January was hard. I knew it would be. Throughout all my infertility in the fall, I had Disney to look forward to at Christmas. I kept the optimism alive, “At least I can go on rides.” I was most excited about this surprise trip for our little girl, who was completely surprised by it the morning we left despite her proclaiming weeks before, “I don’t like surprises!” I cherished this time with my only one, with a heart set on her not being the only one much longer.



But then January hit. Blood stains all over again. I knew without the joy of a castle and roller coasters to look forward to that blood stain reminder of what we don’t have would be difficult. What was even more difficult was that it came three days late. One can never predict PCOS, when you’re trying for a baby you attempt to predict it nonetheless.

I held myself together through the little's homeschool group. We were definitely late. A friend offered to watch her for me so I could grieve, but I needed to be with my One and only. She gives me joy in the midst of my storm. I ignored my pain. My attention rested on her during those morning hours.

Then we drove home.

I don’t even remember what song was playing on the radio, but it made me swell up with emotion. I could feel it begin to fill inside me. There was no suppressing it. I needed to let it out. I couldn’t go through my day, ministering to hopeless patients with grief ripping at my own heart.

I texted me boss. “I’m not pregnant. I need an ugly cry. Can I come in late?” She gave me an hour, and I used it all. On the floor of my bedroom, music blaring, tears streaming, pain screaming. I cried out to Father. I knew I would come to this place, and here I was ugly crying on my floor. And, boy, it was a good ugly cry.

Sometimes we need to ugly cry, and it’s okay. We need to feel our emotions and process them. Pain. Brokenness. Emptiness. Grief. We can’t pretend they don’t exist. God doesn’t. He sees us. He hears us. He catches every tear (Psalm 56:8). When Hagar was fleeing for her life, the angel of the Lord came to her and blessed her. In her pain and fear, Hagar called the Lord El Roi, which in Hebrews translates the God who sees.



Genesis 16:13
She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”

Dear one, God sees you in your pain and suffering. He’s with you in the storm. Sometimes we just have to look to find the Son.

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