barren faith

Lately, I’ve been deep-diving into the book of Ruth, and for some reason, I can’t seem to get past chapter one. Normally, I’m the type who wants to speed through the difficult parts of life—the hard seasons, the uncomfortable feelings—and race ahead to the resolution. Whether it's in a favorite TV show or in my own life, I often find myself Googling "spoilers" to know how it all turns out. I prefer to explain away the difficulties or look for the hidden purpose behind them. And of course, there is purpose in everything. But what about the times when we’re in the middle of it and don’t know how the story will end?

Motherhood is often one of those seasons where the struggles feel especially raw and uncertain. There are moments of joy, yes, but there are also moments of confusion, doubt, and even heartbreak. It’s hard to see the purpose when the prayers feel unanswered and the road ahead looks unclear. Ruth’s story, particularly in the first chapter, has been a mirror to many of my own struggles as a mom. In Ruth, we see two women—Ruth and Naomi—who are navigating deep loss, pain, and hardship, not knowing what the future holds. They don’t have the “spoilers” that would give them peace. And that’s where I find myself often—as a mother, as a wife, and as a woman of faith—sitting in the discomfort of the unknown.

I remember when my husband and I struggled with infertility for years. Month after month, we faced the crushing disappointment of an empty pregnancy test. Each cycle felt like a fresh grief, a reminder that something was wrong. The day the doctors gave me the diagnosis “unexplained infertility,” I was floored. How is that even a diagnosis? I asked myself. There’s no clear reason for the pain; no simple fix. It just was.

And it was hard.

There were months when I felt I was dragging myself through life, trying to keep up appearances—pretending to be hopeful, making it through baby showers with forced smiles, struggling to keep my faith intact when it felt so fragile. There were even months when I would come before God with the rawest of prayers, asking Him, “God, I know you’re good, but I’m struggling to believe you’re good to me.”

In those times, my faith felt barren. My heart felt empty, just like my womb. And I expected that God would be disappointed in me for my lack of faith, that He would rebuke me. But instead, in that raw moment of grief, He whispered to me, “That’s okay. You can have My faith.”

And in that moment, something shifted. I felt His presence—tangible and real. I felt His arms around me, holding me when I couldn’t hold myself. It was in that painful, empty place that He filled me with hope, even in the midst of sadness and frustration.

Years later, I would face another deep loss, the miscarriage of our second child. I remember that day so vividly, as if it happened just yesterday. I sat in the emergency room at UNC, crying out in grief and anger, trying to make sense of it all. But in that room, I also felt the overwhelming presence of God. It was as if He filled that space, just like He filled the temple in the Old Testament. I was angry, I was sad, and I was disappointed—but His presence was undeniable.

Now, looking back, I see how God has used those painful moments. He doesn’t waste our stories. He doesn’t waste our suffering. Those experiences have shaped me, transformed me, and allowed me to share with others who are walking through similar seasons of loss and longing. God is faithful. He redeems the pain and brings beauty from the ashes.

This is the hope I see in the book of Ruth. In chapter one, Ruth and Naomi are at a crossroads. They don’t know what the future holds. They are grieving the loss of their husbands, facing an uncertain future in a land they can’t control. But even in their confusion, God is at work. They can’t see it, but He is preparing a way. He is with them, going before them, even when the road feels hard and the pain feels endless.

This is what God has shown me over the years, especially in the journey of motherhood. He sees us. He sees the heartache, the frustrations, the long nights, and the seemingly endless waiting. And He doesn’t see us as tools to be used. When He looks at us, He sees His beloved daughters.

I’ve often heard that we are not defined by our suffering, but we are shaped by it. And I believe this is true. God doesn't just use our pain; He sits with us in it. He walks beside us in the struggle, and ultimately, He can bring beauty out of the brokenness. The story of Ruth reminds us that even when we don’t know how God will answer our prayers, even when we can’t see the way forward, He is there. He is good, and He is faithful.

Motherhood, like life, isn’t a straight path. It’s messy, it’s unpredictable, and there are seasons of struggle. But in those moments of waiting, those moments of raw honesty with God, He draws near. He comforts us. And He works, even when we can’t see it.

Just like Ruth and Naomi, we don’t have to know the end of the story to trust in the One who holds it. We don’t have to have all the answers to believe that God is working in us and through us. As mothers, we walk in faith—sometimes uncertain, sometimes grieving—but always knowing that God is with us, shaping us, and turning our struggles into something beautiful.

So, dear mothers, let’s sit in the struggle together. Let’s trust that even in the waiting, God is working. He is good, and He is faithful. We are not alone.