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.

St. Colette of Corbie was born in 1381 to parents who had long given up hope. When we hear of a woman conceiving at 60 years of age, it's easy to stop reading there. The miracle becomes the whole story, and we miss everything that came after. But St. Colette's life didn't end at her birth; it began there. And if we reduce her to the answer her parents received, we rob ourselves of the witness she offers: a life that shows us what fruitfulness looks like.