As a newly married Catholic on the path of infertility, I struggled to believe I was part of the Church. During our engagement, and for the first five years of marriage, my husband worked as a youth director. We loved ministry, we loved serving the Church, and we loved the teenagers and young adults we grew to know. However, I pictured us as that devoted ministry couple who bring their children along to every event. I dreamed of bringing a baby to youth group and watching it play with all the teens I  loved so much. Two years into marriage, however, I was diagnosed with stage IV endometriosis. It became a reality that having children would be difficult for us. 

During this time I felt increasingly isolated and unseen. I felt that the whole of parish life was geared towards families and supporting parents and their children. Mass was full of young, large families. There were mom’s groups for young mothers, as well as for mothers whose children were out of the house. All my married friends began having kids and moving into a new phase of life. I felt there wasn’t really a place for me in parish life. The feeling of not fitting in started to create a deep wound in my heart, and I began to believe the lie: “You don’t fit in. You don’t have children. You are not part of the Church.” 

Since I did not see a ministry in the parish that I felt welcome in, I started a young adult women’s group with a few college students. They became my dearest friends and support system. I channeled my focus into serving the youth group and young adults, but all the while I felt alone and unseen. Through the teens and young adults, however, I started to get a small glimpse into the gift of spiritual fertility.  

In our fourth year of marriage, wrestling with hurts from our parish and ministry burnout, my husband and I decided to make a big move. We moved from North  Louisiana to the southern part of the state. The call to southern Louisiana came out of our desire to be near our closest friends. The Lord knew we needed a change to help us begin to heal and have a fresh start. God started to work gently on my heart – inviting me to be open to a different type of fruitfulness in our marriage.  

About a year ago, my perspective changed when I heard Christopher West and his wife Wendy speak on their podcast, Ask Christopher West, about the spiritual fecundity of infertility. Christopher quoted a passage in Scripture, “more are the children of the barren woman than of she who bore children.” (cf. Isaiah 54:1) At first it sounded like a platitude, but as he continued my heart was opened. He said, “There is in the suffering of infertility, opened up to the Lord in prayer, there is a spiritual fertility, a spiritual fecundity that is more fertile than the five children that you and I bore, Wendy, physically.” (Ask Christopher West, How to Find Hope Through Infertility Challenges, 6:30) He continues to describe that at the moment of Christ’s Crucifixion, Mary became the mother of all the living. The Church is the Bride of Christ, and Mary at the Cross is the symbol of the bride. When Jesus says, “Behold your Mother,” Mary becomes the mother of us all. Just as Jesus’s heart was pierced on the Cross, so too did the sword pierce Mary’s heart. It is in this piercing of hearts that immense spiritual fertility came into the world. This image has given profound meaning to me in my struggles with infertility. I have received from the Lord in prayer that my heart is also pierced, but I am not alone. On each side of my heart are the Sacred and Immaculate Hearts and the sword is pierced through all three of our hearts. 

Though the Hearts of Jesus and Mary are pierced, they continue to be poured out as gift for others. Our hearts come to look more like their hearts when we suffer well and continue to make a gift of ourselves in the way that the Lord desires for us.  This reflection propelled me to make a gift of myself to the Church. I began to look back at the relationships I had formed through years of youth and young adult ministry. I asked the Lord to bring souls to me so I could unite the gift of my suffering to Jesus’s suffering on the Cross – for them. In prayer I was given a small glimpse of the eternal impact my suffering could have on all the people I have spiritually mothered. I saw not only relationships on earth, but also relationships that will not be revealed to me until Heaven. My suffering started to become redemptive. The Church desperately needs our redemptive suffering. Whether we offer our suffering for family members, friends, loved ones, the unborn, or souls that we will not meet on this side of Heaven, this spiritual fertility and suffering can be our gift to the Church.  

The honest truth is that coming to know we are part of the Church while going through infertility is painfully difficult. At times, I see the beauty and the depths of redemptive suffering. I believe that my suffering is bearing eternal fruit, and I believe that I will meet the souls I have spiritually mothered in Heaven. I know deep in my heart that this suffering is a necessary gift for our Church. Yet, at the same time, I experience the pains of infertility each day. Infertility is a masterclass in living in the tension of joy and sorrow. God has a beautiful story of fruitfulness that He desires you to receive. All He asks for is your openness to being fruitful in unexpected ways. And the Church needs this. The Church needs you. 

Ellie Weaver and her husband Trey were married in 2018 and now live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana with their husky/beagle mix, Midge. Ellie works as an interior designer and loves exploring new artistic hobbies. After discerning a call to embrace spiritual motherhood she is training to become a spiritual director. Trey and Ellie have been involved with ECHO Community, a Theology of the Body ministry for teens and young adults, since 2015. They love admiring the beauty of Creation, traveling to the mountains, and pursuing multiple shared and individual hobbies, such as film photography, good coffee, classic cocktails and cuisine.