To my sister suffering beneath the weight of infertility,

to the one whose heart is crushed month after month, left in an endless cycle of waiting-

to the one whose whole strength goes into holding it together in the face of another pregnancy announcement-

to the one whose bitterness feels unbearable, whose joy has been stolen and faith crippled by this cross-

I think there is a sweet hope and precious promise meant just for you- and it is found in perhaps an unlikely place, in the story of St. Thomas’ doubt which we hear accounted for in the Gospels.

Poor St. Thomas- still remembered two thousand years later for the doubt he displayed in the face of the Resurrection. I used to look at his story from a place of pride and wonder how He could ever doubt the God-man He walked alongside through so much. But then I was given a diagnosis: secondary infertility; and my scorn turned to understanding. It suddenly made painfully clear sense- how a disciple so close to the heart of Christ could struggle with such profound doubt.

In my 25 years of life, I had seen suffering and known hurt. I had grieved the loss of loved ones, mourned the disintegration of friendships, felt the stab of heartbreak and walked through the uncertainty of lost opportunities and closed doors. In all of this, nothing has had the power of shaking my faith and distancing me from my Jesus the way infertility did.

It was never that I questioned God’s sovereignty- I prayed every day for the miracle I knew without a doubt He was powerful enough to give. It was His character that I began to doubt; it was my conviction that He loved me and was working all things for good which wavered beneath the weight of my aching heart. And in the midst of that raw pain- the Enemy of goodness began sowing his lies.

I began to believe them….the things I heard whispered in the back of my heart…’that if I were a better mother to the son I have, that if I were a more faithful disciple…then maybe I could earn God’s favor…that this was just “my cross” and God’s expectation was that I grin and bear it as He needn’t busy Himself with what I was feeling and experiencing.’

My subconscious acceptance of these falsehoods slowly turned to bitterness as I began to compare my life to those around me. All across my social media feeds, pregnancy announcements emerged, within my job I was met with the reality of women seeking abortion when all I wanted was to be able to conceive and I felt deep in my bones the shock of knowing that the family I had pictured and planned may never come to pass.

I felt so hurt.

And it was within this hurt and healing from it that I read the gospel account of doubting Thomas with new eyes.

Thomas must have felt so hurt, too.

He had walked alongside Jesus, too, after all. He had been counted among His dearest friends. He had been there, huddled alongside his faith community after living through the total devastation of the crucifixion and the uncertainty and fear which marked the days following.

But He wasn’t there when Jesus came…when Jesus chose to come. He wasn’t counted among those the Resurrected Lord appeared to- He wasn’t bid peace by the voice of the risen Savior. Others were given that gift…but not Him. He was left out.

I imagine that the Enemy sought Thomas in His vulnerable longing to experience the Lord in the same way those around Him had, and began whispering… “you’re not enough Thomas…maybe Jesus just didn’t want to appear to you...”

And maybe Thomas mulled over the lies until they were all he heard…until he was angry.

Until he saw the gift of the Resurrection, of New Life, as something meant for others and not for Him.

Maybe his heart ached and his faith reeled…not because He didn’t believe in Jesus’ sovereignty, but because he was no longer sure how to believe in His goodness- when it seemed to be something he had been excluded from.

Maybe that’s what fueled the seemingly bitter assertion given to his fellow apostles- “I won’t believe unless…”

Perhaps the words came from the loneliness and isolation he felt as a wearied soul surrounded by vibrant belief- his mourning set against the background of rejoicing. It’s a lonely place to be.

That was where I found myself 13 months into trying without success to conceive. I fell on my knees before Jesus in adoration, my tears hitting the carpet beneath me. As He gazed upon my pain, He whispered to the depths of my heart “I am goodness.”

I didn’t understand, right in that moment, why it mattered so much that I believe Jesus’ words…or even why these were the words He bade me amidst so painful a cross.

The deep healing came in the following weeks, when I jet set the across the country to a Blessed is She retreat , where I encountered the risen Lord in all of His goodness and glory in a way that I never had before.

I cannot completely explain the healing that took place (and words would never do it justice), I can only say that the veil of doubt was torn from my eyes in Love’s reckless pursuit of my heart. The lies I had begun to believe about who I am and who God is were put to their shame. I came to see that my hurt could not supersede God’s goodness. I experienced firsthand the truth- that He can fulfill and satisfy beyond our longings and make the desert a place of abundance.

This is the hope for us then, sisters.

Jesus pursues.

Just as He did through the locked doors of that upper room, through the closed walls of Thomas’ heart. Jesus enters. He gives Thomas what His heart so desires- an encounter of His goodness- and more. He places Thomas’ shaking hands to his wounds and in doing so, assures Thomas of His faithfulness. Not just that He has truly appeared, but that He has truly conquered death…not just that He has returned, but that He never left in the first place.

And then Jesus tells Him, “Blessed are those who have not seen and still believe.”

I used to think this was an admonishment of Thomas’ doubt. But now, through the eyes of one who has been healed, I see it as a promise.

“Even in your hurt, know that I am trustworthy. I am good. I am willing good for you. Even in your doubt, I am pursuing you to the ends of the earth. Even in the stillness and loneliness of an unfulfilled request, I am blessing you. I can heal you- if you let me.”

Look up to Jesus, sister. Let your pain and your anger and your doubt spill out before Him. Don’t flinch when He reaches for your hand and places it in His side. Don’t hesitate when He scoops your woundedness into the folds of His own. Fall into Him.

I can’t promise you in what way Jesus will transform your story or what goodness He will draw from your deepest place of suffering- only that He will.

He can’t help it. It’s who He is.

And even though it may feel like you’ve fallen through the cracks- you must know- He wants you to know– that you are far too precious in His sight to fall to a place where He doesn’t see every part of you and love you all the more.

So, to my sister suffering beneath the weight of infertility, know that He has come to give you life, and give it to you in abundance.

Let Him crush the cold voice that whispers to your heart the falsehood that this promise isn’t meant for you. The Holy Spirit, the advocate who cries out on your behalf, assures you that this promise is uniquely yours- that Jesus never left you, and that He never will. In your darkest heartache, His love is YOURS, to cover you, to shelter you, to fight for you, to HEAL you.