Tag: patience

To Be Continued

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I have delayed writing this entry.

Every time I sit down to add another word, something comes up. Particularly, a knot in stomach and a lump in my throat. After two-hundred or so entries, and many highs and lows, I’ve decided to postpone all of my writing indefinitely.Capture

Since our last failed treatment, hope has been scarce. Scripture says, “my joy and strength are in the Lord” (Nehemiah 8:10). Even still, there are days when it all seems like a meager supply. There’s no gentle way to say the reason; our hearts are simply broken. The release of writing has evolved into a painful chronicle and the burden has grown too great to continue. I need time to pull away and to mourn. Your encouragement has spilled over me, your testimonies overwhelm me, but even so, my heart is severed. It is difficult to be on social media or to continue writing in this part of our journey. Please understand that I dearly care for all of you and will continue to pray for the desires of your heart to materialize.

Know that this is not the result of another month, but rather the weight and reality of our final month; an invasive, expensive, and terminal effort that was born in hope, but ended in disappointment. We have suffered greatly; the cost of trying was much higher than anticipated. Sure the money was a loss, but the physical and emotional dues were even greater. My husband and I share an inconsolable ache that has turned us away from the crowd. It has silenced us. When we do finally get the courage or find the words, we melt quickly and we weep together. We stay up late and get up early, but we don’t talk enough about the one thing we can’t shake from our minds because words are so inadequate, so insufficient to describe it. We’ve wrestled with the idea of seeking a counselor to work through our grief, but we know that mustering more words will require more strength, and there simply isn’t any in reserve. So instead, we carefully fill our days full of plans. We plot every hour so sorrow can’t interrupt us.

Even in the most powerful of storms, we know the Lord will see us through this. I am waiting on Him to reveal to me a marvelous plan created by the hands of an all-knowing, all-powerful God. Only He can rule over the waves and hush the winds. We trust Him for this. Even though, the clouds continue to roll in and the rain rises around us, I know we serve a God that will keep our head above the waves.

For everything there is a season,
    a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die.
    A time to plant and a time to harvest.
A time to kill and a time to heal.
    A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to cry and a time to laugh.
    A time to grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
    A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
A time to search and a time to quit searching.
    A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear and a time to mend.
    A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate.
    A time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 cannot contain any more beauty. It is perfectly written and the message is well-received. A time has come where I will sit quietly. I will fold my hands and I will wait. There are no more words to type today, but maybe there will be a time soon that God sees fit for my return.

Until then.

Where I Am

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Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. – 1 Peter 5:8

We have had almost one week pass us by since our earth-shattering realization that we have quickly reached a fork in the road. Two options, both high in cost and low in success, greeted us, as well as many emotions.

The first would probably be shock; the utter collapse of our plans. Next came anger, like it usually does. Angry that no other couple, our age, seems to have to stop life in order to start a family. Anger that the God I love would give me this body. And then, silence; a time to thoroughly digest dollar signs, success rates, and the will of God. And finally, an overwhelming flood of peace. Almost happiness.

In one week, my marriage has gone from conversations about ovulation to which showtime of a movie we prefer, from “what will we ever do” to “what do you want to do?” There’s a new, but genuine, appreciation for my husband and our marriage. Infertility is a thief and  I didn’t even see what she was so quietly taking away from us over the last two years. We have grown enormously in our ability to withstand the weight of loss. But the other bones in our marriage have deteriorated because we were so focused on breathing and ripping another month from the calendar.

But God is faithful. And He knows our wounds and how to bandage them. 

And while the medical aspect of our journey has been postponed, I believe that the Lord, our God, is still treating me. I have felt more restoration – physically, mentally, and emotionally – over the last 12 days in comparison to the last six months.

Physically, I’m working on being healthy. Since the new year, I have ran a mile almost everyday and ended with some type of focused strength-training. I’m tired of gluten-free and whole 30 menus for the sake of a baby. Now, it’s for the sake of me. I am enough reason to be healthier.

Mentally, I like my own skin again. I’m not picking fights with my husband over trivial things. I can’t tell you my cycle day, the start of my fertile window, or even when she will make her rounds again. I’m starting my Ed.S. and for the first time in months, feel successful again.

Emotionally, there’s pieces of me that hurt; longing for what I wanted. But those pieces are small and the Lord can heal those parts of me too. I am fasting and praying for His direction. B and I are doing a devotional together that is truly life-changing. We are seeking Him daily for renewal of our hearts, our marriage, and the plans He has for us.

We do not know where God is leading us.

All we know is that we will follow Him.

The Waiting Room

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You must not make for yourself an idol of any kind or an image of anything in the heavens or on the earth or in the sea. You must not bow down to them or worship them, for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God who will not tolerate your affection for any other gods. – Exodus 20:4-5

I start my Ed.S. program on January 6th. My Financial Aid application is complete, my classes are slotted, my calendar is piling up. But,

I am unsure. Is this what I want? At one time, I really wanted this. But maybe it just pales in comparison to what I really want now. Continuing my education, truthfully, is a second try to get what I want. Plan A was to get my M.Ed., get married, and make babies. Two of the three came easy and the rest of the time, I’ve just waited.

Or have I?

When I think of a waiting room, I think of uncomfortable chairs surrounded by silent walls aside from the ticking of a clock. I think of being alone, isolated from those around you. There’s no outlet, no escape, no music. The outdated magazines line the side tables and the television only displays the daytime soaps. There’s nothing to do, but wait. Wait to be called, wait to be seen, wait to be healed.

I haven’t waited. I’ve taken matters into my own hands. I started my own pile of research to diagnose my problems. I’ve found someone else who could see me sooner. I moved on. I tried the natural fix. I tried ovulation kits. I’ve tried surgery. I’ve tried treatment. I’ve even got an appointment lined up in case this cycle doesn’t work.

I haven’t waited. When the family plan derailed, I poured myself into my career. I camouflaged my pain with the label: busy. I’ve spent the last five years trying to prove that I’m irreplaceable at my job. And I bounce from a bell schedule to faculty meetings to national conferences, so that no one knows that I live and day every twenty-eight days.

I haven’t waited. I’ve negotiated. I’ve bargained. Applying to graduate school, in hopes that God will give me a baby before I get in too deep. I’ll let my schedule swallow me instead of the pain of another failed month. I’ve allowed my planner to become the Word of hope.

Oh God, I haven’t waited. At all.

Instead, I transformed my prayer to God for a baby into a god itself. Worshipping the parallel lines, bowing down at the sign of ovulation, reducing my marriage to timed-intercourse, and worse yet, I have restrained the real God, Jesus Christ, and his power. He is the one who wants to call me, to see me, to heal me.

But I’m too busy trying to have a baby.

Father God,

I fear that I’ve broken Your heart, Lord. I forgot that You are a jealous God and that You seek to love me and be loved by me. I’ve etched you into a Sunday morning box and forgot that You asked for my life – my whole life. Lord, I’ve spent the last two years trying to have a baby instead of trying to have You. I know that You work inside of treatment, but I haven’t trusted You. I’ve listened to my symptoms and the statistics. I’ve trusted my doctor instead of the Physician. I will toss away the sinful idea that You are unable. I know You are God, but somehow I’ve let Satan roar in the busyness of my life. I’ve restrained Your power by my own thoughts. I’ve turned every aspect of my life into an idol to worship while I wait. Forgive me.

And You respond,

Be still and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10)

One Plus One Made Two

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Then God remembered Rachel; He listened to her and enabled her to conceive. – Genesis 30:22

As promised, I had my Day 13 follicle scan on Monday. One on the right and a bigger one on the left. One and one makes two.

I returned Wednesday to check for ovulation. None on the right and still one on the left. Well, one and one made two.

These pages were meant to be filled with candid emotions. So I will say it is understatement to call me discouraged. With my AMH levels, and a family history flooded with twins, I knew numbers. I knew percentages were high. Statistics finally stood in my favor. In the months of treatment, I knew that our infertility woes would turn into multiple wows. But every month goes on, and only one follicle makes the cut. And when it finally does mature, the race is already over and the fertile window has closed. We’re told to be intimate anyways. Nothing like that last word: anyways. Try anyways. Give it shot anyways. Downheartedness doesn’t feed the fire of intimacy. It drenches it like a wet blanket. Depression sets in and no one wins.

I try to be hopeful. I try to keep my eyes fixed on Him and my heart like a fire. But I’m losing focus and all that remains is just ashes.

But I know God, more so than numbers. I know that probability is better with more, but God has a heart for the minimum.

One basket of five loaves and two fish fed over five-thousand people.

One small stone took out a giant and made a boy King.

One mustardseed can move a mountain.

One cross took on the world’s sin.

My God does very much with very little. He is not bound by my ways. He will make beauty from the ashes.

Hurry Home

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And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. – Philippians 1:6

Most people in this time zone are sleeping. Not me – I’m up. And my thoughts are stuck on you.

I moved to the guest bedroom an hour ago, fearful that the tossing and turning would wake my husband.

I can’t stop thinking of you tonight. Perhaps, if our prayer would’ve been answered many chapters ago, I would be awake still; for those other reasons. Maybe instead of the spare bedroom, I’d be in yours. Rather than atop a full-sized mattress, I’d be leaning over a crib. I’d trade your pale eyes for this screen any night.

Can I say how much I love you? And want you? And in a weird way, miss you? I have great plans for you, you know. Your own room that I would paint myself. I’m saving my favorite ideas for you. Maybe a chair in that corner right over there. There’s a Daddy who has been waiting to meet you. And a name! Did you know you already have a name? There’s grandparents and cousins. And a church where I will teach you about Jesus. There’s a spot for you in every place of ours. And a single onesie in the closet that I bought on a hopeful day.

That was nearly seven months ago.

Won’t you come home?

Won’t you find a way to me? When it seems I will never find you? Don’t take much longer please. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. Just you. That’s all we need. Until then, we are praying for you. Even on interrupted nights like this, I’m wondering about your hair. The color. The curl. All the small things that will add up to you. The one we already love.

Won’t you hurry home?

Three Times

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“I know that You can do all things; no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.” – Job 42:2

Some of you have read a post of mine called Made Perfect. And if you haven’t, I challenge you to give it a look. Essentially, it was about Paul’s struggle to have a prayer answered. Instead of the removal of his thorn, he received sufficient grace. And while I’ve written plenty of words about it, I’m still struggling with my own unanswered prayer. And I can’t help but wonder if Paul thought of “sufficient grace” as a consolation prize too?

Imagine a kid opening a present who expects his wish list, but instead stutters, “Gee. Sufficient grace – you really shouldn’t have. Thanks, Dad.”

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If Paul had wanted grace, wouldn’t he have asked for that? I mean, he wanted healing. He believed in God to supply that. He wanted an answer, but he wanted his answer – after all, he prayed specifically three times for the removal of the thorn.

And that story got me thinking this morning, “I wonder who else in the Bible received sufficient grace instead of their request?”

And it didn’t take me long to think of someone.

In Matthew 26, I found a young man “overwhelmed with sorrow” praying to God. He was scared and asked for any way out of his circumstance. He prayed again, “I don’t want to this, but I will if I have to.” And then a third time he knelt, just as many as Paul had knelt, and he prayed for a way out.

That young man’s name is Jesus. And I think you know that He didn’t find a way out. He didn’t get the reply that his flesh wanted.

He got sufficient grace. He got the Father’s will.

And had He not died, my sins would still be mine.

God, who I know, is able to do all things, had the sovereignty to say “no” when he had the ability to say, “yes.” 

How strong is He to make a decision that is best for the world, even when it costs His son? John 3:16 says, “God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, so that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.” His love motivated his answer. And somehow, I must believe that his love still motivates his response.

His love for Jesus, His son, was overwhelming. But his answer, “my grace is sufficient.”

His love for Paul, a disciple, was nothing short of abundant. But his answer, “my grace is sufficient.”

His love for me, a sinner, is stunning. But his answer, for now, “my grace is sufficient.”

There was a purpose for all of these answers. If Jesus had received the desire of his flesh, I’d always be lost. If Paul had been granted his prayer, he would’ve have been weak in life which made him strong in the Lord. And if I had gotten my request, even a year ago, I’d be a mom, but I wouldn’t know about this. I wouldn’t know about them kneeling three times. I wouldn’t understand Paul’s thorn and Jesus’ cup. I wouldn’t know that His grace is sufficient! I wouldn’t understand that there is no consolation prize when serving God.

Today, I’m kneeling again, many times beyond the third time. And I know that when God looks down at my request, He sees His son in the garden, because of salvation, I am His child too. And today, His answer, above mine, is the only one I want.

Recovery Day 4

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No eye has seen. No ear has heard. No mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him. 1 Corinthians 2:9

Today is definitely the turning point in the recovery process. My waistline is still so tender, but I’m able to walk more than just baby steps as opposed to yesterday. I feel that at any second, I can lift my shirt to find a thick row of bruises, but no – just one or two loners. The incisions are still covered, doing what it takes to heal on their own.

I’m so eager to fast forward time. I’m ready to have my body back – oh, the freedom to slap on a bra and drive to the grocery store. Or just to bend low and shave my legs. Such small things. But I know that I am slowly recovering. Today is the first day without pain medication. I have never been one to take aspirin, but hear me, I didn’t anticipate the level of pain that I would be experiencing. Jeez. I’ve been a zombie the last four days trying to overcome the “ouch” that is transitioning from stand to sit to lay. And don’t get me started on the gas pains. Ugh.

I’m so thankful that it is Day 4 and not Day 2 anymore. That was probably the toughest! It seems that everyday has brought changes. Day 1 was simply survival (which is now only a blur). Day 2 was pain, pain, pain, and trying to find anyway to relieve it (which I wish I could blur). Day 3 was still some pain management, but also trying to move a little. Day 4 has been dealing with the aftermath of all that medication. Laprascopy and narcotics are not kind to your digestive system so it’s tough to go, but luckily the nurse called and told me what to do to prevent things from getting too bad.

I go back to the RE on July 1st for a post-op review and game plan. I am so eager to hear more details about the good findings. In the meantime, I will spend this week continuing to recover. And next week, I will be in VA at a statistics conference.

I want to send a thank you out to all of you guys. You have been so awesome and encouraging to me throughout this whole journey and especially this past week. Thank you for the sweet words, thoughts, and diligent prayers.

How Can You Praise God?

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Let perseverance finish its work in you so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. – James 1:4

Someone is thinking it. Whether or not you believe in God, someone here is wondering how I can praise Him? How I can call on someone that I claim to be the “flawless Creator” while in the midst of my pity, I am His product. I carry an invisible scar of infertility every second of every day, but I can manage to talk to this “God” of mine with thanksgiving? How? Why bother? I know it seems so backwards. And sometimes I have to remind myself why. Can I tell you a story?

When I was fourteen years old, I started dating my first boyfriend. I was head over heels for him. My best cursive practice was when I doodled his name with mine. If you can, fast-forward with me four years later. I am eighteen, a freshman in college, and still consumed with the thought of being his and him being mine. We had our flaws, but doesn’t everyone? I can’t think of a more influential time in a girl’s life – from the age of fourteen to eighteen, there are some heavy things that happen. Amen? In the middle of an ever-changing teenage mind, I knew one thing for certain. I would always have him.

Spoiler alert. We broke up when I was eighteen. Can you think of why? A four-year relationship in high school is equivalent to a multi-decade marriage, right? So what do you have? An affair? A twisted stem of juicy lies? Were we separated by distance? No. My heart was so consumed with him that I think we would’ve survived even those major bumps. So what did us in, you ask? God.

Let me guess. Not the answer you had in mind? See, when I was seventeen, God started to stir my heart. I spent the next year wrestling with myself. I had repeated the prayer of salvation as a scared twelve year-old girl who wanted fire insurance. But when I was seventeen, several things, (crazy, one-after-another things) that I knew God was using to draw me near to Him. I started to change. I switched from a religion to a relationship. If you’ve never done that, just a heads up, you change. Scripture says, “we are born again.” That’s no joke. I literally became someone new. Same name, same clothes, different person with a new heart and new behaviors. While I was being reborn, my favorite guy was steadfast and consistent with the same person he had always been. We became very different, but the past four years didn’t coincide with my new heart change. This was still my first love. As my behaviors changed more – the words I would use, the new behaviors I picked up, and the old sins I tried to put down- he didn’t want to be a part of that. He didn’t want to be a part of me.

There is no way to describe this, but I’ll try. Think about 51% of your heart seeking God and 49% wanting to go back to the way things used to be. Torn. My heart has never been so torn. He made it very clear to me that he did not want to take on this lifestyle, but how can you shut up the God of heaven and earth? I spent the next year trying to hold both things in my hands.

And there was only room for one.

While my only love  felt choked by my new self, God continued to pursue me in powerful ways. In my prayers, in His word, in church – I’d never experienced a God like that.

One day in June, the battle stopped.

I ended a relationship and became fully committed to a different one.

I can look back at my life and see how well God orchestrated His love and His plan for me. The friends that surrounded me at that time were few, but they were God-filled. I could depend on them for scripture and prayer because I was so spiritually malnourished. God was able, in that year, to reveal to me, toxic details about that relationship. I was blind to a lot of not-so-great-things about this guy – perhaps it was young love, perhaps I wanted to fix him, maybe my own sin blinded me.

In the next year, I struggled to cling to a God that had cost me a four year relationship . I felt broken. I felt wasted. I dropped down to a size two and lost my appetite for life in general. Emptied. I poured myself in the only tangible thing in my life, my coursework. I can look back now and see how God grew my commitment to Him.

Ever hear the story of the potter and the clay? I had spent the last eighteen years of my life creating “me” the person. And I’m going to be honest, it wasn’t a very God-pleasing life that I had built for myself. God, the Potter, used His hands to shape me into want He desired for my life. Have you ever seen a potter reshape their creation? Yeah, they tear down the walls, beat it back down to a flat canvas to create. I believe that God had to break me. And He was very successful. Financially. Physically. Emotionally. When I was eighteen, there was much more than the heartbreak of a first love, it was a car accident, was a broken bones, it was paying for college, it was ending friendships. Pat by pat, He broke me down, so that I would be dependent on His hands to recreate me. No, I don’t believe that everyone who has a relationship with Jesus Christ has to be shattered upon acceptance. But it was necessary for me and for my story. You may not understand why. And I didn’t for a long time.

So back to the original question. How can I praise God through infertility? Do me a favor. Look back at those last three sentences above, “It was necessary for me and my story. You may not understand why. I didn’t for a long time.”

If I were to retrace my life, would I undo the relationship altogether? No. Why? Because God taught me things about Himself that I couldn’t have learned any other way. There was no aspect, so strong, that God could steal my attention. And now, look back, God reshaped my heart and life for someone better, Himself. God was also gracious enough to bring me a husband and a true love that I had not experienced, further opening my eyes to flaws of the past. Believe it or not, I praise God for what He did in my life so many years ago. Painful, yes, but not without purpose.

And I’m willing to bet that this morning, there are many women with crying babies and a migraine that spent years praying for a child. Would they undo their journey? Probably not.

To be most transparent, I do not know why God, who has all authority, is allowing this to happen.

He has my attention still, but have I grown in Him? Yes, in deep, ever-lasting ways that I can’t explain.

I am trusting that the Potter is shaping up something new.

My job is to be the clay – be malleable, be changeable, be willing, be patient.

Let Me Go First

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Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. – Proverbs 3:5-6

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I see you pinning sweet, precious things on your board entitled, “baby.”

I see you standing in the diaper aisle holding a handful of registry papers.

I see you rocking a child in the church nursery wondering how it would feel.

I see you laughing off the idea when your friends tell you that you are next.

I know these things. I know your thoughts, friend. I have pinned that very idea. I have stood in that aisle with empty arms and a full buggy. I have rocked that same child to sleep with her fine hair grazing against my chin. Your husband and you think this might be the right time. You’ve started to put some money away. You’re wondering how your life will change. You look in the mirror and imagine the bump. You have this all planned out. And while I genuinely hope your plan aligns with God’s will. I just ask one small favor.

Let me go first.

Please.

I have been waiting so long, you see. I am tired. And I am worn. And there are days I worry it will never happen for us. My plans were once like yours, but they have since passed me by. My carefully picked names have lost their shine and my heart can’t remember how it feels to be unbroken. The bump in my mind became a knot in my throat many months ago. The mirror mocks my body. My husband and I don’t think about the changes coming our way anymore. Instead, we worry about the idea that things may never change. You are standing at a beautiful intersection of your life, my friend. It hurts my insides to remember how hopeful I once was. Things looked so different when I stood where you are. I miss that place, the adventure.

So please.

Can this be my turn?

A Miraculous Thing

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The Lord is not slow to fulfill His promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. – 2 Peter 3:9

The words that you find here are, most often, a plea to God; my moment to beg for a child. But today, I have a story to share.

My brother, four years older than me, has been a self-proclaimed atheist most of his life. And I have spent most of mine, begging for his repentance. But part of me knew, that there were easier people to convert. I didn’t want to use prayers and tears over someone who could care less about this Savior of mine. Please don’t misinterpret – for eleven years, I wanted him to get saved, but I also knew the probability of such an event was unlikely. We were family. We were friends. But we served two very different things. This is an awful thing to admit, and I have repented of this, but there came a time when I stopped praying for my brother’s salvation. I labeled him, “lost” and moved on.

Sunday mornings were spent worshiping the Creator of heaven and earth, but I doubted His power to save my brother.

In 2009, my brother and his wife, welcomed a little girl. And how I prayed one last time that God would open his eyes and allow him to see His existence. There was no miracle. I feared hell for him.

In 2012, another little girl was on her way. She was born sleeping at 21 weeks. She was named Charlee. My husband and I went to visit them in the hospital after the stillborn delivery. The worst part was hearing my niece ask about bringing her baby sister home. That’s when my sister-in-law asked us if babies go to heaven. She wept so hard I’m not sure she heard my answer the first time. My brother asked why God would take a baby. And for the first time in my life, I heard him reference God. I told them what I knew and what I didn’t know.

I know that God has a purpose and a plan for all things. I know that, according to scripture, babies do go to heaven. And I’m sorry, but I do not know why He took her.

Being unchurched, there’s nowhere to run in tragedy. No pastor  to conduct a funeral, no faith family to bring food, no church home to lay your burdens.

My husband spoke at the memorial. And a song was played. Hugs were exchanged. And tears collected. We tried to be the church for them. We were their gospel. We shared our testimonies on their couch and laid out the steps of salvation, but it was denied weekly.

On August 4th, 2012, way past bedtime, my brother texted me and said he needed that prayer of salvation. And he needed it then. My car had never felt so slow. That night, in his living room, at his coffee table, we bowed, and I started the prayer, Scott denied himself and accepted Christ, and my husband closed the prayer.

One daughter was in bed and the other in heaven.

I want so bad to go back to the day of loss and tell them that I do know why God took Charlee. So he could gain my brother and his family. It’s the portrait of the gospel: God saved the world at the expense of His child.

I gave up praying for my brother too early. I stopped claiming his name for Christ. And I waved away thoughts of his repentance and his baptism too soon. Of all the lost people I knew, my brother’s heart had to be the most calloused. I know that God saved him on purpose. He took the one that I thought couldn’t be saved and make him heaven bound.

God has reminded me of that story this morning for a reason.

The things that I pray for are still possible. The things that I doubt are still within the reach. When my mind says, “Maybe not,” my God responds, “Maybe so.” When my body says, “I think I can’t,” the Lord counters, “I know I can.”  When a baby of our own seems impossible, I know that it is still a goal with chasing. It is still very possible.

Lately, I’ve thought back to that first month. What if it had happened; what if I got pregnant then? What if this morning I was starring into the eyes of a little boy instead of the swirls of my coffee cup? Would God be more glorious? Would my story seem less powerful?

I know this.

God is the only giver of life. And if it had happened on day one, it would have been a miraculous thing. And if it doesn’t happen until year two, it would still be a miraculous thing. The fact that it may never happen is the thing I can’t bear, the thing I can’t call a name, that I cannot describe. But maybe my story is a miraculous thing in itself for now – the idea of clinging to hope when everything seems hopeless.

My brother’s story taught me not to give up, but to prayerfully wait on the One who hears me.