Pre-Order So God Made a Mother

When one of our national treasures, DIY sweethearts Chip and Joanna Gaines, announced they were expecting their fifth child, the world rejoiced. Fans burst into chatter imagining what that child’s shiplapped nursery would look like and immediately began scanning the aisles at Target for a new Hearth & Cradle collection.

Not everyone shared that excitement—not necessarily because they dislike the couple (how could you not adore their endearing banter?), but because the news hurt.

For a woman who is struggling with infertility, a pregnancy announcement has the equivalent effect of a kick in a man’s groin. It knocks the wind out of you, pierces your heart, and accentuates the weight of your empty arms.

You’d think this reaction would disappear once you became a mother. When you’re almost 10 years out from those dismal days of waiting and enduring pointless treatments, and now have two remarkable boys who fill your life with joy and bedlam, you’d think it wouldn’t get to you anymore. You’d think you had moved past this pain.

I thought wrong. It still stings, even if just for a quick moment of recalled anguish.

Though the ache of infertility no longer afflicts me because God fulfilled my longing for children—graciously, undeservedly, and completely unexpectedly—I will forever be marked by one of the hardest seasons of my life.

How could you forget the wretched roller coaster of getting your hopes up every month, yearning to see that second pink line lighten into existence, then feeling the sickening crash of disappointment once the bleeding starts?

How could you not shudder at the memory of feeling excluded from normal society, watching friend after friend pop out one, then two, then more babies, while you are left behind, left out of the mom club, left with nothing but questions—from others, directed at you: “So when are you going to have kids?” and from you, to your Father: “God, why aren’t you giving me kids?”

How could you not wince when others laugh about how easily they got pregnant, and tease each other about going for another baby, because for them, it is a decision, not an ordeal?

I carry scars from my years of struggling to conceive—a physical cut from one of the surgeries I underwent, as well as emotional wounds from the depressive effects of infertility and the trauma of experiencing a failed IVF cycle.

God mercifully redeemed these sorrows and blessed me with two sons who are worth every tear shed during my long wait. And He gave me something else, another unexpected gift, one I hadn’t even requested.

He gave me His strength.

When I felt like all hope was lost, that we should stop trying all methods of expanding our family, He provided my husband and me the courage to press on.

When I dreaded going to church because I’d be surrounded by families with tiny bundles of joy that I thought I’d never have, He introduced me to new friends experiencing the exact same heartache and showed me I wasn’t alone.

When I surveyed the room we’d reserved as a nursery, the money we’d spent on fertility treatments and adoption applications, my life’s goal of becoming a mom—and thought all of it was a waste, He prompted me to start an infertility support group and revealed a greater purpose for my pain: to comfort others and share His hope.

Through my desperate struggle, God strengthened me, not due to my persistence, but due to His faithfulness. He brought me through an uncertain, grueling season and renewed my belief that He will not forsake me; He works all things for good; His love never fails, even if I do.

Knowing Jesus delivered me through such disappointment in my past has emboldened me to confront unknown sorrows in my future.

The snare of hypochondria that once entangled my mind no longer traps me because I’ve lived through a distressing medical condition and endured unsuccessful treatments.

The gloom of exclusion that used to embarrass and shame me now motivates me to reach out and embrace outsiders because I’ve experienced isolation and loneliness.

While I’ll undoubtedly still falter and fall short in many ways, I have greater faith because of the difficulties I lived through trying to grow my family.

Part of that confidence comes from finally reaching the outcome of my long wait and receiving the blessing of my children. And it also comes from the struggle of the wait itself—experiencing what it means to be hopeless and helpless, and developing new resilience to face adversity because I know God will carry me through it.

Infertility scarred me. There’s no denying the pain that still twinges when I hear a pregnancy announcement or someone jokes, “So when are you going for a third?” not knowing how much we went through before adding the first two.

Yet the life crisis that wrecked me also changed my life for the better. I’m stronger now for seeing God transform the ruins of my weakness into a portrait of His grace.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available for pre-order now!

Pre-Order Now

Jenn Hesse

Jennifer Hesse is a writer, editor, and Pinterest-failing stay-at-home mom. She loves God and has a passion for encouraging others to be real and know the greater reality of God’s grace. Personal experience with the heartache of infertility led her to start a ministry supporting those facing childbearing complications. Her current hobbies include ninja-battling with her boys, flirt-teasing with her husband, and going on OCD-inspired cleaning sprees. She writes words in her head and occasionally types them up and clicks Publish at https://jennhesse.com. Facebook Instagram Twitter Pinterest

What Happens to the Mamas When Their Children Are Grown?

In: Faith, Motherhood
Five children walking hand-in-hand, color photo

A friend came up to me the other day after church and commented, “I’ve never seen you alone. I had to make sure you were okay.” It’s true. I’m never alone. I usually have one or two children hanging onto me and three more milling about with my husband close. But at that moment, my husband had stepped away to collect the younger ones from the children’s service, and my older two had run off with their friends. I was standing alone. And as I stood there, one thought crossed my mind, “This is what it will be like when...

Keep Reading

8 Fight Songs for the Single Mom

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman holding earbuds in ears

They whispered to her: You cannot withstand the storm. I have had days when the storms hit me while I sat on the shower floor with my knees to my chest feeling completely defeated, letting the hot water beat down on my body. I have had nights when the storms hit me as tears stained my pillow. As time has moved on, I am learning how to beat the storms. This is only possible because of the family and friends that God has brought into my life. This is my fight song. These are and have been my take back...

Keep Reading

Your Brother Is With Jesus Now

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Brother and sister in yellow outfits smiling on park bench

“Thao is with Jesus now,” we told her, barely choking out the whisper. Jesus. This invisible being we sing about. Jesus. The baby in the manger? Jesus. How can we explain Jesus and death and loss and grief to a 3-year-old? And now, how can we not? We live it, breathe it, and dwell in loss since the death of her brother, our son, Thao. Here we are living a life we never wanted or dreamed of. Here we are navigating loss and death in a way our Creator never intended. What words can I use to describe death to...

Keep Reading

Even When You Can’t Find Joy, Jesus Is There

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Sad woman through pane of rain covered glass

The international church service was vibrant with voices lifted up in songs of praise. Many clapped their hands and some even danced before God. But I wanted to be invisible. Joy felt like a land depicted in a fairy tale. I had returned from the hospital the day before—a surgery to remove the baby who had died in my womb. Watching this church buzz with happiness unearthed my fragileness. I slouched in my chair and closed my eyes. Tears trickled down my freckled face. My mind knew God was in control, but my heart ached as yet another thing I...

Keep Reading

He Mends Our Broken Hearts

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Praying hands of woman with bracelets

Rays of soft sunlight streamed through the curtain onto the hospital bed. I stepped to the edge of the bed, taking a moment to soak in his face before gently holding his hand. Eighty-nine years is a rich, full life, and each passing day revealed more convincingly it was time for him to go. Grief and relief shared the space in my heart as I carried the weight of understanding each visit held the opportunity to be my last.  When he felt my hand, his eyes opened, and he gifted me a smile. Pop Pop always had a smile for...

Keep Reading

When I Feel Like a Failure, God Reminds Me of His Grace

In: Faith, Motherhood
Child hugs mother in sun flare

I’ve always been a teeth grinder, especially during times of high stress. Striving manifests itself physically through my teeth and jaw. I have even shifted several of my teeth from the grinding, moving my pearly whites to become crooked and a little unsightly. I should’ve known this morning that the night of grinding my teeth before was going to turn into a day of clenching my jaw. The spiritual warfare was intense, the temptations strong. I felt angry and burnt out.  After I finally laid my son down for a nap, I sat on the couch and told God, “I...

Keep Reading

My Father’s Faith

In: Faith, Grief
Man with grown daughter, color photo

I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy lately.  When my dad passed away in 2011, I lost the most influential person in my life. He was sacrificial in his love for me and others. His heart was devoted to the Lord, and it was evident to all who knew him. His death marked me in a significant way, and I still struggle with grief 11 years later. But his life marked me in an even greater way, and for that, I’m eternally grateful. As I reflect on legacy, I think about the impact that my dad’s faith had (and still...

Keep Reading

Silence the Lie that Says You’re Too Much

In: Faith, Living
Mother and daughter smiling outside wearing sunglasses

As a kindergartner sometimes I tagged along to my mom’s work as a hotel housekeeper. While my mom worked, I played in the recreation room. Her boss checked on me and always had something fun to play with or a story to share.  One day, in a burst of excitement, I shared something special that happened over the weekend with the supervisor. The words bounded from my mouth like a puppy ready to play in the morning.  The boss chuckled, “Whoa, motor mouth! Slow down!” In a split second, my 5-year-old heart crumbled, and the lie that would follow me...

Keep Reading

He’s the God of Small Things In Motherhood Too

In: Faith, Motherhood
Woman holding infant, black-and-white photo

Normally, on a Sunday afternoon during the girls’ naptime, I try to get some work done or lie down to rest. But a few days ago, I instead wrapped a blanket around my waist to keep warm and pulled cutting boards and pots out of the cupboard.  Before I had kids, I wondered what kind of mom I would be. In fact, I was pretty sure I knew. My outgoing and vivacious personality attracted kids to my side for years. Their energy matched mine, and we giggled and chased each other before collapsing on the floor. I pictured myself holding...

Keep Reading

Let’s Stop the Negative Talk about Marriage

In: Faith, Marriage
Square, wooden arch with floral and fabric in field, color photo

Growing up, I remember hearing many negative phrases used about marriage—on TV, by distant relatives, anywhere, really.  “The old ball and chain.” “All my wife does is nag.” “You’re happy in your marriage? You must still be in the honeymoon phase.” These are just a few examples of the many things I have heard for years that create a negative connotation around marriage. I never really thought much of it until I fell in love and got engaged to the man of my dreams. Can you guess what happened next? “Just wait . . .” I heard entirely too many...

Keep Reading