Bring both the disappointment and the gratitude to God. Let him ask the questions you’d rather avoid and trust him with the outcomes you wanted but didn’t get.

Looking in the face of our Savior transforms us from fractured mirrors to whole, clean reflections. 

God has not asked me to trust him because I understand what he is up to; he's asked me to trust him because he's trustworthy and good.

Death reminds us that the world is not as it should be. And if we let it, it shapes our hearts toward Jesus and eternity.

Our wasting away is indisputable; these earthly tents will perish. But our hope is not in this life but the next, not this body but our glorified one.

Make space to grieve, but watch for the ways Jesus faithfully shows up in those deep moments of grief.

In his special grace towards his children, the Lord goes even further. He not only allows objects to hold memories, but he also specifically builds our faith through them.

We must ask God to give us a heart that is willing to kneel down and weep with those who are weeping.

Our joy might be in a muted shade, but the Holy Spirit is working, and he can fill our hearts with settled confidence in him.

Maybe it’s in our deepest valleys and most broken places where Jesus meets us—not with relief or by pulling us out of our pain and suffering, but by simply holding us close, holding our faith.

Being honest, in light of all this, sometimes I struggle to believe that God sees and cares. But then Christmas gives me hope that he does see and care; and that he loves me after all.

My journey through infertility left me tattered, beaten, and unsure how to navigate life.