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When my husband and I decided to start a family, I bought a little pair of overalls with a cow jumping over the moon embroidered on the bib. Months, then years, passed. Finally, after attending so many friends' baby showers, I tucked those little overalls into someone else's baby gift. In that simple act, I let go of a little bit of hope.

As I journeyed through the despair of infertility, my friend, Libby, was an oasis in that dry, barren land. She hugged me as I cried and listened while I vented angry, frustrated words. We had begun as co-workers, but through the years, our friendship had deepened.

She'd listen to me recount visits to the reproductive specialist. She encouraged me, prayed for me and walked alongside me. She didn't have any experience with infertility. Still, she listened. She also didn't know much about adoption. Yet, she was thrilled when I finally brought our adopted son home. And we both marveled that he shared a birthday with her 7-year-old twins. She often felt she didn't have the right advice. But she didn't need perfect words—her care and love were enough.

Perhaps that's why I was especially upset when I found out I was going to be moving several hours away from her because my husband was taking a new job. And I was scared and in awe when I learned just two months before the move that I was pregnant! Since my husband was already working in a new city, Libby went with me to my first obstetric appointment. I was absolutely terrified that I'd miscarry again. But she sat in the waiting room and helped calm me.

After my move, it was hard living in a new place—especially as a pregnant woman with a 2-year-old. But Libby convinced me that moving didn't mean we'd have to stop being close friends. Oh, how right she was. Cell phones and e-mails provided conduits for us to have meaningful conversation.

A few weeks before my daughter was born, Libby mailed me a "care" package. She sent me a beautiful sweater that she'd seen me admiring. And she'd also included some baby clothes she'd purchased a while back, but had never given to anyone. Inside the box were the same cow-jumping-over-the-moon overalls that I bought five years ago when I was trying to conceive. But now they were meant for my daughter. My friend had helped to send back that little bit of hope—in more ways than one.

Donna Dunn submitted this story to the MOPS International 2009 writing contest. She's wife to Randy and mom to Graham (5) and Bella (3). Donna attends the Forest Baptist Church MOPS Group in Virginia.

Copyright © 2009 by the author or Christianity Today International/MomSense magazine. Click here for reprint information on MomSense.

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