Crossroads, Blues & The Stories We Can't Rewrite

Let's talk about Crossroads (1986), starring Ralph Macchio and inspired by the legend of blues musician Robert Johnson.

Legend says Johnson stood at a Mississippi crossroads and made a deal with the devil in exchange for greatness.

Now, whether you believe that story or not doesn't really matter.

Because every woman eventually finds herself standing at a crossroads.

Not with the devil.

But with grief.

With fear.

With heartbreak.

With dreams that aren't happening on the timeline she planned.

And sometimes...

with God.

The Blues Nobody Wants

I believed hard work solved everything.

Work harder.

Pray harder.

Try harder.

Push harder.

Eventually, life rewards effort.

Right?

Wrong!

Because infertility doesn't care how hard you work.

Miscarriage doesn't care how badly you want it.

And grief definitely doesn't care what your plans were.

By 2008, I had spent years chasing a baby.

Years.

Doctors.

Medications.

Procedures.

Losses.

Hope.

Loss.

More hope.

More loss.

Until one day, I found myself standing at a crossroads I never saw coming.

The Deal I Kept Making

My husband at the time begged me to stop.

Take a break.

Consider adoption.

Rest.

Heal.

Anything.

He was exhausted, truthfully, so was I.

But I kept making the same deal.

Just one more try.

Just one more treatment.

Just one more doctor.

Just one more chance.

Funny thing about crossroads.

Sometimes the devil doesn't offer you money or fame.

Sometimes he offers you hope.

And when you're desperate enough...

You'll pay almost anything.

The truth?

I wasn't just fighting infertility anymore.

I was fighting everybody.

The doctors.

My husband.

My faith.

Myself.

My cup wasn't full.

It was overflowing.

And what was spilling out wasn't hope.

It was anger, aggression, and venom.

The Baby Shower Era

Let's talk about something women don't say out loud.

I hated baby showers.

There.

I said it.

Not because I wasn't happy for other women.

Because I was broken.

And when you're broken, everybody else's happiness feels like salt in a wound.

I became an expert at fake smiles.

You know the one.

The smile that says:

"Congratulations."

While your heart quietly whispers:

"Why not me?"

Women aren't supposed to admit that.

But I am, I should have been given a Golden Globe Award for my acting ability.

The Friend Who Saved Me

God has a funny way of sending help.

Sometimes it comes disguised as a woman who won't mind her own business or let you feel down.

Our husbands were best friends, she only knew me bc of them.

And she refused to let me sink; she became my light, healer, my angel.

She checked in. She didn’t have to

She pried bc she cared.

She pushed, because she knew I was lying.

She loved me when I wasn't very lovable.

She let me be a bonus mom to her children.

And she and her kids unknowingly kept a dream alive that I was losing.

She never knew she was helping me fight demons, and at one point, they were winning

But she was my savior.

Every day for years, and even now, she reminds me of what I should become and why.

The Hardest Road

Then came the day in 20008 everything changed.

When I lost my first son to stillbirth.

And if that wasn't devastating enough, I was told that with his size, it meant delivery would still have to happen.

I remember being told my best option was an abortion clinic.

Do you know what that feels like?

To lose the child you desperately wanted...

And then have someone hand you directions to a place you never imagined entering?

I called.

I cried.

I fought.

Insurance wouldn't help.

The system wouldn't help.

And I felt completely alone.

That road almost cost me my life.

Literally.

And if I'm being honest?

There were days I wasn't sure I wanted to keep walking it.

The Miracle

Then came Gauge in 2010.

My miracle.

My fighter.

My reminder.

He arrived a month early, weighing over nine pounds, because apparently subtlety doesn't run in our family.

For one beautiful moment, I thought:

This is it.

We made it.

Then his oxygen levels crashed.

He turned blue.

He was rushed to the NICU.

And a preacher walked into the room.

Listen.

Nobody sends a preacher because things are going great.

And suddenly I was standing at another crossroads.

Another fight.

Another chance to lose everything.

Except this time, something was different.

I wasn't fighting God anymore.

I was fighting with Him.

Three weeks later, I brought my son home.

A miracle.

A blessing.

A fighter.

And somehow his strength taught me how to find my own again.

What The Blues Taught Me

The blues isn't music created by people who had easy lives.

It's music created by people who survived hard ones.

And every woman eventually earns her own blues song.

Divorce.

Infertility.

Loss.

Illness.

Betrayal.

Grief.

The question isn't whether you'll get one.

The question is what you'll do with it.

Final Thought From The Rekindle Room

For years, I thought faith and hard work meant getting the ending I wanted.

Now I know faith means trusting the story even when you don't.

Because every crossroads eventually asks the same question:

Will you keep trying to write the story?

Or will you finally trust the Author?

The Real Question

What burden are you carrying because you're still trying to control an ending that was never yours to write?

And just remember:

"Give God His pen back. You're not the writer of this story or song."

— JC