I suck it in as I glare at the mirror and do my best to dress to hide my extra baby weight. Even as I remember that some of my friends would do almost anything to have those stretch marks and that baby weight.

They hope against hope each month that they will need to test. But sometimes I almost hope I won’t.

I’ve had the news to share three times now, and I never know quite how to say it to some of my friends. How do you tell someone that you are once again getting what they want so badly and have never had?

It’s hard to complain about being up in the night with a fussy baby to a friend who wishes she had a baby to be up in the night with. And the endless laundry and dishes and toys all over the floor look like a tremendous blessing when seen through their eyes.

And now, with a friend facing her first Mother’s Day with empty arms rather than the newborn babe she was to be holding, I weep anew with those who weep.

I can’t begin to imagine the grief so many of my friends face on a daily basis. Yet their stories lend perspective to my own.

I don’t understand why I have little ones to hold while they are left with empty arms. But I know God is sovereign.

So I beg Him to bless their wombs and fill their arms and hearts. Because I long not only to rejoice with those who rejoice; I want to witness miracles in the lives of my friends like those in the stories of Sarah and of Hannah.

{A post based on the Five-Minute Friday prompt “Friend”, in honor of Infertility Awareness Week, and my friends who walk that path…}