My husband and I just celebrated our thirteenth wedding anniversary. We are happy in our marriage—he’s a patient pastor, and I’m a restless writer—but I would be lying if I said that our life together weren’t punctuated with a persistent, quiet kind of grief.
You see, we have never been blessed with the gift of children. No precious child has ever been born or adopted into our little family, and we pine and pray for that miraculous day when our lonely party of two might grow to three or four or more.
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