in the midst

Today’s post is by Lauren @ A Cup of Bliss. She also writes a blog about trying to conceive @ Tear Drops Falling. This isn’t a story of dreams fulfilled, but rather a story of life in the midst of infertility. It is so important to take time to recognize the sorrows that so often accompany this journey. 

in the midst // Infertility Awareness Week

Some days there aren’t words. Other times they won’t stop coming. Gushing. Pouring forth. Like a swollen creek, gurgling and tumbling free.

Sometimes, the heart is too full for what the page can hold.

Even as a writer. A chronic journal-keeper. A Christian woman. A wife. Sometimes, there just aren’t words.

Such as the day that a doctor brazenly comments that God must not be a woman because He wouldn’t allow infertility to happen “to one of His own.”’

Or the day that a nutritionist explains that you may never have children without miraculous intervention.

Or the days you see bleeding red despite invasive, painful medical treatments.

Or the nights of grief that mix in congruently with mornings of hope.

That is what infertility can do.

It renders a once-full woman empty or transforms a tranquil peace into gripping longing.

Like Hannah, I pour out my soul with bitter weeping. Like Sarah, I laugh at the promise of miracles. Like Elizabeth, I  shelter myself away until that same promise of miracles comes to pass. Like countless women around me, I yearn to hear the words “Mama” from a toddler’s lisping babblings.

This week, after a failed IVF, the cramps still double me over in pain. The heartache of my lost three-week-old embryo causes me to weep. This week there aren’t words, so I choose to share with you a blog post from my anonymous infertility blog, Tear Drops Falling that I wrote at the beginning of 2012 when my TTC (trying to conceive) journey was just beginning. I pray that my transparency and my journey blesses you, even as I admit to my own brokenness by simply sharing a patchwork of posts.


January 2012

And, so my journey continues. A hallow of dawn rises to meet my gaze outside my cold classroom window. Sitting at my desk with a tall carafe of coffee, I muse over where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going. Perusing the comments left on my blog, I am in awe of the support and community already drawing together to stand firm, to be weak, to rejoice, and to weep together. Thank you for rallying around me. Thank you for being honest. Thank you for joining me down this road of infertility.

I pray that the sweet peace of Christ envelopes you today. May you be wrapped in His outstretched arms. Sit and rock in His lap. Come to Him like a child. Maybe listen to worship music or just ponder in silence. Know that you are loved by the King of Kings.

Let me share with you another piece, another day, from my past. Posted in Fall 2011, this was only the second time that I had publicly written about infertility. Let the grief and hope resonate in your heart this morning, as I know these emotions often wrack your own hearts . . .


Fall 2011

Instead of being outstretched in worship during chapel, I found my arms wrapped around my body and the empty feelings resonating inside my core again. Empty, so empty. Tears coursed down my cheeks, as a fellow teacher moved over to embrace me. She held my hand in an acknowledgement of shared pain.

“You’re not in a good place, are you?” she queried, not expecting an answer. “I know my Lauren. When she is not just about floating on the ceiling while singing, something is not right.”

No, I’m not in a good place. I had hoped to keep this painful part of my life from coloring the published entries in this blog. When I created “A Cup of Bliss,” coffee and cafe reviews seemed like a reasonable subject to write about. Teaching also fit the bill as an educational topic full of funny anecdotes. Reflections on grad school even seemed like a more productive, uplifting area of my life to discuss versus this shadow of disappointment clouding my vision. My prayer journal is filled with enough of my agonizing cries.

To no avail. Today, I want answers. Tomorrow, I might be okay. But, tonight, I want to stop wishing, hoping, and fearing. In my efforts to distract myself and give my sorrow to Christ, I am finding time-consuming activities, but not healing.

Sometimes it is okay to not be okay. As I continue to wrestle with infertility and God’s timing, I find myself doing more research on treatment alternatives yet unexplored. The search is exhausting. Possibilities are endless, but finding a solution is like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack. Nutritionists, doctor, and now chiropractor have all offered remedies that so far have fallen flat. Most have made me more sick and miserable than I felt before attempting the recommended regimen. It seems that I find the courage to hope just to have my dreams dashed again and again and again.

Usually, I’ve hidden the description of my symptoms and negative reactions from the outside world. I’m good at faking it. Trying to get pregnant is supposed to be a private, wondrous affair. It is not supposed to be a public debacle. This empty, empty road was not one that I wanted to walk. But, walking it I am.

Walk with me if you dare. I know that I’m not alone. My body aches with the desire to curl up in a ball and sob. Till there are no more tears. Till hope is restored. Till a miracle happens. Tonight, I am anything but brave and courageous. Tonight, emptiness echoes off the confines of my barren body and lonely arms.


Tonight, a year and a half after these blog posts, emptiness once again threatens to consume. However, my heart is more and more surrendered to the plans of my Savior. I will continue to step out in faith and walk on water with Christ until hope is fully realized.

It is okay to be a Christian woman and not understand. Even three years into this journey, it is still okay to not be okay.

 Author Bio: Lauren is a teacher, writer and wife. In her  words, “My journey has in no way been straight nor easy, marred as it has been by anorexia, perfectionism, the rape of a dear friend, depression, and, now, infertility. Still, I press on. I dance with no rhythm. I cry with abandon. I love wholeheartedly. I sing with no tune. I write passionately. I love the students and the friends that Christ has blessed me with. I am becoming whole.”

You can follow her story through her blog or by liking her facebook page. 

Infertility Awareness Week

Friends, would you take a moment to write a prayer for Lauren in the comments?

As she has so graciously opened her heart to us, let’s bless her in return, hmm?


11 thoughts on “in the midst

  1. Dear Father, I pray that You would comfort and encourage Lauren as she travels this difficult road. Help her to trust and to rest, as You are helping me, in the assurance that You have a perfect plan for our lives – – even if that plan never includes children of our own. Help her to have confidence in Your skill as a healer, a miracle worker, a great and mighty Saviour. Help her to step back from all her trying and fixing and heartbreaking efforts to simply allow You to work. Give us all grace to serve You with these temples, and help us to allow You to be the One that issues forth life from them. In Jesus’ name.


  2. Dear Lauren,

    I don’t know, really, your particular pain… but I know my own, and I can enter yours in part. I know what it’s like to not be okay. I know what it’s like for things to not make sense at all. I know of dreams dying, hopes being crushed. But I also know, like you, of God’s goodness in the middle of it all, and of the deeper and deeper surrender. It hurts–really, really hurts. But it’s worth it, in the end–to have less of us, more of Him. This is the short part… soon, we will be with Him, forever.

    Oh, God, thank you. Thank You that You know–that You were a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. Thank you that you are here, with us. Always. Thank you for leading us through our pain into fuller and fuller surrender. Thank You that You do it out of love. I pray in particular for Lauren–increase her faith and love for You. Let her see You as her all–Let her find her peace and joy in You, simply You. Show her the beauty that is found even in pain… and give her hope that it will not always be winter. Spring will come. We love You. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.


  3. I’m praying for you, Lauren. I’ve been through the journey, and I understand the pain. All of our stories are unique to each one, but the grief which accompanies infertility and pregnancy loss translates the same to each soul who experiences it.
    I pray peace and wholeness to rise out of brokenness. God is faithful:).


  4. I know there are no words that I can say to lessen the pain; it’s all too familiar. But please know that I will be praying for you, for peace especially. *hugs*


  5. Dear Lord,
    You know Lauren’s pain and heartache. You know the longings of her heart and the depth of her despair. And most wonderful, Lord, you know her name–you call her “Mine.” You claim her as your dear daughter. And you weep with her. You beckon her to come into your embrace–to find rest and healing in the only arms that can offer it. Father God, comfort Lauren in this time of intense grief, bring her your peace and the hope that surpasses all understanding. Help her to trust in your faithfulness, despite how things look through her human eyes or understanding. All of this is prayed in Jesus precious name. Amen.


  6. Thanks for sharing these words, you heart, with us!
    I will be praying for you. That you may really experience the Lord’s presence with you in your heartache and your pain. That you may continue to grow ever closer to Him and that He shows you more and more of His heart. His love for you. x


  7. Lord, I thank you so much for your beautiful daughter, and for the gift that she is to this earth. I thank you for all of the talents that you’ve given her to bless the church and to reach the lost. Lord, you know the path her life has taken her… you know the ups and downs and the hurts she faces. Be near to her. Bless her with a HUGE awareness of your presence, with a deep desire for your voice- and Lord, let your joy bubble out of her. Bring her ever nearer… Further up, and further in, you know.


  8. Thank you for your words and sharing your heart. Today has been one of those days for me–realization that I am not ok (just as you said above) and that I might need help from others to get through this. I found your blog through A Royal Daughter, look forward to getting to know you!


  9. Jesus? I come to you tonight on behalf of a sweet Sister who’s heart is aching with loss and confusion. I can tell that she wants to trust you and be brave through this journey. Help her to rest in your love and to wait patiently for whatever is your very best for her. It’s so hard Lord. Please give her peace, comfort and a little extra light to guide her along the Isaiah 42:16 path ahead of her in these days. And Lord…above all, please help her to continue to reach up to you, out to us and across to others who need to hear Your voice through her…to never, ever shrink back from this place thinking no one wants to hear or care. You do…we do. And we love you Lord….in the powerful name of Jesus I pray…Amen


  10. Pingback: In the midst | Tear Drops Falling

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