Christ's glorified body bore the marks of His suffering, not as ongoing pain, but as eternal testimony. Our scars from infertility might not be things God erases in eternity, but things He transforms. Not sources of ongoing pain, but testimonies of His faithfulness through suffering. We don't worship a God who erases our stories. We worship a God who redeems them, scars and all.

I sat in the pew, raw and bleeding. How could no one see this wound? Then, during Communion, we began to sing the Anima Christi. I've sung this prayer countless times before, but something shifted when we reached the line: "Within your wounds hide me." The words pierced through me. Why would we ask to be hidden inside wounds? Wounds are places of pain, of brokenness, of vulnerability. They're the last place anyone would choose as a hiding spot.

I’m just going to come outright and say it; Lent is not my favorite liturgical season. I shared with a friend recently that I honestly feel as if I’ve been living in a “perpetual Lent”. Thinking about adding Lenten fasting, abstinence, penance, and altering my diet feels like more weight than my level of overwhelm can bear. I’m sure this seems like a strange blog to read on The Fruitful Hollow, but I figured some of you may relate.