May Mary bring you comfort this Lent. Know that she is with you in the desert right now and always. Mother filled with anguish, pray for us. Mary, walk with me in my own Garden of Gethsemane. To help me understand, as you and Jesus did, that it is my “yes” that will bring me peace after the agony.

“Grief is not a state but a process, like a walk in a winding valley with a new prospect at every bend.” — C. S. Lewis From the moment you wake up until your head finally hits the pillow, grief from infertility can feel like a weight you can’t outrun. Some days you come up for air; other days, it swallows you whole. I had known grief before, and it usually passed. But during a difficult adoption process, grief settled in and refused to leave. From the beginning, something abo

If you’re like me in any way, you thrive on connection. That sense of belonging, of sharing the inside joke or seeing someone’s eyes light up when they see you, the hum of energy in a crowd or the chuckle to yourself at reading a loved one’s silly text. The community to support you when all else around you doesn’t make sense. Even the most introverted person needs connection, though it could look differently than an extrovert like me. Even if your village is small, it is stil