The Story Continues

Another month has come and gone and I need to finish my story! Ok, so I was describing the stages of denial and anxiety. And then came sadness...

I mean real, gut-wrenching, deep, panicky sorrow that is only felt in the confines of solitude and openness. It has been scary to feel this sad. It creates a cloud around your mind where thoughts and reality become twisted and the vortex of this sadness pulls you further down and away from hope. I think the sadness started when we had been trying for a year. Late in the summer it became agonizing for me to see other pregnant women, hear of friends' pregnancies or even walk past the baby aisle in the store. These feelings and responses seem petty and pathetic for someone who has never experienced infertility. But it's very real. I can remember getting calls from good friends who announced their baby news...I would hang up and start crying. Not that I ever felt true envy. It was just one...more...reminder that I could not have what seemed to come so easy for them. The reminders became more painful and frequent. I began keeping to myself and having to force myself to ask people about their babies and pregnancies. I cared about their experience, but knew that after every conversation I would have to restitch the open wound again.

Anger began seeping in... At first, I became angry with Jason. Why wasn't he experiencing the same sorrow? He never seemed to be bothered by it. He would hold my hand while I cried but never expressed any emotion himself. I began to see myself as alone in the saga of infertility. He described his emotion as more frustration in not being able to conceive, but his way of dealing with the loss was exceptionally different from my own. I had to come to a point where I let go of the expectation that our grief and experience was the same. And then one lonely night in December arrived. Jason was working and I hit rock bottom. I can't put into words the sobs and groans that came from my body that night...I was so angry and felt abandoned by God. I am thankful that God understands and has unending mercy, despite my faithlessness. I am grateful that His spirit 'prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words.' (Rom. 8:26) It felt like I had cried for hours. Not knowing what to do or where to turn, I opened my laptop and typed in "spiritual perspective on infertility.' Two things popped up first. One - an article written by a minister concerning the view of infertility from the angle of "Mystery vs. Mastery." This article provided me with some awesome insights into our culture demanding mastery over problems and turning to science for these answers. Two - a book on infertility written by a Christian couple. I browsed through the table of contents on-line and ordered it that night.

Never have I felt such true understanding and sympathy than from this book. The writers interviewed several infertile couples and had woven their stories and quotes throughout. It suddenly dawned on me that I had no one to relate to...no one in my life was infertile. I couldn't turn to a girlfriend for understanding. But chapter by chapter I became more at peace. One of the greatest truths I received through these two materials was the knowledge that I will never have answers. And I have to be ok with that. God does not owe me an explanation for my barrenness.

The book I read included this passage:
If the Bible has anything to say about life, it is that this existence of ours is a deep and complex and mysterious affair. The key is that we learn to live with these unanswerable questions, to coexist with them. We may never find the answers to these questions. We may move well beyond our infertility struggle and even be blessed with a child, but these questions could remain unanswered for the length of our days. In the years to come, other people will come to you looking for answers as they walk their paths of grief. As you learn to live without completely understanding your tragic experience, you will one day be able to help others find peace with the 'deepest questions' and 'darkest mysteries.'

The thousands of 'WHY?!" questions I've thrown His way will not be answered. And, in a weird way, I wouldn't have it any other way. Once I claimed His silence, I could become more dependent and trusting. I wasn't trusting any longer on an answer or solution, but on a promise. A promise to make me a mother. A promise to be faithful, even when I am faithless. A promise to be full of compassion and goodness. A promise to make me in the image of Christ through "all these things that are worked together for good." A promise that He is God and I...am...not.

I have had to return to these promises day after day to find the 'peace that passes understanding.' I have had to accept my limitations - going to baby showers is beyond torture. I have attended some and not others. I have had to apologize to dear friends for not being emotionally capable of attending their celebration. I have held friends' babies knowing that my heart would ache for the rest of that day. I have had to prepare for social events and again feel the wound rip back open again. It would take days to return to the place where I wasn't 'gushing' out of that wound. I have tried very hard to keep that wound closed, but cannot live in a bubble.

I have had to feel extremely out of place...my life stage is 'behind' many women my age and in my circle of friends. I have felt the sting of a friend saying "Someday you'll be a mom and then you can join us." It's worse than getting picked last for the kick-ball game on the playground. I have had to explain dozens of times to relatives and co-workers with good intentions behind their questions. I have had to swallow pain and anger at hearing patients discuss their abortions.

I have had to mourn the loss of a dream. Even if I do bear a child, it will not undo the 2+ years of losing this dream. The dream of my expectations, my ease, my comfort. And finally, the last stage of grief...acceptance. It has been two years in the making. I am able to type out this story with no tears. I have accepted not being master over my own body, or even my own story. I have accepted the possibility of adoption if not able to conceive. I have accepted that we are different than the average couple. I have accepted the wound in my heart. Scripture says that our suffering bring perseverance, character and hope. I can honestly say that I have hope at last. Not just hope to be a mother, hope of a growing family...I have hope that my pain will not last and that God will be glorified in my story. That's all I want now...His glory. I want to point to Christ and identify with him through my grief. There are still days that are terribly hard and my one prayer is "give me more of you Christ, I need more of you Jesus." (by the way...this is easy to say in typed words, way harder to live out!!!)

There are some blessings that come from grief. First and most important, I can now identify and relate. I can better understand human loss. I can see God working through my pain and living out the truth that "my grace is sufficient for you. My power is made perfect through weakness." Secondly, seeing little reminders of God's goodness and provision. I remember the day that a check for $767 came in the mail from some Virginia-house-related-issue. The next week I had an HSG test performed (putting dye in your uterus and fallopian tubes to determine if there's any blockage). How much was the test? That's right...$750! God has provided the money for my ovarian laparoscopic surgery this February. He has given me some answers...discovering endometriosis during the surgery. At least we now know more of why there has been no success. He has provided friends who have had the same surgery and could prepare me and walk with me through that time. He has given me an excitement for the possibility of motherhood, whether the baby comes from my own body or someone else's. When this story began, I balked at the idea of adoption. Now I grow excited at that possibility. But the greatest blessing of all is knowing more of God's character. I see new and beautiful facets of His presence. I experience His faithfulness and goodness through all the absurd and crazy stages of this journey. I am humbled by His holiness and greatness...in the words of Job,

"I know that you can do anything, and no none can stop you. You ask, 'Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorance?' It is I. And I was talking about things I did not understand, things far too wonderful for me."

Who knows how this story will play out. I am excited and nervous to see the resolution. I am honored that God would entrust me with this experience so that I may someday minster to others who walk through the same grief. I am grateful for a very patient husband who is the master of providing 'presence' rather than trite words. I am grateful to be in a place where I can write this story and not have a breakdown! The cloud has lifted (except for a few days here and there) and I am no longer fearful. The song that has spoken to my spirit the most these past two and a half years is 'You Never Let Go' by Matt Redman. I will end this looooong post by writing down his lyrics:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know You are near

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Chorus:
Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

Chorus:

Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You


"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Psalm 147:3