When my husband and I found out I was pregnant, we were a beautiful combination of shocked and elated. Our families and friends rejoiced with us over the baby who would soon be joining us and would become a centerpiece of our world. 

When I first shared the news of my pregnancy with friends and family, people would ask me if I was nervous about childbirth. My response was always the same: “I’m fine with everything except a C-section.” The thought of being cut open and the long recovery I’ve heard of made a C-section unthinkable to me. Contractions, long labor, pushing — while they all sound awful, I knew I could handle it like every other woman in the world who has given birth has. I would go through all of that to avoid a C-section, and in a way, I was excited for the labor process because I knew a woman’s body is created to endure it. 

As my pregnancy progressed, our baby grew perfectly with no issues. Every appointment, everything with her was right on track. Unfortunately, my own health began to decline. A little over halfway through my pregnancy, I slowly realized I was unable to bear weight on my left leg and that I was experiencing hip pain and stiffness, to the point where I needed a cane to walk and eventually could not really walk at all, even with a cane. A series of physical therapy, chiropractic and orthopedic appointments, and an MRI finally gave me a diagnosis of transient osteoporosis of the hip, an extremely rare condition that affects four out of a million pregnant women. There is some I do to manage the pain and immobility to an extent, but I will not be able to put any weight on my left side until after my daughter is born, when most women with this condition begin to see the osteoporosis resolve on its own after a few weeks or months.

When I realized that my hip condition was going to last the duration of my pregnancy regardless of my efforts to mend it, my doctors began to bring up what I was already fearful of: a C-section would be the best option to avoid hip fracture or further muscle and joint strain. My worst fear had become a reality. And there was nothing I could do about it but accept it.

In the midst of these appointments and diagnoses, my husband and I had dinner at our friends’ house, a wonderful, faithful couple also expecting. I shared with our friends that my fears of having a C-section would become reality to which I had resigned myself. My dear friend, who herself has had no walk in the park with pregnancies, looked into my eyes and said, “You know Jenna, if this has to be, maybe it’s Jesus’s way of uniting you to Himself on the cross.” As she spoke, tears filled her eyes, maybe because she understood my fears, or because her own journey had been filled with so many crosses. And instantly my own eyes welled up because I realized that she was so right. She had spoken the truth that I had been needing to hear.

Maybe this was my cross.

I share this story not to stir up pity; truly that is the last thing I want. I share this because I know there are so many people in the world suffering from physical, mental, and emotional wounds and struggles, often that are unseen and unspoken of. 

Saint Paul had his own cross that he speaks of in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10:

​​Therefore, that I might not become too elated, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.

Scholars have long speculated what exactly this “thorn in the flesh” was, probably some sort of physical ailment that caused Paul a great deal of suffering. It’s important to note that although the thorn is not from God, for God is never the cause or source of anything but goodness, Paul asks God to take it away, trusting in God’s divinity and sovereignty over Satan. And yet, God does not take away the thorn, but rather allows Paul to continue suffering. 

So many of us that are suffering in any way, I’m sure, have asked God to take away our suffering in prayer. He is all-good, all-powerful, all-loving, and we know that he is the Almighty Healer. So why doesn’t He just heal us then? Paul believes it is because His power is made perfect in weakness.

I’m still struggling with this. How could God’s power be made perfect in my messed-up hip? Of all the things I’ve done in my life with and for God, this of all things is how God’s power is going to be made perfect in me? Through the short, pregnant girl hobbling around with a cane or being carted around in a wheelchair? It’s not a cute look. In fact, it’s pretty pathetic.

I don’t have an answer yet. Maybe it’s that even in this state, my husband and I still show up to Mass and pray together every night. Yes, people stare and feel sorry for me, and that’s not what I want, but at least they see a girl showing up in the midst of unjust suffering. Maybe it’s that this experience has given me compassion for those with difficult pregnancies. While of course I would never consider abortion for our daughter, I can now have empathy for someone who might be in my state without the income, work flexibility, and family support to continue on carrying their child. And I can work to make sure those women feel supported enough to carry on. Or maybe it’s that I had this picture in my head of a beautiful pregnancy, full of glow, beautiful pictures of my cute belly, and organized preparation. Instead, God has allowed me to be deeply humbled and almost fully reliant on others.

Sometimes crosses are taken away. My condition supposedly will fade after our baby comes, but there’s no way for me to know yet if that will be true for me or what the long-lasting effects of this will be. Our crosses are not always taken away, like Jesus’s wasn’t. And somehow we must learn to be OK with that.

During this season of Lent, maybe we can learn to lean into our crosses, look up at the cross of Christ, and ponder how God is made perfect in our weaknesses.