On Mother’s Day 2004 I made the silly mistake of going to church.
By that time my husband Peter and I had been floundering in the stormy sea of infertility for over two years, and I was tired. Depression was weighing me down—anger, too—as we rode wave after wave. The monthly swell of hope, then the crash of despair. The flailing of weary limbs and the gasping for air. The trying desperately not to drown.
The repeated prayer. “If You love me, why won’t you give us a child?”
In an effort to avoid babies and mothers and pregnant people, I had almost stopped attending church altogether.
Yet, on that Sunday, something compelled me to go…
I’m honored that this post is featured today on the (in)courage blog.
CLICK HERE to read the rest of the story about my rocky relationship with Mother’s Day
and the glorious healing of our Lord Jesus Christ!
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