barren faith

When You Don’t Know the Ending

Lately, I’ve been deep in the book of Ruth—and for some reason, I can’t get past chapter one.
Normally, I’m the type who wants to skip the hard parts—the tension, the waiting, the unresolved feelings—and speed straight to the happy ending. I’m the girl who Googles spoilers before finishing a show. I like resolution. I like knowing where it’s all going.

And while I do believe God has purpose in all things, sometimes we’re in the middle of the mess with no clarity, no spoilers, and no clear sign of what’s next.

Motherhood often feels like that.
There are sweet, joy-filled moments, yes. But there are also days of confusion, doubt, and heartbreak. Prayers feel unanswered. The path ahead feels hazy. And lately, Ruth 1 has been holding up a mirror to those moments in my own life.

We meet two women—Ruth and Naomi—who are grieving deeply, walking through profound loss without knowing what the future holds. They don’t have the benefit of seeing chapter four. They don’t know God is already at work.

And that’s exactly where I often find myself too: a mother, a wife, a woman of faith... sitting in the tension of the unknown.

I remember the long season of infertility my husband and I walked through.
Month after month, the ache of an empty pregnancy test.
The day I was diagnosed with “unexplained infertility”—I was stunned. How is that even a diagnosis? No clear reason. No fix. Just… emptiness.

And it was hard.

There were months I showed up at baby showers with a smile that wasn’t real. Months where my prayers were more like gasps.
“God, I know You’re good—but I’m struggling to believe You’re good to me.”

My heart felt as barren as my womb. And I expected God to meet me with disappointment, maybe even silence.
But instead, in that raw, broken place, I sensed His whisper:

“That’s okay. You can borrow My faith.”

It was a turning point. Not because my circumstances changed overnight—but because I knew I wasn’t alone. God didn’t shame my doubts. He held me in them. He met me in the waiting and gently carried me through it.

Years later, we lost our second child to miscarriage.
I still remember the sterile walls of the ER and the ache in my chest. But I also remember the presence of God—thick, undeniable, holy. Just like the glory that filled the temple in the Old Testament, He met me there. Not with quick fixes, but with Himself.

And now, looking back, I see how none of it was wasted.
God has taken those stories—those losses—and folded them into something redemptive. They’ve shaped me. Softened me. Given me language for comforting others who find themselves in similar spaces.

This is the hope I see in Ruth.

In chapter one, Ruth and Naomi are standing at a crossroads.
Their hearts are shattered. Their futures uncertain. But even in the ache, God is there—quietly, faithfully, providentially weaving something beautiful.

And that’s what He’s still doing.

Especially in motherhood.
He sees the long nights. The unanswered prayers. The anxious thoughts. The ache of not knowing how it all ends.
And He’s not distant. He’s near.

You are not a project to be fixed. You are a beloved daughter to be held.

I’ve heard it said we aren’t defined by our suffering, but we are shaped by it.
And I believe that. God doesn’t waste our pain. He enters it. He transforms it. He brings beauty from the ashes.

Even when we don’t know the end of the story, we can trust the One who’s writing it.

So, to the mamas who feel uncertain, to the women waiting in the quiet middle of the story—you’re not alone.
Let’s sit in the struggle together. Let’s remember that even when we can’t see what God is doing, He is doing something. He is good. He is faithful. He is with us.

And that’s enough to keep going.