I was blessed to be born into a Christian family that always raised me in church. I won’t claim that I had a lot of Bible knowledge growing up, but that was because I didn’t search for it. Honestly, I don’t remember much about my time before I accepted Christ. It’s one of those salvations for me that doesn’t start with a horror story, but it does begin with death. The summer after 7th grade my grandma passed away. I loved her more than anyone and anything in the world. Her death was very difficult for me as a 12 year old because I had never seen anyone decline in health so quickly, and I had really never experienced death that I can remember. The week she passed away, I went directly from her funeral to church camp. To go from something that brought death into something that brought Life was an experience I’ll never forget.

That week at church camp was the most moved I have ever been in my life. I remember there was a time of prayer and only prayer. There was no music. There was no leader. It was just “bow your head and pray.” People were praying aloud all around me, and I honestly was thinking to myself there was NO WAY that I would embarass myself and participate. But then something struck me. It was in this movement around me that I truly encountered the Lord for the first time. I began to pray. All I could pray for was myself. My grief of losing my grandma. My family. My. My. My. But in that moment, I prayed also for my salvation. I asked the Lord into my heart because I knew He was real.

Here’s the sad part, though. I think maybe that summer I was on fire for God. After church camp every year I would try to start quiet time again daily. But I never made time for God. I went to high school and did all the Wednesday night church activities and summer things, but I never made time for God in my personal life. The same is true of my life when I went to college. Church was a weekly “check it off the list” and that makes me a good Christian. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a start. But I go back to my prayer conviction: did I spend time in prayer over those I loved? No. Did I worship Him in private? No. Did I live for God? No. I got married. My husband and I loved the Lord. We went to church. We sang the songs. And we continued on with our personal lives. OUR lives. Not the lives we were living for God. My life didn’t change based on my salvation. I was selfish in my faith, even if I didn’t know that I was. I wasn’t doing it on purpose. It wasn’t malicious or against God. I wasn’t hurting anyone else. But I definitely wasn’t furthering His kingdom.

Probably about a year into our marriage, we decided we wanted a family. We waited probably about 3 years before we realized something could be wrong. We decided to go to a fertility doctor to have everything checked out, and we were given the “diagnosis” of Unexplained Infertility. Basically nothing is medically wrong, but something isn’t right. It was hard to hear, but we weren’t ready to try treatments yet. We left defeated and not really knowing where to turn next.

At this point, we were feeling really broken down, but we kept on living our lives. We were frustrated with one another because we didn’t really know how to be honest about our pain in this situation. In 2018, we had been visiting Northside Baptist Church in Weatherford for about a year, so we went on Sunday just to check off of our list for the week. But this particular Sunday was different. There was a couple on stage sharing their connection to the song “I Raise a Hallelujah” with their walk through infertility. I don’t know what it was about their story or this moment, but it struck Kyle and I at the same time. We encountered Jesus together in that church that morning. We were both crying, and we felt like we were together in our grief for the first time in a few years. A banner for Hearts Like Hannah’s was displayed at this service, and Kyle and I decided to reach out and go.

I remember my first phone call with Britni Julian. I didn’t know her at all, but I dialed that number. She answered and welcomed me into their group that met once a month. I didn’t know anyone else who had gone through infertility or loss, and I had no idea what to expect. I was absolutely terrified to face the thing that hurt me the most.

I went to my first meeting so incredibly scared. We had a round table discussion in which everyone shared their stories with infertility and loss. I heard stories of miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, and infertility. I truly felt like I had a group of women around me that I was safe with. Britni said something in that meeting that I’ll never forget: “It took me a long time to say this. But I truly thank God for my infertility because it broke me and brought me closer to Him.”

Wow. What a statement. And it’s so incredibly true for me as well. Since that moment in church when Kyle and I encountered the Lord together, I have tried my best to live my life differently. I’m still a sinner. I still make mistakes and don’t live for Him perfectly. But if it weren’t for my infertility, would I have experienced God that day? Would I have actively looked for a group that would bless and grow me in my walk with Jesus? Would I have found my small group that I still attend today that pushes me to know and study the Bible?

However, choosing to love the Lord again didn’t end my suffering. In 2019, Kyle and I decided to pursue IUI. We were incredibly blessed, and we received our miracle baby in 2020. Life was blissful. Since I had always struggled with infertility, I never worried about getting pregnant after our first child was born. My outlook was: “If God wills it to happen, we will be so excited to go from a household of 3 to a household of 4.

Then in February of 2022, I found out I was pregnant, naturally! This was an incredible surprise. We were a little worried since our son wasn’t yet potty-trained, but mostly over-the-moon with excitement. However, only 7 weeks later, I began to have a miscarriage over Spring Break. I was wrecked, but overall, I took it as a sign that my body is not broken. As women, we are made to believe that we have one job in this life- to be mothers. So while I was absolutely shattered that I lost this miracle baby, I knew that God was showing me that I am more than what society tells me I need to be.

After we lost Baby P, we decided to try again for another baby in June of 2022. We went back to our fertility doctor in September after a few months of being unsuccessful in natural pregnancy. We did IUI again, but this time it failed. For the next round, we decided to do the medication only, and did not follow through with the entirety of IUI. After a hospital scare from a burst ovarian cyst, I found out I was pregnant from this round of medication!

We went along in our pregnancy. We heard the heartbeat multiple times, graduated from our fertility doctor to our “regular” OBGyn, and made it to the second trimester. We found out we were having a little girl, and we decided her middle name would be Ruth. We never quite got around to her first name, but we knew she would be strong, and we would raise her up to follow the Lord.

But at my 17 week appointment, we heard the words that no couple wants to hear. “I’m sorry, but there is no heartbeat today.” I don’t have a word for the brokenness that consumed me. It was all-encompassing. It broke every single piece of me. I had to go back to my life, untell my family, untell 100 high school students at my job as an educator, and take down the crib that was already set up in my baby girl’s room. We were referred to a specialist, and because of our daughter’s size, we had to have a D&E later that week- 3 days before Christmas.

During this loss, I was most thankful for my church community that surrounded me. People brought me meals, even when I tried to push them away. They brought us comforting items, tea, blankets, cups, and cards. The most meaningful words that were spoken to me in this time were, “What a beautiful thing that the first face Ruth saw was the face of Jesus.” Nothing brings me more comfort than knowing my daughter resides with her heavenly Father.

Since this loss in 2022, I have been unable to become pregnant again. I am still walking the road of infertility, but I know that God is the one who can lift me up when I am down. I know that He has provided me one beautiful child on earth who is enough for me. And even if I didn’t have my son, my Savior Jesus Christ is enough for me. Romans 8:28 says, “He is close to the brokenhearted and comforts those who are crushed in spirit.” This is one thing I know to be true.

Ruth now resides in a shadowbox we made for her after her remains were cremated. It includes a toy my grandmother bought her for Christmas before we knew she was gone, a blanket, bib, and pacifier my students bought for her before Christmas break began, an ultrasound picture, and a sweet ornament a dear friend of mine had made in her memory. Every year on her due date, May 29th, we honor her life by completing one random act of kindness for a stranger, and telling them about the life of Ruth and the life of Jesus.

Since I turned back to the Lord a few years ago, I have realized a few things. I can worship in the waiting. I can love the Lord when I am hurting. And I can share what he’s done in my life without all the knowledge of the Bible. I know God, and that is enough. Everyday I feel closer to Him as I worship. I feel closer to Him as I pray for the ones I love. Everyday I attempt to demonstrate my testimony by trying to live like Him. I try to love others. I try to love with the love of Jesus. I know I fail and mess up. I’m a broken person in a broken world, but I try. I could not make it through the loss of my two babies without the love of Jesus Christ. And I will live every day trying to love others in the way He loves me.

My story. For His glory. My infertility brought me back to Jesus. All things that have happened in my life will be used to further his Kingdom, and even though I feel the grief of my babies’ loss every day, I know that my salvation guarantees that I will be reunited with them one day.