In my book I mention several times that there are hundreds of ways that pain can rip through our lives. Since the book’s release, I have heard story after story of heart-wrenching sorrow and I have been touched and blessed by the incredible women who bear their burdens with such grace. There is just something that happens when pain is shared.
My heart connects immediately with the woman who has spent nights screaming and crying and praying that God would take her pain away. The one who has watched dreams burn. The one who stands knee-deep in heartache and says, “Though he slay me, yet I will hope in him…” (Job 13:15)
My heart connects because I have been there. I have screamed and cried. I have prayed and watched dreams burn. I’m still standing in the heartache.
In my story, it is the word infertility that defines my pain. But it doesn’t really matter what word. Pain is pain. It bears the stench of death and ashes. It alters life. And most of all it deepens songs.
In the book of Psalms we get a glimpse into the song of a man named David. Some parts are light and happy and full of praise. They’re pretty. But what is the best known Psalm? Twenty-three. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
In pain our songs get deeper. They go from a simple pretty plucked out melody line into a full orchestra. And no matter what part you sing—be it soprano, alto, tenor, bass—you’ll hear notes that you connect with.
We must not fear the deepening.
I want my life to be a song that people hear and understand. The main stanza of the song says, “Jesus Christ is the way, the truth and the life.” But if it is not understandable then what is the point of singing?
God allows the pain; to deepen the song; to turn my life into something people can comprehend.
I’m learning to be okay with that.
I serve a God who does not fear pain. A God who created a world knowing it would hurt him. A God who doesn’t stop heartache but will never leave me nor forsake me in it.
My song can be a pretty melody line or my song can become breathtakingly beautiful— spilling out of the concert halls into the darkest corners of the world.
In not being able to have children—I may get the chance to share Jesus Christ in a way someone understands and help them become a child of God.
If the heart of my song is truly Jesus then is this not the ultimate use of my life? To lead others to him?
Oh, God, let my heart bleed. Let the pain deepen me. Let my life be a song that others understand. Let every part of me echo the name of Jesus. And help me share it. There is no point in deepening if I do not open my mouth and sing.