A Letter to Those Who Long to be Parents

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This post has nothing to do with me or Adam, about where we are at, where we wish to be at, or anything about us really.

It’s words that have been sitting on my heart. Words I have been praying in the middle of the night (and that’s really something…I like my sleep!).

I can’t quite explain why I feel this burden to share these things, but I do…and so I will.


Dear Friend,
Your heart longs and yearns for what has not yet come to be.
Maybe you’ve prayed tearful prayers for months. Or possibly years. Maybe you’ve given up hope. Maybe you’ve peacefully resigned to a world far different than you imagined.
Perhaps you’ve gone to many doctors appointments, leaving confused and disappointed. Where you have wanted answers and explanations, you have come up empty handed. Where you wanted changes and results, you have only felt the breaking of your heart.
Surrounded by baby bumps and adorable infants, where joy is hard to come by and envy begins to take hold, you’re left wondering “is this my life?”  
Maybe you’re in a new season of grief. You’ve long since mourned the childbearing years and made your life really wonderful. And now…now your friends are becoming grandparents and you feel the void all over again.
You didn’t anticipate it hurting this much. 
I don’t have solutions. I don’t have answers. But I do pray for you, my friends. I notice, I pray, and I find my heart empathizing with emotions I didn’t know I could feel…and they run deep.
I do know what it’s like to want. To want desperately and painfully. To wish life would change in a dozen different ways and be more like everyone else’s. 
Your desires are noble. The things you long for are good things. I cannot pretend to think you have done anything wrong. I cannot pretend to understand “Why, God?” I cannot offer you words to “make it all better.”
And even if I could, I do not wish to band-aid your heart. To tell you God has good plans and that everything will be okay. Because your heart has been wounded. Wounded by the waiting or by what may never come to be. And while time heals all things, the memories of scars will stay.
Perhaps you will get the wonderful blessing of raising or simply loving children who need your love. Maybe you will rescue them and give them a new story and new hope. You may play a role in their life that no one else on this earth could.
If it’s for a season or for a lifetime, may you share the love that you have to give with others. They need it more than you know.
Whether you’re still waiting and praying, or if those years have passed, may you be surrounded by people that love you deeply right where you are at. May you find a beacon of hope when life looks bleak. May empathy and kindness be spoken to you, and may you be strengthened for your journey.
And may your journey speak to others.  That you would be an encouragement and a comfort. That you could sit with those who are waiting, empathize with those who have lost, and just simply be a friend where one is needed. 
What you’re going through matters. Your hurt matters and so does your healing.
May you feel cherished, valued and heard. Your journey is significant, and so are the desires of your heart. In your wrestling and in your searching, I pray you find God. And even if He doesn’t answer all your questions, I pray you no longer feel alone.
In it with you,



2 responses to “A Letter to Those Who Long to be Parents

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