“For the Lord will comfort [her]; He will comfort all her waste places. And He will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like…
The first of January marked 3 entire years since we’ve been locked in what has been for us a heart-breaking baby-making journey… 36 fruitless cycles….
There just aren’t words for this. This terribly private grief. This awkward pain that flares out like flash-fire every time another friend makes that beautiful announcement and you desperately want to feel ONLY happy for them, but instead the agony you try to live with quietly rises so sharply that it sucks out all the air, and you’re afraid it might obliterate you and everyone else in the room. Or possibly on the block. Or the planet.
There aren’t words for an ache this big.