Because I can't speak about infertility better myself on Mother's Day...

...here are two posts that have really spoken to my heart on this day that has come to be wrought with so much complex emotion:

Everyday Doxologies: 'About That Holiday Coming Up'

The Messy Middle: 'An Open Letter to Pastors {a non-mom speaks about Mother's Day}'

And now that I've completely (ha!) dealt with the emotional mess of mixing infertility with Mother's Day, I do want to take a few minutes to say how very thankful I am for the two mothers I have in my life because I, unlike so many people, have not only one wonderful mother but two.

Mother 1 - my birth mom

I am so very thankful for my mom. She is a thoughtful, kind, and generous person. She delights in giving gifts to her kids. Her seemingly endless supply of optimism have buoyed my melancholic spirit on so many occasions. My mom has the rare (at least it seems rare having lived in my own head) gift of being able to think the best of everyone, including her children, of whom she has seen the worst. I have always felt loved and appreciated for who I am with her, truly loved and appreciated for who I am. She's not faking it. And if her house is a little bit messy on occasion and the clutter piles up a little too much for my liking, I know its because she's busy with people. She has such a heart for people. My mom, along with my dad, taught me about Jesus gave me every opportunity to get to know Him as my personal savior, and I'm so thankful.

Mother 2 - my mother-in-law

Before I got married, I naively bought into the cultural stigma of mothers-in-law, and I expected that I might not get along with my own mother-in-law if I ever married. That has, by far, not been the case for me. My mother-in-law is kind and loving. She's super organized, which I love. She genuinely wants to help her kids if she can and does an excellent job of walking the tightrope between not really helping and helping too much. She has a genuine heart for service and blesses so many people through her acts of service. My mother-in-law prays for her kids. I've been blessed over and over again by her reminders that she is praying for me. I admire so very much her desire for God and I want to want God like she does.

There are so many more things I could say about my two moms. They are both wonderful ladies. And I have the privilege of being able to look up to and emulate both of them. In this way, God has been so very good to me!

Not Stressed. I am NOT STRESSED.

I haven't disappeared from this blog; I've just been moving. I'm now typing this from Minnesota instead of Iowa. We're at my parents' house. Most of our belongings are in storage in Mark's parents' basement. The rest of our stuff, that we thought we'd need in the next couple of months, is in boxes and totes here at my parents' house.

Nothing is organized now. We have piles of papers. (I hate piles of papers. I want them in files.) But overall, things have gone well. We are here.

In the two weeks leading up to our move I was really not stressed. I was not worried about the upheaval or the transition. Even as we packed boxes and approached the time when we would have no income I did not feel stressed. And I was so very proud of myself.

Mark's parents came down to drive the moving truck on Saturday, and we weren't going to follow until Wednesday. This meant that we were camping out in our house for about four days. That was okay. All the cleaning was okay. No hiccups in our plans.

We've had a couple of hiccups today, though, and I'm beginning to feel a little stressed.

Well, okay, I'm pretty stressed. I feel a little bit like my life is over. It started this morning when the inside panel fell off of the door of our car, the same car that was hit by a tree branch two weeks ago. Mark knew what to do to get it back on and I helped him duck tape it on. That was alright. No big deal.

Then when we stopped at Mark's parents' house on the way to my parents' (because my bin with essentials like underwear had accidentally ended up on the moving truck), we found out that a can of gasoline that we had packed in a box (yes, we know now what a bad idea that was) had gotten turned on its side and leaked a puddle all over my in-laws basement and our couch. Oh dear.

I handled that alright, though, after apologizing profusely to Mark's parents.

Then when we arrived at my parents' house, I realized that my sourdough starter had gotten sealed in it's container, thus cutting off its supply of oxygen. When I questioned Mark about it, he said he'd sealed it last night. The starter smells funny and there isn't a hint of a bubble. I think it's dead.

That was the final straw. I cried. Tears dripped down my face as I unpacked the rest of our refrigerator items and nestled them into my parents' fridge. It wasn't Mark's fault. This is just one of those communication lapses that seem to happen during times of great busyness. But still. My baby.

After we were all done unpacking, I opened the mail that had begun to accumulate at my parents' house for us. I was expecting to see the letter in response to the health insurance I'd applied for, since Mark's and my health insurance through our Iowa jobs will end on April 30. I was not expecting, however, to have our application denied.

More correctly, my application was denied, because of my 'pre-existing condition' of polycystic ovary syndrome. I was not expecting this little wrench in things, and that was the final final straw that left me feeling like my life is pretty much over.

I know it's not. I know there are things we can do and that we will probably be able to find health insurance before May 1, even if it's through a COBRA plan from our previous employers. We'll be making phone calls tomorrow.

But tonight, I don't have much of a sense of perspective. I'm just tired and stressed.

It wouldn't be a major life change for me if I didn't expend some good solid stress over it, right?

Anemic Faith: A Reflection for Easter

“Not everyone who waits to have a baby is eventually blessed with one, and not everyone who waits for a better job eventually gets one!”

This is what I sobbed on the phone to my mom yesterday morning. She was trying to console me, poor woman, over a recent disappointment that Mark has suffered in his search for a job in Minnesota.

The fact that we’re not guaranteed any happy endings, the fact that the proportion of prayers we pray in supplication does not correlate exactly with the number of favorable answers we receive from God, really bothers me sometimes. It’s haunted me, really, since we eased into our struggle with infertility, and it’s bothered me as Mark continues to deal with the problem he’s dealt with since we graduated from college: not knowing what he wants to do and somehow ending up in jobs in which he doesn’t feel fulfilled.

This is the crux of the matter for me, my ‘crisis of faith,’ if you will, that has arrived unwelcomed at my doorstep over the last few years. Can I trust in God’s unfailing goodness to me despite circumstances? Can I take into account the largest perspective possible: that of my problems in light of eternity?

I don’t know. And it’s funny that I should be thinking about this on Easter, the day when we celebrate God’s ultimate goodness and selfless love in sending His son to die for us. I know this is true. I know God loves me more than I can understand. That’s just the problem, though: I can’t understand it.

In addition, I can’t reconcile my sense of personal suffering and my questions about God’s goodness with suffering worldwide. When I think about my suffering, the face of the Mozambican pastor Vicente comes to mind. His teeth are rotting out for lack of dental care. He preaches every Sunday in a stifling rectangular building made of mud. He’s lost at least half of his children to malaria. And what must he think when missionaries come in and out of his life with healthy children? They arrive in Mozambique with healthy children, they fly to South Africa to have their babies, and then their babies grow up into healthy children and adults as a matter of course. He has experienced real suffering, and if he were to compare his life to the lives of the missionaries, he would have real reason to question God’s goodness.

My struggle with PCOS, my infertility, my desire for a fulfilling job for Mark – these are all problems for a rich girl living in a rich country. I’m so used to having my way paved straight and smooth that my faith is rocked by these minor turbulences, while a poor pastor who has buried at least four children continues to travel to his stuffy mud church every Sunday and preach God’s goodness and faithfulness.

This comparison of me and Pastor Vicente makes me think of what Jesus said in Matthew 19:23-25: “Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.’ When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, ‘Who then can be saved?’ ”

Who then? Really? My faith is shivering inside of me under these minor blows. It’s so weak. And God doesn’t offer easy answers. But thank God, thank God, that Jesus didn’t stop his thought there. He added on the ‘but’ that makes all the difference for my weak and faltering American heart: “Jesus looked at them and said, ‘With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.’ ”

My faith is not rock solid. We may never have a baby. Mark may never get a job where he can use his gifts. These worries terrify me if I dwell on them. But in those darkest moments of doubt, I know that God’s goodness will win out. I won’t always feel like I believe him but, even so, I can be saved from my quaking anemic faith—

With God, all things are possible.

Season of Waiting

At first I was going to somehow tie the season of Advent into the title of this post, but then when I looked up the definition of 'advent,' I realized 'advent' refers to the arrival of something incredibly important, not really to the waiting for the arrival. Not having any kind of arrival in sight, I didn't think the comparison would be appropriate. That was a little bit depressing.

Mark and I are still waiting. I wasn't going to post on our baby decisions, either related to infertility or adoption, until we had something more definite to share. But I changed my mind, I guess. The past week and a half have been hard for me, in relation to waiting to be able to grow our family, and I just wanted somewhere to spill the words. Or maybe my reason is more cowardly: maybe I just can't bring myself to talk to many people about this in a serious way, and maybe this is my less confrontational way of letting friends know how I'm handling infertility right now. Either way, cowardly or not, spilling my frustration over infertility on this blog has been helpful, healing even, at times.

Although we feel ready in theory to start an adoption process, we are waiting on a few big decisions in our lives that we expect to be resolved within the next six months. I don't want to write about what those decisions are yet, not here, but that is why we are waiting. As to growing our family biologically, we're still praying about that too. Really, I would accept a child that was handed to me either via adoption or biological  methods. I'm open to whichever God has planned for us first. But, obviously, we have little control over growing our family biologically right now, so we're waiting on that too.

Ugh. Waiting. As I mentioned above, this has been a hard week and a half of waiting. A very dear friend wrote me a letter to let me know that she and her husband are expecting a little blessing. I truly am rejoicing with them. They've dealt with some of the same pain of infertility. Knowing that pain, I can imagine just how thrilled they are, and I'm so happy that God has blessed them. But right there next to the rejoicing part of me is the mourning, tantrum-throwing part of me, the part of me that asks, "Why not me? I've been waiting longer! God, why are you so silent to me?"

So the past week has been a ping pong match of me trying to trust God and then questioning God, and then believing His timing is best, and then crying and wondering if God just doesn't think I'm cut out to be a mom. I mean, I know that's not God's reason for withholding children right now, but sometimes it just feels like it. And so then I think that God must have something else He wants us to do before He gives us children, and then I think that maybe there's no constructive purpose to this waiting. Ping pong, ping pong...

With Christmas approaching I am reminded of all that I have to be thankful for: an amazing husband, two sets of wonderful parents, siblings, nephews, a niece, snow, and almonds come to mind right now. But it's hard too. I'm mostly super excited to see my niece and nephews, but part of me dreads the strong reminder of what being new parents with a new baby would be like. But at the same time, I wouldn't miss seeing those three little faces for the world. So the ping pong match continues.

I'm sorry for making this blog post my dumping ground for this past week's worth of emotions. It's maybe a bit too depressing with Christmas this close upon us. And I know that many people, both in the U.S. and around the world are suffering much more than me. I'm still thinking of and praying for the families affected by the horrible, unthinkable school shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary in Connecticut last week. Those families are grieving much more than I am right now, so much so that I can't even imagine what they must be feeling.

So, in light of all that grief-- grief for children lost too early, grief for children not appearing-- maybe let this post serve as a reminder this Christmas. When you're celebrating Christmas in a few days, say a little prayer for a couple you know that is grieving because their family is too small this Christmas. Suddenly too small or still too small. It certainly doesn't have to be me and Mark you pray for. Just remember some couple's grief.

I will be praying for the families of Sandy Hook Elementary this Christmas, and I'll also be praying for other families like mine. My Christmas prayer, both for me and Mark, and for other couples struggling with infertility is this verse that has been echoing in my heart this week from Isaiah:

Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
he rises to show you compassion.
For our God is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for Him!

Goodbye, Sugar, For the Second Time

I meant to write a thoughtful reflection on Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving Day or the day after, maybe something about the sad state of our country: Black Friday shopping that now starts on Thanksgiving day and continues until Cyber Monday, which extends up to a week after Thanksgiving… But I never did get around to it.

So, suffice it to say, Thanksgiving was wonderful. We had a great time with family, ate heartily, did partake in the Black Friday shopping (though not in the madness of midnight shopping), and spent some time healing our shopping-ravaged souls in the quiet slowness of an Amish community on Saturday.

Today is December 1. For me and Mark, this is a significant day.

Why?

Because we are cutting sugar out of our diet. Again. I always feel a little funny telling people that we’re making a major counter-cultural diet change. It’s probably because people always look at me askance when I tell them we’re giving up sugar. “Is that even possible?” they ask, and I’m forced to admit that in our society it’s actually very hard. It’s hard because any food that is even remotely processed probably has some kind of sugar in it. It’s even harder because at work and family gatherings where there is food, most of the food present will have sugar in it. It’s also hard because if people invite us over and they know we don’t eat sugar, then they wonder what to fix.

But I still think that for us, or at least for me, this is a necessary diet change, drastic though it may be. I’ve mentioned before on this blog my struggle with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) and how that has affected, up to this point, our ability to get pregnant. PCOS has a lot of other super irritating symptoms that go along with it, like acne and male pattern hair growth, both of which can wreak havoc on a woman’s self-esteem.

I would really, really like to get rid of my PCOS. Or at least diminish its symptoms, both for the sake of overcoming infertility and for the sake of self esteem. So, if I hear repeatedly about a diet or lifestyle change that could diminish my PCOS, I will pay attention. If I were to hear repeatedly that drinking gasoline cured PCOS, I don’t think I would try it, but the fact that I had to pause and think about whether I would drink gasoline tells me one thing: I’m a desperate lady.

From my research on PCOS, I’ve found that the sugar in a woman’s diet, particularly highly refined sugars, can aggravate the symptoms of PCOS, and cutting sugar out can decrease many of the symptoms. Cutting sugar out of my diet is a lot less drastic than drinking gasoline, so I’m willing to try it!

We’re keeping it simple this time: starting to cut sugar out of our diets in the next two weeks, including all of the obvious culprits, all fruit, and most grains. We’ll maintain that diet for about three months and see if we see any changes in my health (or in Mark’s health—hey, maybe it will be good for both of us!). If we see some of the desired changes, we’ll continue. If we don’t see changes, we’ll give it up and go back to our mostly-health-albeit-sugary diet.

Throughout our three-month trial period, from today until March 1, I will keep you updated by sharing recipes we’re using, changes we’re noting, and frustrations over not being able to eat chocolate chip cookies or my favorite birthday cake. 

The Ugly: On Not Handling Infertility Well

The Ugly: On Not Handling Infertility Well

I realized earlier this week that when I blog about my experiences with infertility, I don’t blog about the ugly stuff. I don’t think I’m intentionally trying to hide the poor way I often handle the pain of infertility… I think – and I’ve been pondering this for the last few days – that I write what I want to be. I write what I want to believe about God, how I want Him to use this pain in me.

Unfortunately, those ideals rarely match the reality.

When I’m really feeling the pain of infertility, this is what my husband (who sees me with all masks off) can expect:

1. I will cry. A lot.

2. When I cry, I will probably expect him to stop everything else and console me.

3. I will talk about how my body isn’t following normal cycles like it should. In fact, I’ll talk about that a lot. I will still expect him to drop everything and console me. And I will expect him to ask questions, even if he’s heard this a thousand times already.

4. I will cry more when a friend or relative announces that she is expecting. In fact, the closer the person is to me, the more I will cry. I will expect my husband, who is sad for me but happy for whoever is pregnant, to know exactly the words to say to comfort me through this complex emotional contradiction.

5. In fact, I will expect all the people closest to me to know exactly what to say and when to say something to comfort me. And I will also expect them to know when not to say anything. If they don’t gauge these subtle signs correctly, I’ll feel like an infertility martyr. If they do say something that is helpful, I may or may not acknowledge it.

6. I’ll expect back rubs, letters, or other signs of affection from my husband. Just because I’m in so much pain and he should show that he knows it.

7. I will probably replay inconsiderate words from innocent, ignorant strangers, both to myself and to my husband. And I will expect him to console me. (Do you see a pattern?)

8. I won’t notice other people’s pain. Because my pain is greater. How could anyone else be in as much pain as me? Easy: they couldn’t. Therefore, I will think only of my own pain. This will be especially true on special days like Mother’s Day. Other people may have lost their moms recently or may have had a miscarriage, but I probably won’t care.

9. I will be angry at God. Very angry. I might not want to talk to Him. I think He doesn’t love me, maybe even isn’t there.

I don’t always handle infertility this poorly, but this (and more) is definitely what I’m capable of and have displayed at some point over the last year and a half. I’m not trying to verbally bash myself or make anyone reading this disgusted with me, though you may very well be…

I just want to be honest. I think infertility has been and continues to be a growing experience for me, but if my personal and spiritual growth were a line graph, it wouldn’t look the gentle upward sloping progression that I want or expect to see. It would look more like this: 

I think, at least for today, I’ll end my post on a fairly negative but realistic note: I just don’t always handle infertility well.

Psalm 16: A Meditation for Mother's Day

All emphases in the following psalm are my addition, as are, of course, the comments that follow each line of the psalm:

Keep me safe, O God, for in you I take refuge. Lord, you equip me for the work you have for me to do in the world. But you are also my shelter. You are my comfort when even a place as safe as church is a painful place to be on Mother’s Day.

I said to the Lord, “You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing. You have placed me at the center of your will, Father. You have chosen not to give me children now. I can conclude that, despite my desires, I lack nothing. 

As for the saints who are in the land, they are the glorious ones in whom is all my delight. I love to see you at work in your people around me. To see parents raising their children to love and be like Jesus is beautiful. In addition, Father, I am so thankful for the ways in which you use your people to bring me comfort and encouragement.

The sorrows of those will increase who run after other gods. I will not pour out their libations of blood or take up their names on my lips. My life is full of joys clamoring to be made gods in my heart. Motherhood is no exception. I can know for sure that to make motherhood a god will bring me sorrow. Lord, please give me strength to not allow motherhood to take a place that it should not.

Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. Lord, you have carefully allocated joys and sorrows in my life to draw me to you and make me like you. In this, you comfort me.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. I know that the sacrifice that Jesus made should be enough for me, Lord, but sometimes it’s obvious that my perspective just isn’t big enough yet, and I feel discontented. But aside from this gift of your son, you have given me a delightful inheritance. On this Mother’s Day I am reminded of my own mother and my mother-in-law, both godly women who love me dearly. And there’s so much more. You have given me so much.

I will praise the Lord, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. You help me, bit by bit, to see that you have a plan for the world and that I fit in it. In your wisdom, you are carrying out your beautiful plans for the world, and yet you don’t neglect my own tiny insignificant heart. Even in my darkest moments, you whisper words of comfort and encouragement to me.

I have set the Lord always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. I may have to do this a million times a day. My head always wants to turn to look elsewhere. But when I do set you before me, I am strong.

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure, When I look at you, Lord, I am glad, joyful even. I see your love. I see a bigger picture. I see you at work. Even as my body remains empty—frustratingly, painfully barren—I lay myself down and rest secure at your feet.

because you will not abandon me to the grave, nor will you let your Holy One see decay. You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand. Jesus was raised to life after three days in a tomb, and through Jesus you have revealed the path to eternal life! You have promised to fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures. I can’t imagine it now, but I know that it’s true: if I were to never be able to give birth to or adopt a child, you will that void when I see you face to face. Your love, Lord, is breath-taking.

A Few Thoughts for Easter

Easter this year, for me, can only be seen through the lens of infertility. Even though we don’t get to spend the day with family, I was yearning for Easter, looking forward to Easter, much more than most years. And I didn’t spend much time dwelling on Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion. I just didn’t have the heart to. All I wanted was His triumph.

I’d like to share with you a couple of my thoughts about Easter this year.

Tyler

Tyler (not his real name) is a rotund unkempt man who comes into the library daily. Despite his appearance, he’s almost childlike in the way that he just about butts to the front of the line to get a computer at the library and then to pick up his color copies of scantily clad female swimmers and gymnasts. He greets everyone he meets, whether he knows them or not. Even from a block away he’ll throw up his hand and holler a greeting to the oblivious walker. He keeps up a steady stream of conversation with himself or the librarian (though it’s often hard to figure out who he’s talking to) about baseball or the weather or his caretakers. His insatiable cheerfulness can only be dampened when the color copier is out of order and he has to print his copies on the black-and-white printer.

I’ve been continuously disappointed in myself by my dislike of Tyler. His cheerfulness irritates me. I don’t like being greeted from a block away and then trying to decide whether to yell back or wait in uncomfortable suspense until he’s closer to say hi. He’s too loud, even in the library, and I don’t appreciate all of the risqué pictures he prints off.

But at the same time, Tyler makes me think about what love really means. Loving like Christ isn’t just about reading books to my adorable nephew or feeding the wide-eyed starving child pictured on the mission organization’s newsletter. Loving the way Christ did is messy. It may involve looking ridiculous and yelling a hello from a block away or showing kindness in spite of a bad habit. Christ loved me when I was unkempt, unappealing, and all around unlovable.

Can I learn to love others like that?

Fulfilling every desire

A few quotes from the book Heaven, by Randy Alcorn, struck me yesterday:

“Nothing is more often misdiagnosed than our homesickness for Heaven. We think that what we want is sex, drugs, alcohol, a new job, a raise, a doctorate, a spouse, a large-screen television, a new car, a cabin in the woods, a condo in Hawaii. What we really want is the person we were made for, Jesus, and the place we were made for, Heaven. Nothing less can satisfy us. C.S. Lewis said, ‘The settled happiness and security which we all desire, God withholds from us by the very nature of the world: but joy, pleasure, and merriment He has scattered broadcast. We are never safe, but we have plenty of fun, and some ecstasy. It is not hard to see why. The security we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and oppose an obstacle to our return to God.’ ”

When reading, I thought, what do I really want? As most of you know, right now that answer’s easy: a baby. I realized that what Randy Alcorn was saying was that all of those things, some of which are not bad in and of themselves, are really just misplaced homesickness. When I say that my heart yearns for a baby, I’m actually feeling a longing for Jesus. Only I don’t diagnose it that way.

And if that longing for a baby is really a longing for Jesus, then doesn’t it follow that when I’m with Him in Heaven or on the new Earth, I will feel fully satisfied and happy, even if I never had a baby during my lifetime? I believe the answer is yes. And that is comforting.

Steven Curtis Chapman- “Believe Me Now”

This song speaks to me. No matter our circumstances, our God is a God of love, and that has not changed.

Silences of God and Sacred Cows Part 2

Yesterday, what with one thing and another that I would prefer not to go into presently, I had had enough of God's silences. Enough of no. I wanted yes. And I was an emotional wreck. Even Husband, who is very precise in the words that he chooses would probably say that that description is not far off the mark.


In the evening I had an hour at home alone, and I sensed that God wanted my attention during that hour. I was able to take a good look into my heart, and I saw, erected there, a beautiful golden calf.


Motherhood, I realized, has become for me the sacred cow, the one thing that in my mind is non-negotiable between me and God. I want to start our family now and God will make it possible one way or another. 


Husband and I have sensed for a few weeks now, I think, that God is gently letting us know that He isn't ready for us to start our family yet. He has other things for us to do first. I don't know what those are yet... Husband and I have some ideas, but we're not sure. But all along, as God has been giving us these ideas, I've been saying to Him, "OK. Sure. We can do that. But baby first," or "Yeah, we'll do that, but we're going to have a baby at the same time." I was not willing to accept the idea of waiting to start our family.


In the last few days, God has slowly and gently pulled the last semblance of control away from me, leaving me completely at his mercy. (Not peacefully, I might add. As I mentioned, yesterday, I was an emotional wreck.) At the same time, the other ideas of things that God could possibly be calling us to do have become more apparent, more concrete, even. 


And last night, when I finally sat down with God, I realized that the painful, wrenching, tearing sensation I had been experiencing all day was my letting go, my accepting that I will do whatever God calls me to do, even if that ends up being before we start our family. In the process of accepting God's will, the sacred cow in my heart began to be uprooted. And those sacred cows, I'm learning, are heavy.  


I don't know why, exactly, God has been silent to me in the last month, but I do know that He has used His silence and our life circumstances to show me what was in my heart. He has shown me what was in my heart, and He has shown me that, painful as it may be, God can and will uproot any sacred cows He finds in the heart He's claimed for His. 


I want God, and I want God's will more than a baby. I truly do. Though motherhood might not be a part of the plan yet, I'm ready to take steps of obedience.

Silences of God and Sacred Cows Part 1

Husband and I have been going through the study Experiencing God by Henry and Richard Blackaby and Claude King. I highly recommend this study. Though I don't think it's perfect, I do think it's a very good study. I'm thinking a lot and learning a lot about God because of the meditations in this book.


This morning's reading was especially pertinent to my life right now. The authors write about the silences of God. They first reference Job, which almost made me skip to the end. I don't want to think any more about Job right now. I just don't. But then the talk switches to the account of the death of Lazarus, found in John 11:1-45. I want to share what they write:


John reported that Jesus loved Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. Although Jesus received word that His good friend was sick and at the point of death, He delayed going until Lazarus died. In other words, Mary and Martha asked Jesus to come help their brother when he was sick, and Jesus was silent. All the way through Lazarus's final sickness and death, Jesus did not answer. They recived no response from the One who said He loved Lazarus. Jesus even said He loved Mary and Martha. Yet He did nothing. 


Lazarus died, and Mary and Martha went through the funeral process, preparing his body, putting him in the grave, and covering it with a stone. Still, God's silence continued. Finally, Jesus said to His disciples, "Let's go." 


When Jesus arrived, Lazarus had been dead four days. Martha said to Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." Then the Spirit of God began to help me understand something. It seemed to me as if Jesus said to Mary and Martha: "You are exactly right. If I had come when you asked, your brother would  not have died. You know I could have healed him, because you have seen Me heal people many times before. If I had come when you asked Me to, I would have healed him. But you would have never known any more about Me than you already understood. I knew you were ready for a greater revelation of Me than you had known before. I wanted you to experience that I am the Resurrection and the Life. My refusal and My silence were not rejection. They were opportunities for Me to disclose to you more of Me than you had ever known."


Over the last month, God has been silent. To me, anyway. I've asked for fertility medications to be effective. I've asked for healing. I've asked for a baby. On all accounts over this past month-- and year before that-- God has remained silent. 

Some Thoughts on Love for Valentine’s Day

As I stirred oatmeal on the stove this morning I had an epiphany. Not a world-class epiphany. A me epiphany. I realized something that is vastly important to me.

 Facing infertility and all of the many, many, disappointments that crop up on a daily basis because of it is putting my relationship with God through a test of fire. All my bows and frills are being burned away, pretty ruthlessly. The core of my love for God is gradually being laid bare amid the ashes. Right now, the core does not seem impressive.

                                                                                                                               

In the past week, in the aftermath of yet more bad news relating to our desire for a baby, I sat with my Bible open before God. Impatient. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Him that didn’t involve my desperate desire for a properly functioning body and a little one inside of it. I wrote out my prayers, the same, in essence, every time.

Please. Hear me. See me. Give me.

Every time I closed the notebook after time spent in prayer, I was reminded more of finishing a business meeting than of leaving a retreat spent in the company of someone I love.

And that was what I realized while I stirred oatmeal this morning. I haven’t been loving God for who God is. I’ve been waiting for Him to do something for me. Can I love God and want a relationship with Him outside of what He can do for me?

I want the answer to be yes.

So I decided this morning to take a break from asking God for anything. Instead, as I ate my oatmeal, I focused on who God is. And when I stopped to focus on God, I was swept up in the reminder that God is love. God loves me so tenderly and passionately. So much love. Amazing.

I’d mostly forgotten how much God loved me, or at least I hadn’t thought of love in our morning chats for the last few weeks, I think because I’m afraid. I’m afraid He won’t give me this thing that I want so much. I’m afraid He’s withholding something wonderful from me that would make my life better, more complete.

This morning, though, I pondered the verse from 1 John: “There is no fear in love. But prefect love drives out fear.” If I could accept God’s perfect love for me, I wouldn’t be afraid that He’s withholding anything good.

Right now, perfectly understanding God’s love is just out of reach, like trying to catch a seed floating down from a cottonwood tree. I see the little puff of white cotton. I reach my hands around it, but every breath of air that my hands stir up push the seed into a whirling dance, first one way and then another, but always away from my hands. I see it, but I just can’t quite capture it.  And that is why I’m still fighting the fear, still fighting what God is giving me.

I’m not entirely sure where I mean for this to end. Maybe right now these are just the ramblings of a sometimes-sad person who also sometimes understands that she is loved.

I am loved. I am blessed. And the God who loves me is worth every minute spent pursing Him and enjoying His love, not because of what He does for me, but because of who He is.

Adoption and Parenthood: Making Plans

Because I haven’t mentioned adoption in a few weeks, some of you might be wondering if Husband and I have forgotten about the idea of adoption. Or that we have given up on it.

Neither is true.

We are continuing to read books about adoption. (We just finished reading through The Adoption Decision by Laura Christianson and are now starting The Complete Book of International Adoption by Dawn Davenport. The former is written by a woman familiar with domestic adoption. The latter, obviously, goes into more detail about international adoption.) We are continuing to discuss.

The discussion has taken an interesting shift for Husband and me. We are no longer discussing if we will adopt, but rather, when we will adopt. We feel confident that God is leading us to adoption, but not quite yet.

Because in the last few weeks of talking and praying we have also come to the joint decision that God is leading us to pursue biological parenthood first. Though I don’t want to share all of the reasoning that went into this decision, I do want to share the final product with you:

Our plan is to use a common and non-invasive fertility treatment that is almost entirely covered by our insurance. Our hope is that God will bless us with a biological child through this process, but whether He does or not, we will begin our first adoption process, either after our first child is old enough for us to be able to start paperwork, or when the fertility treatment has reached its end.

This is our plan, but I am already shaking my head and sighing to myself over my use of the word plan.

When I tell God these things (usually pretending that I am asking), I imagine that God is staring at me, compassionately, but with a quizzical expression on His face and an eyebrow cocked. He’s patient enough to listen and love me anyway, but He’s certainly not taking notes!

While I'm Waiting: Hoping

I was listening to the radio tonight as I washed and dried the dishes. Husband had to work through the supper hour tonight at the nursing home, so I was alone. Often, for me, doing the dishes alone affords some time for reflection that I might not otherwise take.

Husband and I are going to trim the Christmas tree when he gets home from work, and I was trying to muscle up some excitement for the project. We had all of our children’s programs at the library today, which always leaves me feeling happy and yet slightly bruised on the inside at the same time.

One of the songs that came on while I was drying dishes was a song I’ve heard many times before, but I didn’t even know who it was by: “While I’m Waiting,” by John Waller. The song seemed to fit what I want to be right perfectly:

The word ‘waiting’ is obviously used multiple times in the song, but the word ‘hope’ came up too. Hearing about waiting and hoping in the same breath started me musing on the Spanish word esperar. Esperar translates to the infinitive verb form of the English phrase ‘to hope.’ But, strangely enough, esperar also means ‘to wait.’ In Spanish, to wait and to hope are one in the same.

I was reminded again tonight that this is also true in my dealings with God: to wait on Him is also to hope in Him. I am waiting for something I want, but I can be hopeful because I know that whatever He gives me now and will give me in the future is good.

The other phrase in the song that really got me thinking was: “I’ll be running the race, even while I wait.”

I absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, want this to be true of me. I do not want to sit in front of my computer and write blog lament after blog lament over all the painful things that remind me that I’m not a mother yet but want to be (and who would want to sit and read a whole bunch of laments anyway? The authors of Lamentations get special treatment. Their laments are still read because they ended up in the Bible. I have no such trump card to play.)

So.

That being said, I am going to try to get back to the purpose of this blog: being content with what God has given me while I wait. You will probably continue to hear about our child-longing periodically, but I will not allow that to take over the blog.

On that front, I do have some news to share, however: Though Husband and I are not closing the door on fertility treatments completely, we are starting to take baby steps (no pun intended) into the world of adoption as well.

As a child and a teenager, I had always said I wanted to adopt, but since getting married, I had set the idea aside temporarily because I was intimidated by the substantial cost of adoption. Husband and I independently came to the decision that, despite the cost, now is the time to look into adoption. We’re starting with research, so when you hear about our baby-longing, it will most likely be in the context of our responses to what we have researched.

In any case, with the goal being contentment where we are now, other topics besides adoption that you can expect to be reading about in the coming months are:

• Projects, current and future (gift ideas, food, home improvement, and so forth)
• Experiences in my daily life that inspire thankfulness
• Experiences in my daily life that inspire laughter (you all remember my coworker exchanging Satan for Santa—I’m expecting her to step it up, if only for the purpose of this blog)
• Ways that God is teaching me and speaking to me
• Book reviews (because despite my slip up I am going to read through our personal library and also because I just love to read that much)

I’m looking forward to this month leading up to Christ’s birth, and I hope that you will join me in learning to be content right where each one of us is.

Resuts of a Doctor's Appointment

I saw a little quip in a picture today:

“It’s not happy people who are thankful. It’s thankful people who are happy.”

I’ve thought about it off and on throughout the day because my mind is often tempted back to the thought, “Oh, if only I was pregnant right now, then I would be happy!” Part of me—a less realistic part of me—really feels that this is true.

But I know it’s not. Even if I were to find out I was pregnant tomorrow, something else would creep in that would ‘steal happiness.’ Worry about the baby. Worry about where we were going to move after the baby was born. Job conflicts. And so forth. As a worry-prone person, there are plenty of things that can steal my happiness.

Since it’s obviously true that having a baby will not be the thing to make me happy, then it follows that I can be happy without having a baby. And that is why the phrase above has held so much of my attention today.

I did not hear better news at the doctor yesterday. This doctor made me feel much more welcome and comfortable than the first doctor I visited, which was a blessing, but she told me in essence the same things as the first doctor I met with.

I may have polycystic ovary syndrome. However, from what I understand from my doctor, that’s sort of a catch-all term for hormone malfunction. Some hormone (or group of hormones) somewhere is not doing exactly what it should be doing. (As a side note, from the little bit my doctor explained to me about all of the hormones that are involved in a normal woman’s cycle happening monthly the way it does, I am amazed that there are any children in the world. Such complexity! Obviously God is at work.)

So, the doctor ordered a few more blood tests, for which I had samples drawn this morning. But the end result will be much the same, as far as wanting to conceive a baby is concerned, whether the tests come back normal or otherwise.

If my body refuses to cycle normally, which has been the trend over the last year, then we have a few options if our goal right now is to pursue pregnancy:

1) We continue to try to conceive without help. In this scenario we have no idea if or when I am ovulating.

2) I take glycophage, a medication that is normally given to people with diabetes. People with PCOS often have a similar intolerance to insulin as diabetics do. This might right the problem, if the problem has to do with insulin to begin with.

3) I take clomid, a widely used fertility drug.

I feel less woeful today than I did one day after my appointment in October, but I do feel tired. Husband and I will have some big decisions to make in the coming months. And we definitely have a lot of reading to do. We intend to be well-informed before we make any major decisions about medications.