I know I am supposed to be writing something, but I don't know where to start. I have felt the urge to write for some time, but some things have happened recently to keep me from posting. I will not go into it here because it is actually too personal even for this very personal blog. Suffice it to say, I am walking another lonely road and I need you more than ever, Lord. My heart is heavy with grief and frustration over recent events that, once again, are out of my control. All I know is that I need you. I need to lean into you and find out what you want to do through all of this -- through me. Speak to me now. Hold me close and help me find my way through this. You have seen me through so much and you have always been faithful. I know you will not leave my side. I just need to hear your voice and know what you want me to do ...
Perhaps this would be a good time to try to put into words some things that were on my heart before all of this happened. I was bursting with joy over what the Lord has done in my life over these last few years. I have the privilege every day of staring into the faces of not one, but two miracles. I even get to hold them in my arms and listen as they call me "mommy." It seems impossible to tell this story and do it justice. It is so big, at least to me. But I will try because I know that sharing it is what I am supposed to do and that it will bless and encourage everyone who hears it.
Most people who know me, or at least have known me for more than a short time, already know that the fact that I have any children at all is no small miracle. I was told in 1997, just a few months before we married, that I would never conceive a child. The doctor who just performed a diagnostic laparoscopy came out of the operating room and told my then fiance and my mother without my permission. I would only later confront that doctor with this simple truth: he was a doctor and not God. Only God could make that certain of a diagnosis and that I was finding a new doctor. My husband and I married a few months later (thank God he still wanted to marry me) and started seeing a new doctor who gave us much more hope. Although that doctor was unable to help us conceive a child, we began seeing a specialist a couple of years later and through many tests, surgeries and procedures, we finally conceived a child almost 7 years into our marriage.
Let's just say that those 7 years were filled with unimaginable joy and sorrow. We led a youth group at our church for most of those years and our youth group kids became like our own family. We parented dozens of teens in those years, some of whom remain close to us even now. We spent as much free time with our elementary aged niece and nephews as we possibly could. I kept myself busy at work. My husband kept himself busy with school and the ministry. Then I quit my job and went back to school when I was 29, partly out of boredom and partly so that I would have something to do other than sit around waiting to get pregnant. When my 30th birthday came, every friend I had either just had a baby or was pregnant. I subjected myself to the torture of a party (I still can't understand why I did that to myself) and smiled outwardly while I was screaming inwardly. I would later discover that this was how I handled much of my silent grief. Yes, it was grief. Every month that I started to bleed was a death to me. It was the death of a baby not conceived. The death of my hopes and dreams to be what every little girl dreams to be: a mother.
To try to describe the pain of infertility and what it does to your marriage is difficult at best. Everything that is meant to be sacred and intimate becomes clinical and sterile. It steals the sweetness of lovemaking and turns it into something that it was never intended to be. We worked hard to keep our relationship special, but after years of trying, it just took it's toll on us. We were exhausted emotionally, spiritually and physically. I remember the day I gave up like it was yesterday. I continued to do some consulting work for my former employer while I was in school and went back to work for them full-time when I graduated. It happened as I was driving home from work one day. I heard the song "Why?" on the radio and began to sob and question God. WHY? WHY? WHY? Why could everyone else have a baby at the drop of a book and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get pregnant. Why was I suffering like this? Why was I the only one I knew who was suffering like this? It wasn't fair. Then I released my control for the first time and made the choice to trust God with the outcome.
