizing that even though I desperately tried to draw near to God, He felt light-years away. Though I prayed and I prayed and I cried out, I felt increasingly abandoned from the God I thought I knew so well. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.” (Psalm 22:1-2 ESV)

My husband Lane and I, in the heaviest part of our suffering, committed to a biblical fast: 21 days of focused praying and pleading with the Lord. We did this because it was either get healing and reprieve or die. That was 2015, the year we now jokingly refer to as “The Year of Death,” as I mentioned before. I don’t say that with melodramatic flair. We were literally at the precipice of life or death physically and spiritually. Retrospectively, I can piece it all together: the way God’s hand was moving in our lives, the way He used our pain to prompt us to pray for others and enter their journey, the empathy I have now gained for those going through similar situations, and finally the incredibly powerful way He showed up, spoke to me directly, and told me my child was coming (by her full name I might add). I saw what a powerfully underutilized tool prayer was in my life. When you ask God to show up, it might not be immediate or an answer you fully understand at the moment but hang onto your hat, because He is going to appear in an extraordinarily monumental way.

To give you insight into my background, I was raised by two loving Christian parents in a conservative Baptist household, and I vividly remember accepting the Lord into my heart at five years old. It’s uncanny how I can recall beyond a shadow of a doubt the Holy Spirit speaking to my tender, childlike heart during the altar call. I grew into the strong woman that I am today and rank a three on the Enneagram (Achiever), nicknamed by friends as “The Doer,” don’t-let-grass-grow-beneath-my-feet Type A, etc. You get the point, right? Along with that type of personality and a Baptist upbringing is a subconscious cause and effect. Basically, I work hard and I am rewarded. So you can imagine that my relationship with God followed parallel paths. Unknowingly, I had put Him into this box of a performance-based relationship and it really tied up nicely with a perfectly coiffed “prosperity gospel” bow on top. I do good things and God honors me with blessings, which for most of my life leading up through 2014 was the case. I was successful and accomplished in almost everything I had put my mind to. I also married my college sweetheart and true soul mate. He’s the real deal! OK, so fast-forward five years into our marriage and you can imagine our shock when “The Year of Death” hit; and, let me tell you, it shook us to our core.