There are moments in the infertility journey when hope doesn’t leave loudly.
It slips out quietly.
Not with anger.
Not with rebellion.
But with a thought you almost feel ashamed for having.
Why bother?
Why bother praying again when the answer keeps being no?
Why bother believing when your body keeps reminding you of what hasn’t happened?
Why bother opening your heart when disappointment feels inevitable?
For women and couples walking through infertility, this question doesn’t come from a lack of faith. It comes from exhaustion. From years of cycles, procedures, tests, losses, waiting rooms, and prayers that feel like they echo back unanswered. It comes from doing everything you know to do and still waking up to another reminder that the dream hasn’t come true yet.
Infertility has a way of whispering this question when you’re already tired. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t accuse. It simply suggests that maybe protecting your heart is wiser than hoping again.
That’s why the story in Luke chapter 8 matters so deeply to those of us waiting for a baby.
There is a man in this chapter named Jairus. He was a leader in the synagogue, a respected man, but none of that mattered when his world began to unravel. His only child, his twelve-year-old daughter, was dying. Jairus fell at Jesus’ feet and begged Him to come home with him.
Jesus agreed and started moving.
But on the way, everything slowed down.
A woman who had been bleeding for twelve years pressed through the crowd and touched Jesus. Power left Him. Jesus stopped. He turned. He spoke with her. He healed her.
And while Jesus was still speaking to this woman, a messenger arrived from Jairus’ home.
“She’s gone,” he said.
“Your daughter is dead. Why bother the teacher anymore?”
Why bother.
Those words carry the same weight today.
Why bother when you’ve already waited so long?
Why bother when age feels like a clock you can’t silence?
Why bother when nothing is changing, or when things feel worse since you started praying?
It’s the whisper many of us hear when the dream isn’t working, the marriage feels strained, and the desire hasn’t come true. When hope feels heavy instead of life-giving. When continuing to believe feels like setting yourself up for more disappointment.
The whisper tells us to bury the dream.
Move on.
Be realistic.
Lower expectations.
Protect yourself.
And honestly, that might feel like the safest option—if not for two words that interrupt the narrative completely.
But Jesus.
Scripture tells us that Jesus overheard what was said. He heard the verdict. He heard the moment when someone decided the story was over.
And He immediately spoke.
“Don’t be afraid; just believe.”
In other words, don’t give in, don’t give up, and don’t let go of hope.
Jesus didn’t stop moving.
Sometimes we want to stop right where the pain hits hardest. We want to pause in our disappointment and decide that this is as far as the story goes.
But Jesus keeps moving.
He walks into the house where grief has already settled in. There is wailing. Mourning. Finality. And Jesus says something that sounds almost offensive in the moment:
“Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.”
They laughed at Him.
Because the child was dead.
She wasn’t breathing.
Her heart had stopped.
But Jesus wasn’t denying reality. He was speaking from a deeper place.
He spoke what He saw in His heart, not what everyone else could see with their eyes. He spoke faith.
Faith isn’t pretending infertility doesn’t hurt. Faith isn’t ignoring medical reports or minimizing loss. Faith is choosing to agree with what God says, even when everything around us argues otherwise.
And this is where infertility presses hardest.
Because there are moments when the dream feels buried.
Moments when hope feels naive.
Moments when believing again feels unbearable.
In this broken, fallen world, the outcome may not always look like what we imagined. That’s true.
But it is also true that none of our stories is over yet.
So when the question rises again—and it will—
Why bother?
Because Jesus still moves toward what looks impossible.
Because faith speaks even when the room laughs.
Because God alone holds the pen that gets to write “The End.”
And until He does, Jesus keeps moving.
Yes, Elisha, yes. Hold on. Hold on to Him and trust! Praying for you, your husband and your ministry.