My husband and I are part of a marriage group with five other couples. We are all devout Catholics from various movements and parishes, united in our desire to live out our vocations within a community of like-minded Catholics striving for sainthood. So, once a month, we meet for dinner and discussion, rotating who hosts and leads the conversation on a faith-related topic.
Every meeting with these friends is a breath of fresh air. There’s something special about good conversations shared over good food with good people. I consistently leave these gatherings feeling inspired and uplifted. I genuinely admire each person in the group and deeply cherish the opportunity to grow alongside them. Over time, I’ve had the joy of watching my friends experience significant life events — namely, getting pregnant, having babies, and seeing their children grow.
My husband and I are the only couple in the group who have not yet been blessed with children. At first, it didn’t bother me; we were newly married, and other couples didn’t have kids either. However, as time passed and we began trying for children, and our friends seemed to be welcoming little ones left and right, our efforts have been unsuccessful.
Before marriage, I understood that having children isn’t always as easy as pop culture makes it seem, and I was aware that infertility is a reality for many people. Still, you can’t fully prepare for the pain of facing it until it becomes your own experience. Who knew a little red line — or, more precisely, the lack of one — could carry such deep sorrow?
Navigating this grief has made our marriage group gatherings harder for me. What was once a source of deep connection has, at times, become a place where I feel isolated. Conversations often revolve around pregnancy, postpartum recovery, breastfeeding, and parenting. These topics are beautiful and important, but I can’t help but feel like an outsider, unable to contribute to the discussions in a meaningful way. I long to participate, to share my own stories, but I find myself relegated to the role of a listener — attentive, yes, but yearning for more.
Finding deep connection
Recently, at one of our gatherings, I arrived feeling emotionally drained. In addition to our struggles with fertility, my family is facing a significant personal challenge. I wanted to share what was on my heart, but once again, the conversations were centered on birth and babies. Though I hoped to open up, I felt there wasn’t space for me to do so.
The next morning, as I prayed, I began to see things more clearly. The discomfort I felt wasn’t just about my current circumstances; it stemmed from a deeper longing for connection with my sisters in Christ. Reflecting on my experiences, I realized it wasn’t my friends who were holding back connection; it was my own grief that was acting as a barrier, isolating me.
In that moment of prayer, I sensed the Lord inviting me to share my grief and open the door for deeper communion. While it would have been comforting for my friends to intuit my needs, relationships require active participation. Each of us must take responsibility for our needs and find a way to express them in our given reality. For me, this meant rejecting a victim mentality that was keeping me isolated and, instead, finding ways to foster deeper relationships with my sisters in Christ.
A call to intercession
Soon after, I created a group message for the wives in our marriage group. I began by being vulnerable, sharing what I was going through, and asking for prayers. I invited them to use the group as a space to share prayer requests and keep up with one another. Though we meet monthly, so much happens day to day. This group chat has become a way to stay united in prayer and support each other more intentionally.
While this isn’t a grand solution to life’s problems, it has been a source of renewal and blessing for me. It’s given me greater insight into my friends’ daily lives and allowed me to pray for their needs in a
specific and meaningful way.
One friend, for example, asked for prayers for her husband’s uncle, who was in hospice and expected to pass soon. Later, she shared the incredible news that soon after, this uncle, a fallen-away Catholic who had identified as agnostic, asked to go to confession for the first time in fifty years. Their family was stunned by this miraculous turn of events, and we rejoiced together in the power of God’s grace.
This experience convinced me once again of the Lord’s desire to work through community. Throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus working miracles not in isolation but in the context of relationships, inviting others to participate in his redemptive work. The same is true today. While God certainly could have brought about this miracle without our prayers, it’s clear that the Holy Spirit wanted us to be a part of his miraculous work.
In answering my question about how I could contribute to my community in my current state, the Lord revealed my calling: to bear and bring forth life in a spiritual sense. While I continue to hope and pray to bring forth life who will one day walk and talk, for now, the life I am called to nurture in this moment is one of intercession. I am called to be attentive to the needs of my community, to hold their joys and sorrows in my heart, and to remind them that in every season, God is present.
The Lord placed a choice before me in my pain: to let it be a barrier that isolates me or to let it be a door that opens new ways of connection. By choosing the latter, I’ve allowed my heart to be seen, even in grief, and freed myself to love more deeply. In doing so, I’ve found new life — both for myself and for those around me. Through his grace, God makes all things new, often in the most ordinary but extraordinary ways.
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